My relationship with my mother is complex. Sometimes I don’t understand it. On one hand I know she loves me dearly, and craves connection with me. On that same hand I know I love her, and crave connection with her, too.

For most of my adult life we lived in two different states. Our relationship consisted of phone conversations every now and then; a visit once or twice a year.

Watching my friends whose mothers lived near them, I’d fantasize about one day going to a winery on a whim with my mom or showing up at her house on a Sunday night for Sunday dinner just because. In my mind we’d be the best of friends when we finally lived near each other, the other’s closest confidant.

On the other hand, there are times I want nothing to do with her. I want her to leave my physical space so I can breathe. Sever ties and be done with it.

She and my father moved into my home seven months ago. For the most part there are more good days than bad ones. She helps get my children dressed for school. She does laundry and washes dishes. She helps bathe the kids and picks them up from school. She keeps them company on weekend mornings when they rise early. She helps make breakfast on Sunday mornings. She shares grapes, bananas and whatever else she is snacking on with the kids. And every now and then she reads a book to them at bedtime at their insistence.

“Gigi! Can you read a story to us?” my oldest will ask.

“Gigi! Read!” my youngest parrots.

This is followed by her reading a story or two because who can resist those cute requests?

And while there’s so much good, when it’s bad, it’s bad. Little things set her off. Little things bring out Hurricane V. Asking her to use a different pan, not cook in a dirty air fryer to prevent a grease fire, or turn off the oven because it smells like something is burning. These asks trigger Hurricane V. These asks remind me of what it was like as a child growing up with Hurricane V. The yelling at decibels that surely could cause hearing loss. Following you around the house yelling at your back when you walk away from her. The threats. Grabbing you.

Get out of the way when the storm makes landing because just like a hurricane the first part of the storm scares you, there’s a calm, and then the second half will wreak havoc and obliterate everything in it’s path.

So as I stated previously, our relationship is complex. And lately I’m craving separation more than connection.

To understand how we got here you have to understand the past. The past is also complicated. It’s complicated because I only know what my mother chooses to divulge. The picture she presents feels incomplete and sometimes I wonder what isn’t being said. I wonder if the parts she leaves out will help me understand why she behaves the way she does; why she has this need to prove to everyone how strong she is.

Here’s what I know. My mother was born to two teenagers who weren’t sure if they loved each other and who weren’t sure what they wanted out of life. It was the sixties, and my great grandmother believed babies should not be born out of wedlock. So those teenagers got married. There was a lot of fighting. The fighting was physical and verbal. They didn’t want to be married, and they didn’t want to be parents.

At some point my grandfather left leaving my mother to be raised by my grandmother and great grandmother. My grandmother craved freedom and independence. She was frustrated she was left behind with a child while my grandfather got to live his life. She turned to partying and drinking several nights a week to deal with what her life had become, leaving my mother with her grandmother for several days at a time. When she returned home after being gone for several days, she’d often return angry. She released her anger physically and verbally. My mother was often the target.

My mother once said she had to learn to protect herself at an early age. She realized no one else was going to; so she had to do what she had to do to prevent people from hurting her.

My mother is reluctant to be vulnerable so when she lets down her walls I pay attention. When I was ten years old she discovered she had siblings through her father she’d never met. She always thought she was an only child. I remember her excitement when she met her siblings. I remember her tears when she learned her father was an active part of their lives and that he walked her sister down the aisle when her sister got married. I remember her saying he didn’t walk her down the aisle. I remember her tears when she cried to my father asking, “Why didn’t my parents want me? Why didn’t they love me?”

That’s the gist of what I know about my mother’s past. This is what helps me to understand and empathize with who she becomes when she’s angry. And while I understand the causes of the anger, it doesn’t change the impact of her words. It doesn’t change the impact of her yelling, of her tone. It doesn’t change my one year old saying, “Gigi loud. Gigi loud,” when she’s in the midst of one of her tangents. It doesn’t change his tears when a door is slammed as she continues to yell. It doesn’t change my daughter charging into the living room the next day after one of her tangents saying with authority, “Okay. What’s the problem here?” It doesn’t change that I’m tired. Tired of the cycle. Tired of the hurricane. Tired of the slight mad, the calm, and then the rage. Tired of walking on eggshells, choosing my words deliberately so I don’t set her off.

My relationship with my mother is complex and I get weary when the onus is put on me to fix our relationship.

“You know how your mother is,” my Dad says, “You just gotta be the bigger person.”

“You know how mom is,” my brother says, “Don’t engage. You’ll never win.”

“You know how your mother is,” my husband says, “She has to win. She has to be in control. If you want things to change, stand your ground.”

I’ve done that my entire life. Be the bigger person. Don’t engage, I want to tell my father and brother. Where has it gotten me? She hasn’t changed and I’m still running to find peace. When does it end?

To my husband I want to say, I fear what happens when I stand my ground. I fear the levels of anger I’ll go to when she refuses to back down. I fear becoming someone I don’t recognize.

I wonder about the balance between their advice. I know what happens when I’m quiet. That doesn’t work. I fear what happens if I choose to go toe to toe with her. It ain’t me and honestly it looks draining. There has to be a middle ground. I wonder what it looks like. I wonder what I have to do for her to see I don’t want to do this anymore.

Lately my mom’s been pushing me to deal with whatever is haunting me from my childhood to fix the disconnect between us and I find myself flabbergasted. Flabbergasted because I’ve articulated to her what the problem is, and I don’t know what more I have to do for her to get it.

I don’t feel safe to tell her how I feel because when I do it sets her off. When I say how I feel I’m being disrespectful. I’m making her feel guilty. I set her off.

“Blame me for everything! I’m always the problem!” is usually one of the responses I get.

It’s hard to fix a relationship when the other person is unwilling to stop being defensive. It’s hard to fix a relationship when their go to is to listen to reply instead of listening to understand. It’s hard to fix it when that person is unwilling to explore their own past, and look at how it’s manifesting in their current relationships.

I want to tell her I’m not her enemy.

I want to tell her my goal isn’t to make her feel guilty.

I want her to stop treating me like a child to be controlled.

I want her to see the woman that I am and the woman that I am becoming.

I want her to see I crave connection with her. Genuine connection.

I want her to see the only way to get there is for walls to be let down.

I want her to learn healthy ways to release and cope with all that anger.

I want her to go deep in therapy.

I want her to be honest with herself about things she’s done in relationships to either push people away, or bring them closer.

I want to break this vicious cycle of anger in our family.

It’s too heavy to carry.

I want it to end with us.

It has to.