I don't want to be like my mother

When I went to therapy back in my BYU days, my counselor offered this observation: "Your biggest fear is being like your mother."

Back then, it was.

Mom's midlife crisis destroyed us. Yes, she was in a crap marriage, far worse than mine, with a partner she couldn't rely on in any way (but who at least adored her). And yes, she deserved happiness. But she went about it in the worst way possible. She replaced martyrdom with utter selfishness.

God was the first to go, because who needs guilt? and she pulled the rug out from under our family's faith. Then she and my dad both gave up on parenting. I felt utterly abandoned. While I had muddled through with some success, Joyce fell off the deep end and stayed there. And I felt responsible. Someone had to. I had a roof over my head and food on the table and no support whatsoever. 

They never talked to us about any of it. Mom's new religion, new philosophies, and then new boyfriend snuck in amid shadows and whispers and dropped leaflets and breadcrumb trails. And if we asked questions, she shut us out. Or disowned us. She took backpacking trips "alone," bought an SUV for the canoe she wanted, and she went backpacking in Italy. She moved to London for months.

Mom threw out the old plates and silverware, replacing them with things she thought pretty but weren't microwave or dishwasher safe. The moss-green glaze chipped off the plates, showing the ugliness underneath. I remember once, talking about my mom's sudden new independent life and bawling over the silverware. They were the symbol of her "out with the old" philosophy. 

Then she divorced my dad.

I never want to be like that. She couldn't handle her own emotions, didn't know how to process them or how to instigate healthy boundaries and helpful change. She couldn't face her trauma, so she ran from her responsibilities. She just said, fuck it, and left us all to fend for ourselves so she could follow Thoreau and find herself. She abandoned us in chaos so she could chase momentary pleasure. And when the glaze chipped off, the damage was irreversible. 

She did not just leave God and Dad. She left us all. And it took years to forgive.

I know that I am unhappy with the current dynamics of my marriage and with the direction of my life right now, but I will not--WILL NOT--throw away what is good or betray the trust of my children, God, and husband to go chasing something shiny and new. I will not let my pain become the catalyst for my life's destruction. I will find a way to fix it, to rebuild, to strengthen. Not destroy.