Going Home

About two weeks ago, I left another session with Sara thinking about my upcoming trip back to my hometown. It was normal for me to become somewhat anxious each time I went to visit, but this would be my first trip home since seeking treatment for all of the traumas that occurred during my childhood. This would be the first time I would see my family since picking at the scabs of my childhood and adolescence. I didn’t look forward to the possibility of a guilt trip, of sitting at the dinner table with the family member who had molested me throughout childhood, of having to feel the terrible pangs in my stomach when it came time for me to leave my nephews at the end of the trip. Needless to say, I was glad I would see my family yet cautiously holding my breath to see what my visit would hold.

My boyfriend and I arrived to my hometown, rented a car and headed to our hotel. I began staying at hotels during college, when I found that it was too difficult to stay with any member of my family. My boyfriend and I had just reached our hotel room when I received an excited phone call from my youngest nephew, who is now 11 years old. “Are you ready to go swimming, Emmy?” “Um…yes honey, it will just take us a little bit to get settled in,” I said. “Okay! Grandma and I will be over in a few minutes,” my nephew said excitedly, then hung up. My mother and boyfriend sat poolside and watched as my nephew and I played, frolicked and laughed at each other in the pool. It felt truly great to be with my nephew again, to be able to hold him and play with him. It was so good to hear his laugh.

A few hours later my boyfriend, mother, nephew and I settled into a table at a restaurant to have dinner. I was able to get a good look at my mother. It had been almost a year since I had seen my family. As I looked at my mother I thought of how much she had aged. She didn’t look like she was in very good health, her hair had gone completely gray, her belly had grown a bit, and her cheeks were a bright pink, perhaps from her blood pressure. Her high round cheekbones were still as I remembered them – showcased any time she smiled. She still has such a pretty smile, I thought to myself. This dinner was the calm dinner I had wanted and needed.

It had taken my mother years of outbursts and dramatic visits during my college years for her to be able to be calmer during my visits. I was used to my mother being angry and distant each time I’d visit during the first day or two of my trip. Then, sometimes, by the middle of my trip she’d break out of her anger and spend a calm day with me. Soon, my mother would realize my visit would soon be ending and would swing back into her angry repertoire of guilt trips.

As I sat at this dinner, I thought about how much easier this night was. Perhaps it was time or age. Perhaps it was the fact that I’ve distanced myself enough that she has no choice but to view my life as separate from hers. Perhaps it was the fact that my boyfriend was present and she could not out number me or treat me rudely in front of him. Whatever it was, this trip was different, I thought.

The next morning, my boyfriend was teaching my nephew the basics of soccer at a school soccer field when my mother asked me if we’d have any time to talk during this trip. I told my mother that our trip was pretty full but we could talk now if she wanted. My mother and I sat on the school step overlooking the soccer field.

“How is your therapy sessions going?” my mother asked. “They’re good,” I said. “There have already been a lot of changes in my life, but I’m still working on moving forward.” My mother began to speak about my childhood. She began to speak of the fact that I had been through so much at such a young age. She said that since every other person in the family was acting out because of the chaos, I must have felt that I needed to be the one in control and the one who had to be prefect. “There was so much pressure on you to carry this family, even though you were the youngest,” she said. “There was so much pressure on you to fix everything and everyone. You couldn’t because no one could.” I nodded my head. “Terrible things happened to you,” she said.

Teary-eyed, my mother and I both wiped our faces as we saw my nephew approaching us. “Come on, Emmy! Come play soccer with us!” My nephew reached over and grabbed my wrist. I jumped up from my spot and looked at my mom. She smiled. I turned and walked to the soccer field with my nephew, hand in hand.

My mother and I hadn’t gotten quite enough time to talk. But the conversation had started. My mother had validated so many things for me. Perhaps she would change into the other mom in a few days – the mom that would deny that anything was more chaotic than normal during my childhood. But, I would take that mom with a grain of salt and I would decide that this person, sitting on the school steps with me on this summer afternoon, was my real mom.