Sharp Object
“You’d never speak this way to Drew,” I said coldly to my mother before I hung up the phone.
I wish I could say that this slipped out unintentionally, but it was calculated - I meant it.
And as innocuous as that line may sound, we both heard the intended, biting subtext: You’d never speak this way to Drew, because you love him more than you love me.
I’ve written about my experiences growing up as the “well” child and the good and bad that comes with it…well, this is the bad.
Often people talk about the joys and ease of being a child; how they’d love nothing more than to shrink back in time to an existence of few responsibilities. But short of not having to pay bills, there’s little I find appealing about childhood - at least my conception of it.
Childhood is more complex than we give it credit for. You’re in charge of so little and you’re forced to accept different worlds and different rules. No questions, please. Be quiet and obedient.
The thing that I hated most was being kept in the dark. Keeping secrets plants seeds in young minds. And what grew in my mind was far grislier than reality.
No one ever told me what was really wrong with Drew. Why was he blue? Nobody ever explained why they had to leave me all the time. Or why he got all their attention. Why do people keep bringing over St. Jude medals and offering prayers? In their defense, I’m sure I never actually asked any of these questions. I’ve always preferred observing to talking.
Not only was I young, but so were my parents. And maybe they couldn’t explain to me what was really happening, because they too were struggling to comprehend their new reality. Or at least couldn’t muster the strength to weave together an explanation fitting for a five-year-old. There’s no simplified way of explaining too few chambers and reverse blood flow.
But with an absence of information, the unfortunate seed that grew in my little head was that Drew was loved more than me - that he was the favorite child. No wonder, I started pulling his hair…
I’m writing this as an adult who knows that she is, and always has been, deeply loved by both of her parents - I know what a privilege this is. But little me didn’t know this with today’s certainty. No, little me felt that the only explanation for my parents’ absence was that Drew deserved more love. I’m only now able to acknowledge that I spent years of my life actually believing this.
And I guess it makes sense that whenever I feel boxed in by my mom, I lash out with a line that cuts us both. She worries that she failed as a mother and I worry that I’m not good enough to be wanted. “You love Drew more,” slices both of us and we walk away feeling disoriented - suddenly back in the past where she is a scared young mother and I her equally scared young child. I’m reaching up for her to hold me, but her arms are already full. She has a sick baby and decades of trauma that she’s never addressed, she needs me to be “easy.”
But why do I intentionally put us through this pain? And why am I so comfortable saying something that I know will hurt her? Do I want to hurt her in retribution for what I felt decades ago, even though I acknowledge my “truth” is inaccurate? If so, what the fuck does that say about me? I don’t want to be someone who goes around continuously penalizing others; someone who takes advantage of another’s weakness. But I also know that if she called me now and said something that struck a nerve within me, I’d lash out the same way. I also know I’d never be so hurtful to anyone else. Why is she the only receiver of this pernicious “privilege”?
Maybe I say it because I so deeply fear feeling disconnected from her again…that I dread feeling like that small child jumping up and down and waving her arms around begging for recognition that never comes. And in a perverted way, I attempt to seize her attention by forcing her to remember how I suffered and to remind her to be gentle with me now.
But I also need to acknowledge how she suffered and how she too deserves gentleness.
My mom will be in DC on Friday and I’m excited. I’ve planned spa days and pasta-filled dinners. I bought us embossed journals and copies of One Long River of Song.
We both deserve each other’s total attention, because, despite everything that we’ve gone through and the uncomfortable things that we continue to put each other through, we’ve done it all together. The good, the bad, the ugly, the very ugly - we show up for each other and we’re getting better at meeting the other exactly where they are. I’m proud of our progress and our complicated dance through life, even though I’m not always proud of my actions or words…
*When you click that ❤️, my heart explodes with joy.
It seems that you have unpacked this rather well. Only one word comes to my mind-forgiveness. And maybe look into the benefits of having grown up stronger by not being the favorite child. But I’m writing this without coffee, and about to drive all day in the rain, and with no homegrown tomatoes. I’ll have something to think about while I’m doing it. Thanks for another beautifully written piece, Caroline!
Honest, thoughtful, and beautifully written. Are you going to show your mother this?