Calling It Quits

Since I joined the neighborhood council, my mother has called me less and less. Where before she would call me daily, she is now avoiding me like the plague. Or at least she was, until she got bored and decided it was time to try and feed off my energy. How do I know this? Because at 3am, when I was already asleep, I was awakened by my mother’s ringtone. And when I didn’t answer the first time, the ringer went off again, and again, until I set my phone to vibrate.

The out-of-the-blue calls

Her calls, when she is seeking control, are timed to disrupt my life. To control me. To disrespect me. To test if she can still exert her power over me. To “remind me” that her needs are more important than my own.

This time it was in the middle of the night. In the past, I would have answered the phone. I know this about myself. Even now, a small voice in my head said: “What if it is important? What if this time it truly was an emergency?” Would I feel awful if this were a last call and I avoided the phone? Truth? No. This time, I was like, even if it is in an emergency, what could I possibly do from 1800 miles away? Nothing. What need would there be to call me?

I had to literally work this out in my mind as I lay in bed because I have to work in order to overcome the decades of conditioning and bad habits. So my thought process was thus: Let’s say my brother had some kind of medical episode? Well, logically, if I didn’t wake up at 3:24am to answer her call, would me not answering make things better or worse? Neither. There is no impact that my answering the phone would have on his medical condition. Therefore, interrupting my sleep would only serve one purpose: to satisfy her need to control me. Give in to her manipulation, and cause me actual pain in the form of lost sleep.

Talking myself out of the loop

Then I thought, what if something really was happening to her? Would I want to be the last person she spoke to? Fuck no. Honestly, I’ve been burned so many times by La Llorona that she is not to be trusted. She’s the boy who cried wolf, and Chicken Little rolled into one. And I hate that I entertained answering. I hate that I entertained waking up to pick up the phone just in case. I hate that I had to convince myself to set both of my phones to vibrate because she wouldn’t give up. She is a habitual line stepper.

For decades, she conditioned me to put her and her irrational needs before my own. And for a long time, that is how I operated. I would put myself last; everyone else’s needs would be paramount. My mother, my husband, my kids, my job, my friends, etc. The list was endless. If there was something else that needed me, my attention, and my energy, I would be there with bells on, ready to give it my all to the detriment of my own well-being.

She enjoys interrupting my work, my sleep, my personal time. She’s been doing it to me since I was little. My time, according to her, is not my own. It is hers to command and control. This behavior sickens me. Especially now that I can clearly see the motives behind what she does. I have learned, and remind myself that her calls are never emergencies.

Proof of concept

I am in the recovery stages of this long-term mental illness. But it is a work in progress. As evidenced by last night’s scenario. When I woke up, a little part of me had some doubt. I took the phones off vibrate and prepared myself to meet the day. Eventually, I sent her a message with a screenshot of the missed calls and a question mark.

I knew she would respond. What I expected: To get the message she was so keen to give at 3am. Close the circle. What did I get: “Why didn’t you answer when I called? What were you doing?” Well bitch, I was sleeping. She didn’t actually have anything to tell me. She never did. What she wanted was to have me answer, to prove to herself that she still owns me. Well, get used to disappointment since my life does not revolve around yours.

This is the problem of life with a narcissist mother. Never again is never an option. Boundaries mean nothing, and when she is feeling low, she looks to me to refill her dwindling attention banks. Well, that may have been a thing that happened in the past, but no longer. It has been several months since I woke up to her bullshit and said no more.