“Well, yesterday she said that when people make her feel upset or bad about herself, she’d rather just deal with it herself than make anyone else upset. Even if they’re the ones in the wrong.”
“Ah, yes.” She paused for a moment, taking a few short andshallow breaths before continuing. “We haven’t spoken about this since your father and I first split, but do you remember me saying that he was extremely manipulative?”
“Sure…” I ran a hand through my hair, confused.
“I’ve always struggled with people-pleasing, ever since my parents’ divorce. It was ingrained in me, and I didn’t realize I was doing it until it was too late.
“When your father and I met, I think he knew and exploited it. It started with small things. At first, he’d ask me to cut down my hours at the bar to spend time together. Or, he’d ask me not to waste so much time painting or cooking, things I loved doing. And I listened to him. Because I was so desperate to be loved, I’d do anything to ensure I was.”
I ground my palm into my eyes, hoping to erase the burning building behind them. Hearing my mother talk about herself as unworthy triggered something withinme.
And I feared I knew where she was going with the story.
“I tried to say no to his requests sometimes; I wasn’t a complete pushover at that point. But if I didn’t do it, he’d ignore me or be short with me for hours until I eventually agreed. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I made him happy, so I kept doingit.”
A pause and a quiet slurp sounded through the phone as she sipped.
“Before I knew it, I’d given up everything I loved for those temporary highs of validation. I’d moved away from my family, given up all of my hobbies, and lived in this world of Hollywood where I never felt good enough. I felt underappreciated and disconnected from who I was; I didn’t know what I wanted unless it was to please someone else.
“The stress I felt constantly accommodating people was exhausting. I was burned-out and resentful. I felt guilty for feeling like that, so I would overcompensate, starting the cycle again.”
She’d mentioned some parts of this when we’d decided to leave the United States, but never in so much detail.
“Mom,” I whispered.
“It’s fine, Luca.” Her voice was decisive and assured. “If my diagnosis gave me anything, it was clarity. Time is finite, and I’d wasted so much seeking approval, and for what?” Silence blanketed us while I pondered her thoughts.
“I…” she continued. “I digress.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I had such low self-esteem that I believed no one would love me just for being me. I’d have changed anything about myself to make someone else happy.”
I put my phone on speaker and placed it on the coffee table so that I could rub my hands across my face.
“I understand why you don’t want to trust Matilda.” She exhaled softly. “So many people have so thoroughly broken your trust that it’s no wonder you’re skeptical about everyone’s motivations.”
“Mom, I don’t think she’severbeen honest.”
“She won’t see it as being dishonest because, to her, it’s normal. The lines blur between understanding what you want for yourself and what you want because it will please others.” I thought back to Matilda’s face when I’d accused her of lying. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like all Matilda’s done for the past six weeks is try to get you to like her.”
I froze, unease settling in my stomach. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate Matilda like Dad did with you.”
“You’re not the one who’s made her this way; you’re just experiencing the effects of someone else’s actions and years of repeated behavior.”
Things were starting to slot into place. If what my mom wassaying was true, and all Matilda wanted was to be accepted, I felt like an even bigger asshole.
I’d shouted in her face that she was the complete opposite.
“God, I feel awful,” I admitted out loud.
“Don’t disregard your feelings here either. I disagree with how you went about it, but I understand your frustration. But it’s notlying,Luca. I bet she thought she was just doing you a favor by being accommodating.”
I was too overwhelmed by our conversation to articulate an answer. My mother sensed my guilt and changed the subject to talk about trivial matters.
God, I love this woman so much.
The irony of that wasn’t lost onme.
