Page 155 of Breathe Again

“No, your abusive behavior would make you a poor companion for her.”

Bea lost what composure she had left and shrieked into the phone, “My abusive behavior? You all are the ones who are abusive! I spoke to my doctor, and she told me I was suffering from elder abuse! I had to go to the hospital to check my heart and you treated me like a chore!” She ended her tirade bitterly. “You wouldn’t even stop to let me have a coffee.”

Zale spoke low in my ear, “Hang up, baby, or I’m taking the phone.”

“Think about your options, Mom. If you are considerate and polite we can have contact. If you’re not, we won't.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, that you can take that tone with me, try to take my granddaughter away from me! You’re just as selfish and self-centered as your sister.”

I gently closed the phone. Looked at it for a moment, confused, and turned to Zale. “Did we get a new phone?”

He chuckled but his face was tight with concern. “Your mother called when you were in the hospital. The phone didn’t survive it.”

I smiled. “She has that effect.”

He smiled for a half second more, then got serious. He cradled my hands in his. “You’ve shaking.”

“That’s okay,” I dismissed it. “That happens to me sometimes when I get upset. I did well. I took responsibility for my own mental health, and I did a great job self-advocating.”

I was pumped. I had stuck up for myself to my mother without the usual accompaniment of crushing guilt.

He pulled me across his lap, held me chest to chest, his long arms wrapping me up tight.

“You were shaking so hard. You’re still shaking, Mara, which can’t be good. I don’t want you getting that upset. Nothing is worth you getting so upset. But, you were incredible, kept your cool, stated your intentions, and then stuck to them. I’m proud of you.”

I tucked my nose into his neck, breathed him in. “Thank you.”

For the first time in my life, I recognized my need, and I filled it, without needing approval or permission from someone else. I had support, I knew that Zale and Bex and Willa wanted this for me, but I protected myself this time. I felt a ballooning in my chest. Much later that night I identified it.

It was pride. And, perhaps, the beginnings of self-esteem.

I wish I could say that once I’d made the decision and stated my intentions that I didn’t struggle, but the truth is always more complicated. I was proud of myself for setting appropriate boundaries, but my mind and body were determined to follow the ingrained patterns, and resisting those was like not scratching a miserable, unrelenting itch beneath my skin. My thoughts, as always, bent toward worry over my mom’s emotional wellbeing. I worried about her being sad and alone instead of angry. When these thoughts became overwhelming, I had only to look at Olivia, and think back to my breakdown, to be reminded of the importance of freeing myself from the unhealthy cycle of abuse.

After the phone call, we went inside. I retreated to our bedroom to regroup and went on Willa’s Instagram account, @the_art_ of _narcissism. Her cartoon people made me laugh. They weren’t her best work, but somehow the rough drawings captured the fractured quality of their relationship. I could see her relationship with our mother laid out in all its acrimony.

It made me sad for Willa, especially those that I recognized from her teenage years. How she kept her sweet, sunny ways is a mystery. Her strength made me proud. I would be strong for Willa, too, and work harder to validate her experience with our mother.

As obvious as her narcissism seemed, I still struggled with disbelief, even when slapped in the face with the reality of her behaviors, I still found it hard to accept. I learned that the pattern of abuse followed by love-bombing is particularly addictive, and creates a trauma bond, which is not easily broken.

I called Willa to give her the update on my phone call, and she assured me she’d help me learn to respond to her in a way that would not feed into her drama as easily. Maybe she’d stop seeing me as a target. Maybe she’d push me too far and I’d cut her off. Maybe I would overcome the compunction to be responsible for her happiness. For now, this was what I could handle without causing undue stress for myself.

After processing the phone call with Willa, I felt more grounded and ready for the day, just as Zale came in and sat on the edge of the bed beside me, smiling.

“I have a great idea. Let’s take Livvy to the beach this afternoon.”

It was unseasonably hot, mid-summer hot, and Zale wanted to take Livvy to the community beach. She loved it there. I loved it there. What I didn’t love was the idea of going to the beach with Zale, because being the first hot day, there were bound to be lots of women there. Women in swimsuits. Women with much nicerbodies than mine. I worried, as usual, that he would prefer what he would see, and be disappointed to be stuck with me, or worse, fantasize about having someone else.

I twisted my hands together in my lap.

“I can’t, Zee.”

I didn’t want to ruin the fun, but I’d already had a stressful morning and felt unbalanced because we hadn’t made love since Thursday. Even though I had wanted to, I did not initiate. I was no longer willing to risk being rebuffed. Instead, I sat on the edge of my proverbial seat, waiting for him to reach for me.

“I don’t understand.” He looked at me, disappointed and confused. “You love the beach. I thought it would be good for you to relax, lie back and read your book while I play with Olivia.”

His confusion brought home to me just how differently we thought about things, and that the things that were a concern for me did not even cross his mind.

“I do love the beach.” If we were going to communicate openly with each other, I needed to start. “Sitting with a book while watching you play with Livvy sounds heavenly. Going to the beach, with you, with many other women there, knowing you’re seeing them, my mind is going to go to places that are dark and painful for me. Emotionally I’m reeling a bit after the phone call with my mother. I’m sorry. It’s not fair.”

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