Mentally ill mother and disenchantment with suffering

In doing the workshop on how to change your family, there’s a prompt about how the relationship would change if we accepted someone for who they are.

I’ve gotten to the point of grieving the death of my illusion of a mother. My mentally ill mom is physically here, but she’s like a young child.

When I think of having a relationship with her, I think of her walking around the house with poop smeared on her naked butt, her texting conspiracy theories to my family, her inability to hold a conversation without fighting, her inability to talk about anything meaningful and her inability to ever hug or hold me. I don’t remember ever having a real hug from my mom.

I get so angry and throw pity parties in my mind for people posting about their miscarriages. Yes, it’s sad and a deep loss, but inside there’s a part of me that also feels, “oh, woe is me, you fucking even know what it’s like to have a mother.” I know this will change and part of me is regretful in saying this already, but part of me wants to get this thought out in public so it doesn’t fester in my mind anymore.

I’ve gone through my dark night of the soul of utter despair and unworthiness after I stopped buffering. Now I’m at the point of stepping back as I cry and thinking how beautiful it is that we can feel such a depth of pain (and joy and everything in between) as humans.

I learned of disenchantment with suffering recently.

How can I begin to feel disenchantment from holding onto my suffering?

Buddhist talks, meditation and prayer help. As do models. 😉