Mom

My mother is arriving tonight for a 5-day visit. My mother, whom I think about while I'm at the gym, lifting weights. At my 25 lb. leg extension, she would say, "My goodness, Anna, that's a lot of weight." At my 25 minutes on the elliptical machine, she would say, "Goodness, Anna. That's a long time! You must be in very good shape."

I'm not, really. I'm in average or slightly below, but to my mother I am not in need of losing 15 pounds--I' look fine. Just right. I am not a loser. "You are just the furthest thing from that! I can't believe you'd think such a thing." I am charming, funny, inspirational. No matter what. Why I cannot internalize the compliments she gives is because a) they are from her; and b) I feel like crap about myself and I always have, regardless of what's happening in my life--if I do something well or valiant, say--it doesn't stick. I am becoming more and more aware of the fact that I have never felt good about myself. I don't at all mean to be self-pitying or melodramatic. This is actually and simply true. And I'm beginning to think that it's because of depression and not the result of a character defect, so it's time for a more aggressive treatment of the former.

So. I have never felt good about myself. Well, that really sucks. And I look of course at Ian. Is this the kind of model--because I am one now--I want him to be around? To be witness to? Yikes.

"I'm just afraid..." I said to the husband a few days ago, in the midst of a crying jag, a rush of emotion and panic with which he has become familiar, "that I'm going to fuck him up."

No wonder I would say such a thing. I am a good mother, a very good, patient, attentive, and compassionate mother, but I would say such a thing because my mother fucked me up. She didn't mean to. I am not angry at her anymore (thank god). She did the best she could--I can't really explain how true this is--she really did. But she was depressed and anxiety ridden for most of her life and is just now getting good treatment. So it's time for me to pursue solutions to this problem--this illness? I have a chronic illness?--much more aggressively and with more focus.

Through all my mother's struggles, though, one thing about her has remained constant. Her support. Even when I didn't deserve it. She is loving and kind to her core. At the gym, when I scoff at myself for getting tired, or lessening the load for the calf press, I like to picture her there, being impressed, that small, pleased smile on her face. At my stupendous 20 lb upper back row, she would say, "That sure seems like a lot of weight to me. You must be really strong, Anna."