Triangulation (and junk)

So today is mother's day. Those that know me well know how much I hate this day. While some people see it as a time to honor their rock star mothers, for me, it just serves as a reminder of what a shitty person mine was. I no longer carry any guilt she tried to put off on me and I find solace in knowing that I have a remarkable relationship with my son, which was inspired by my desire to be a greater maternal figure than mine ever was. I suppose I can say that I'm lucky, in being able to transfer my need to be loved to my stepmother, who is undeniably one of the kindest and most incredible human beings to walk this planet. I'm working on getting her to legally adopt me (seriously). Granted, my own mama ain't shit, but my step mother is a true gift from God. I talk to other adults who don't have healthy maternal figures, and I often hope those same people at some point find a healthy mother figure like I did, even if we got close in my 30's.

Anyway, I, like most adults with shitty parents, buried that mess deep. On an average day, I am able to get out of bed, get dressed, go to work and be productive. I give myself credit for that, because many people struggle to even do that much. I should know, it is my job to work with them. 

On occasion, I consider the idea of going to therapy to work all of this out. But I have to be in an emotional space that will allow that. I'm currently going through a few things (that I can't discuss here, unfortunately), so once again, I gotta bury it and move forward. But I think it's starting to bubble to the surface.

Long story short, for the 3rd time in my life, I'm being attacked on some Mean Girls crap. I really hate saying that, because I'm well aware of that old adage of "who's the common denominator?" But the fact is, I genuinely don't do anything. As I've often done here, I own my shit. The good, bad, and ugly, I acknowledge it. I apologize when I'm wrong. On top of that, I want people to tell me when I'm wrong. There have been countless times in my life where people have had to hip me to where I messed up. I'm human. I'll own that. I honestly use criticism to make me stronger. So I'm now in a place where I'm just trying to figure out what it all means.

What makes being on this end so painful is that the same people who you have helped and held down start bringing up everything you've ever done wrong (with no chance to defend yourself, and while you refrain from throwing the same kind of dirt). Suddenly, you're on the outside, looking in, as the same people you once considered peers, treating your name like a doormat. You get it, because no one wants to lose their position within the circle, so those that see how poorly you are being treated only offer their support in private.

Coincidentally, I get along great in actual one on one relationships. I have countless friends and acquaintances. Those that know me independently will attest that I'm kind, loving, fiercely loyal, alla dat. I also find that when there are actual cliques that involve men, this triangulation shit isn't nearly as effective. Men tend to look past all of the gossipy shit, identify the facts, acknowledge that I really haven't done anything wrong, and our friendships maintain, even if the women leave.

Another commonality that I've identified for whenever I'm on the receiving end of this, the queen bee tends to be some miserable bitch. Real stuff. I've been a pretty happy-go-lucky person my whole life. I've always been a hippy. My overall disposition is cheerful. Buddhism only helped that along, as it aided me in ridding myself of unhealthy thoughts. But for the 3 times in my adult life that I've been "here", I can identify exactly who the miserable bitch is. I was discussing this whole thing with my homeboy yesterday. He told me that some years ago, he implemented a "no dick riders" rule. I get it. Two of the women who went the hardest to turn groups of people against me, were women I called best friends. Both of them suffered poor self-esteem, which I often tried to boost with words of encouragement. Both women complained of not getting the male attention that I do, when the fact is that I tried hard to explain to them that having a bunch of random men willing to lie, cheat, and steal all in the effort of bedding you is not all it's cracked up to be. Both women constantly identified things I had that they wished they'd had. Whether it be my hair, men, the fact that people tend to like me, or just the fact that I walk to the beat of my own drum. I thought they admired me. Secretly, they wanted to take away the happiness that they felt I didn't deserve.

The current miserable bitch has openly complained that her children are going down a bad path and she's struggling with them. Meanwhile, my son is one of the most amazing little creatures ever and doesn't give me problems at all. This particular miserable bitch has also demonstrated some racist tendencies (she's white) which only furthers this along. I'm tired, y'all.

So anyway, this morning, while grocery shopping, I was walking by patrons, cheerfully carrying balloons and flowers, once again reminding me that my mama ain't shit. I called Stepmommy this morning, and we both agreed that Mother's Day is shit, so I don't feel obligated to show up with a bunch of shit at her house. Back to what I was saying, as I strolled those aisles, something hit me like a bolt of lightening. No, I didn't have this Mean Girl triangulation shit among my friends when I was a child.

I experienced it in my own fucking family.

I was suddenly transformed to how one of my sisters would be angry with me and suddenly call my mother and/or my other sister to complain about me. Suddenly all three of them were messaging me, calling me all kinds of shitty people. At no point was I ever defended. Now, I've had them occasionally admit to me privately that I've been the odd woman out since I was given birth to, and that I was clearly my mother's least favorite child. But in front of one another, they were like a pack of wild dogs. Picking at any bit of happiness, worth, self-esteem, or hope they could identify.

I guess the good is that I didn't take that realization as bad as I probably would have some years ago. I'm not going to take to my bed for days. I'm not going to stop my overall happiness or productivity. I'm not going to abandon my creative endeavors. I'm not going to call my friends and family crying. I'll deal with this the best way I know how. Which means, I have no fucking clue what to do with this.

Like, is this an energy thing? Is this one of those things where they say that if you don't identify and work through it, you're doomed to repeat it? Am I cursed? Is there something about me that makes it so that I cannot peacefully co-exist within a group of women?

The bad is that today is again, mother's day, which means that most of my most insightful friends are somewhere, shoving flowers up their mama's asses, leaving me to figure this shit out on my own. I really hate this day. I've wanted to attend therapy for a while now. But I haven't been able to. But this might just be the motivation I need. Because I'm tired, y'all.