The price of being a mother

Up to 28 years I thought I was the eldest of a united family and a loving couple. For our family, our family was an example and yet everything changed 4 years ago, when I had my first child. A little boy, the first grandchild and great-grandchild. When Alexis was born, my parents were very present, and then very quickly invading.

I breastfed for 3 1/2 months and the day I stopped breastfeeding, my son was "snapped up" by my mother, he did not belong to me anymore. For 3 1/2 months, I was a mother and then I became his daughter again. She told me how to organize my weekends, how to feed and educate my son, how to "share" it for the holidays between his four grandparents ... That is to say that she granted herself the right to direct my life. His interference in my private life was increased when my husband (sailor) was absent. All the explanations I had with her ended in failures because, for her, it was not interference but her way of helping me in my new life as a mother. Rather than hear our demands from parents, his interference has been more and more devious over the months.

And our son in the middle of all this emotional issue began to somatize: refusal food, sleep disorders, chronic otitis, psoriasis and setting up rituals that led us to consult a pedo-shrink. The situation turned into unacceptable when we announced to them my second pregnancy. Since I did not know how to take care of my son, she did not understand that I want a second child! So the only way to stop this interference and not to reproduce the psychological damage on our daughter, I had only one solution: sever ties completely with my parents. Their reaction: complete misunderstanding that has increased their psychological attacks tenfold.

This separation, which has lasted 9 months, is very difficult to live with but it allowed me to find my partner, to see my little boy (thanks to the therapy started 13 months ago), to live like any normal child. I was finally able to find fullness in my role as a mother. I question myself a lot in the face of this rupture and I have to face the judgments of my family and friends of my parents who are satisfied with crying in public and accusing me and my husband of all their misfortunes as grandparents. My mother is probably an immature adult or a manipulator with the psychological portraits that correspond to these two categories of people.

I have to live every day with a very strong sense of injustice and guilt, especially since my parents are very socially appreciated and therefore unable to feel bad for the people around them.But even if this situation is difficult to live, the big winner of this battle is my son who, in one year, has learned to eat normally, no longer has sleep problems, has not made a single earache no psoriasis crisis and especially does not make us suffer the hell of OCD. The price to pay for being a mother is huge!

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