Wrong Beliefs- A Mother’s Day Post
Nothing broke me down more than believing the wrong beliefs handed to me by the very people I counted on to teach me and lift me up. The shared, openly communicated disdain in my family was crushing.
“Magda is wrong, bad, broken, crazy, incapable, and unworthy of kindness, consideration, care, belonging, acceptance, protection, connection…” Her sensitivity makes her impossible to love or even listen to. If she would just hide or erase that part of herself, maybe she could one day participate in the family in a way that matters.
Obviously, this is my composite translation—not a direct quote—but I would bet big money these sentiments are still expressed and used to dictate how I am to be treated, handled, or denied by those who want to stay in‑group.
“Little one—at any time, you may trade your voice, your truths, and your needs for a place at our table. Abandon your feelings, desires, and intuition so we can be together… like a family. If you would just do that now, like a good girl.”
These root beliefs—I don’t want them. I reject them completely, along with the people who rely on them to prop up their illusions of identity and rightness. Recovery taught me this: a person’s inability to be kind, honest, loving, or loyal is proof only of their defect—the things they have not yet learned. For decades before recovery and re‑parenting myself, I lacked the knowledge and skills that were never modeled for me.
Growing up in that environment left me broken, desperate, and yes, sometimes cruel and dishonest. Desperation made me behave in ways I’m not proud of. I was defective AF inside that system.
I’m grateful for recovery, which allows me to experience family and love in completely different ways now. I crumble at the thought that I might have parented my sweet boys through those same devastating and untrue convictions. It stops here. I am unlearning and letting go of toxic shame. Amen. F*** that hustle and those lies.
Mother’s Day triggered me deeply—feeling like a failed daughter, a failed human—along with the passing of another niece’s birthday. I’m aware of how sad and angry I felt over the weekend, but awareness alone doesn’t relieve the pain. The work continues, but only for those who can’t forget or pretend.
