Boundaries shape one’s identity.
When you don’t respect my boundaries, you don’t allow for the growth of my identity.
When you manipulate my voice, you silence what I have to say until it matches what you want to hear.
You never let me become me because you are always too wrapped up in you becoming you.
In the process, I was lost.
“Well look what I had to work with? I was young. I didn’t know any better. I did the best I could with what I had.”
Always justifying your poor behavior and expecting me to do the same for you.
And for a long time, I did just that.
But when does the victim mentality end? We are all victims of someone. It’s a vicious circle really.
The reality is, you didn’t see any problem with your behavior. And that’s what hurts.
The real me was unloved and uncared for by you, unless, of course, it served your purpose.
You never respect my boundaries. You just want my identity to mirror yours or a justification for why it doesn’t.
Love is always conditional with you. If I don’t do or act the way you want, you don’t care enough to love the real me.
Not really.
A mother’s love is supposed to be unconditional, remember?
And when I tried to assert myself or speak up for myself, well, that’s when things turned really ugly.
I was the asshole. I was the manipulative bitch. I was the cunt. I was 12.
By not allowing me to have my own boundaries, you raised a person who has never known her true self.
Never truly proud of what makes her… uniquely me. Ashamed I was not worthy of a mother’s love.
No boundaries in our relationship meant I could never develop an identity outside of you.
I was the mini-me of you. And in the end, that’s all that really mattered to you.