Exhausted, in a daze, experiencing a breathwork hangover from my session last night.
All of my life, I've been a professional binger: binge drink, binge work, binge exercise, binge eat, binge sex, binge emotions, smoke, drugs; an overgiver, self-sacrificer, an expert at numbing, escaping, overachieving, masking, lashing out on others, and denying the layers and generations of pain neatly buried deep down with a big smile on my face.
Last night, I did not have a "dropping in" moment. It was a subtle and gradual process. It began with a bit of humming, to saying, "No no no no no" that eventually turned into "I hate you I hate you I hate you." It didn't feel directed towards anyone specifically - it felt more towards a dark dark energy. I then screamed loud and intensely into a pillow.
I do not have a relationship with my birth mother or father. The father was not in the picture (another story), and I shared a bit about the birth mother in my spotlight. Last night, I found myself calling for my mother in Vietnamese, "Me oi, Me oi, Me di dau (Oh Mother, Oh Mother, where are you)" over and over again, as I sobbed and sobbed. There were a few times, it felt like I was also speaking on her behalf, calling for her birth mother.
I remembered a time as a toddler on the kitchen floor alone and crying out for her, remembered watching her get handcuffed when the FBI raided our house, remembered crying on the couch alone as I watched the outside of our home on the television screen that said, "Tonight on the evening news" after they arrested everyone in our home, remembered binge eating the fun size candy and snacks that were a part of the mail package my siblings would send to her while she was incarcerated. Connecting the dots now; that as I ate it - in an unconscious way, it connected me to her; remembered the bag of peanut M&M's she gifted me when we once visited her, and the ache my heart felt watching her walk away when visiting hours were up.
She was cruel most of the time. She did not touch me as a newborn. A former sister-in-law nonchalantly told me that she (SIL), gave me my first bath after I started to smell. My mother did not touch me after I was born. She regularly threatened to throw me in the dumpster so that the ants could eat me. It was a regular occurrence for her to sit me down, stare at me in disgust, and tell me I have HIS selfish blood running through my veins. I am just like him.
Not too long ago, I connected the dots that the binge eating, drinking, and numbing patterns, are highly linked to the feeding patterns or lack of with my mother. My arm was in a cast as an infant. My brothers said they noticed me crawling funny one day and weren't sure what happened. I now have ongoing issues with both shoulders and arms.
After yesterday's crying out for her, I realize I am not seeking her love present day. Circumstances have not changed and will not. She and her soul are on their own path, as I on mine. Last night, I allowed my much younger, wounded, rejected, and abandoned little girl to call out for A Mother.
I remembered something MC said during our last class. That when words are spoken in your native / home language - it adds a potency and depth than saying it in English could. I called for her in Vietnamese; a term of endearment.
All of my life, my ego did not allow for me to admit that I long for a mother. I accepted the hand dealt and would not allow myself to feel like or be a victim. I lashed out in many other ways and on many people. So what if when puberty hit, and the breast tissue developed, I truly believed and accepted for a solid year that I had breast cancer and would be the youngest (9/10 years old) girl to die from this disease.
AIDS and breast cancer awareness were big in the early 90s. I was too afraid to tell my brothers I had not one, but two tumors growing at a rapid rate. I prayed to God to keep me alive at least until 6th grade to see junior high. I was very high on marijuana when I got my first period and asked my brother to take me to the store to purchase pads. No words spoken or questions asked. My period was almost non-existent until my late 20s / early 30s. I now understand the many reasons why that was the case.
I was not intoxicated last night, but today I feel incredibly hungover and in a fog. I have accepted the destiny with my mother time and time again. The acknowledgement and beginning to release the longing for a mother figure - feels like this is at the root of my deepest pains and patterns I am processing in this life. This wound led to the coping mechanisms and way of living, seeing, and perceiving the world.
Thank you for reading if you've made it this far.
