Rescue Fantasy and Auntie

Inside most survivors there is a deep hole that so desperately wants to be filled, mothered.  I put that need on auntie.   It was unreal and no doubt part of a rescue fantasy.

I’ve been trying to talk to her for some days but she wouldn’t pick up or interact much with me.  I felt the distance and it hurt.  She has PTSD too and just text me saying she chose not to become too engaged and to keep a healthy distance to protect herself so she can function and pay bills.

I get it but the hurt kid in me is hurt again.

She is being very clinical with me again speaking to me from behind her therapist mask texting me clinical information about what is happening to me right now such as having anticipatory catastrophic anxiety about my dad not making it out of surgery on his spine.  I want a human voice that shares some of my genetics to just tell me everything  will be ok and I’m here for you.   I understand you.

I so badly want support from her, but she cannot give it to me like I want. This week, I tried to reach out to one other female family member but she didn’t want to get too close either.

The hardened yet vulnerable kid inside me lays under the covers and cries and wonders what is so wrong with me that my family can’t be there for me?  The healthy part of me knows I’m a trigger for her in a sense.

My abandonment wound is getting the scab pulled off and bleeding again profusely.

4 thoughts on “Rescue Fantasy and Auntie

  1. Alaina says:

    Oh, Hon… my heart hurts for you.

    Since 2003 I have been living in New Mexico. There are a lot of Indian Reservations not far from where I live. I have gotten to know several Native Americans since I’ve been living here. Their cultures are fascinating to me, particularly their traditions of how they relate to relatives.

    In some original Native American languages, there is no word for “aunt.” They simply call their aunts, in the words of their language, “another mother.”

    Doesn’t that sound nice? If only those of us whose birth mothers were neglectful/abusive/broken/crazy or absent for whatever reason, had “another mother” to fill that bottomless hole. Sort of like a substitute school teacher. 🙂

    Having a loving and compassionate mom’s ear to cry to is a basic human need, regardless of how old we get. My awesome and very capable daughter is forty, and she still calls me up to vent when she’s hurting. I am happy to fill that need for her, even with my PTSD issues. My daughter tells me how much it helps her just to be able to unload to her mom. As for me, I can usually handle it all right… but a couple of months ago, on the day that I found out a troubled online friend had committed suicide, despite all my efforts to help her, I got triggered when my daughter tearfully told me about the extremely verbally abusive texts her ex-fiance was sending her while she was at work.

    I blew a gasket and over-stepped my bounds by sending her malignant narcissist ex an email telling him that I was going to drag his name through the mud on the internet if he didn’t stop bullying my daughter. And I would, too, up to and including going to the city where he lives and picketing the international bank that he is a director of, carrying a sign with his name in big letters saying that he is a psychopath who abuses women.

    My daughter was not too pleased with me interfering in her personal business. I told her I was sorry and I truly am, but… the stuff that phony cheating lying hateful jerk has put her through is similar to what my psycho ex put me through, and it’s very triggering to hear my daughter talk about it. It’s bad enough that I had to go through that, but when someone treats my baby girl that way — OMG.

    Being a mom isn’t easy. Especially not if the mom has with PTSD. I guess it’s not much different with “another mother” aunt.

  2. giasuniverse says:

    I feel for you! It is very painful, when we feel rejected, especially when we are so hypersensitive to others’ reactions. Hang in there (((())))xx

    • bdlheart says:

      Definitely. It takes little to trigger feelings of abandonment and rejection. In many ways, I become regressed if I’m not careful. I read into every little thing she does or says. Guess I’ve really clung to her as a mother figure. Too much clinging in a sense. I’m trying to teach myself healthier boundaries.

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