Labour (2)

 As the conversations circle: the women saying they are no longer willing to do the 'silent labor' in marriage anymore and the men getting into their feels and lashing out with insults, there are still so many conversations we aren't having. So many layers to the work women do and the complete disdain for it.

Last night in the darkness of my bedroom, I was thinking about my recent estrangement from my siblings and was having a hard time making it all make sense. I had headphones on and had my favorite playlist going, I call it Ladies and it's about 90 minutes of women inspiring, raging, being okay alone. And then the song Labour played (check it out on the post previous to this one) and I cried. Because that's where it began between us all.

My mother was a troubled woman. And she didn't have healthy boundaries so there was a lot of drama with her. She liked having the emotional power to make her kids cry, to make us ask forgiveness. Most likely it was due to her lack of power in everything in her life but it was a fucked up way to raise children. And as adults, my siblings stepped away from her.

I was the only one there when she got sick. I was the only one taking her to appointments, picking her up when she fell. She totaled my car, she went to the ER almost on the daily and finally she went into care and she died. And I was the one who took care of it all.

I had a 4 year old child at the time, a full time job, a mortgage and childcare payments (I had adopted Mollie knowing my mother would provide childcare until she was school age). I was fucked. And both my siblings were fine. They were financially stable, in stable relationships, no children in home. 

I did the labor of caring for my mother. And caring for my child. Then when we moved to Hawaii, I shared the labor with my sister-in-law of caring for her husband, her mother with dementia and even caring for her (when she went through her cancer journey, when she was bedridden from a fall). 

And I finally understood how much work I've been doing all my life. How much my family has used my labor and never shown appreciation. How, when I needed them, they never provided.

I think of the labor of being an abused child. It isn't on the abuser to shoulder the blame and guilt given to the child. In my case, having a pedophile father means that other girls (you know, friends of mine and my sister) were in the sphere of my father's grasp. And yes, I carry the guilt of what he did to those other girls. It isn't mine to carry but there was no one else to take the load.

The labor of a lifetime to carry the emotional burdens of both my parents. To shoulder blame and responsibility for them. To be judged for my struggles and yet not acknowledged for how my struggling benefit my siblings.

My shoulders are so fucking heavy. I feel it in every part of me.