Handling My Inner Yosemite Sam

 

Cancer, enmeshment, and caregiving have introduced me to such terms as, “vulnerable adult,” “self-care,” and “Grey Rock.” They are daily parts of my life now.

I can soldier on with the best of them. But, inevitably, there reaches such a point, that I, well… you know the cartoon character, Yosemite Sam?

Yeah, it’s like that.

I devolve into him, maybe with steam escaping my ear holes.

Indeed, Mom and I have an enmeshed, mother-daughter relationship. I truly am astounded I haven’t committed a felony (yet).

Coming from both verbal and emotional abuse from my dad, my mother and I were traumatized, trauma bonded, from the start. 

Within that dynamic, my mother was in denial. “At least he doesn’t hit us” and “He’s a good provider” were her responses when I challenged things as a child.

Mom, to keep life running smoothly, often employed the technique of gaslighting to protect the status quo.

“No, you didn’t see that. No, it’s not that bad.”

And I believed her instead of believing my child’s intuition.

But I saw the hypocrisy. Therefore, my inner Yosemite Sam arose. I was rageful, with no safe place to put it.

By adolescence, I descended into the full-on flareup of my disordered eating issues, via Anorexia and Bulimia.

As much as Mom downplayed my dad’s abuse, she also refused to accept her own dysfunction as well. She was depressed. Of course, she never got help for that depression.

And she further nullified mine. She dismissed and criticized me.

Life moved on. I finally went to some solid therapy at the age of twenty-seven.

My inner Yosemite Sam intensely processed a large amount of the abuse, neglect and rage in the 2006 book I wrote about my experiences. By the time it was published, my dad had died. I was safe from his fury.

But, my mother…

Again, Mom, anti-therapy, never sought help. She couldn’t because she would not access her own dark, painful emotions and experiences. She still operates in denial and shame.

This has continued, in more recent years, with devastating consequences.

As my mother aged, I pleaded for her to take care of herself. Morbidly obese for decades, she was adamant about downplaying her reality.

And that led to her 2009 stroke. Since then, she resides in a care facility.

Of course, mother-daughter enmeshment issues are is still quite evident. I have done my best to be as non-reactive as possible. And I didn’t know it then, but I was already practicing Grey Rock, a technique used within the context of Narcissistic abuse. The goal is to be as boring as possible, just like… a grey rock.

I am her health care agent. Typically, I deal with her needs and issues, speaking with the care facility’s social worker, dietician and nurse case manager. And, typically, Mom mocks me.

Years of this.

I thought I could go on like this indefinitely. Mom’s elderly. I’m her only child. We have precious time left. I love her. I can tough it out.

Not so fast.

For in 2017, I received my Breast cancer diagnosis. But even then, it took a while for me to see things clearly. A year after my diagnosis, I discovered that my sweet, vulnerable adult of a mother was, more than likely, a Covert Narcissist.

That was a fun day.

Because of my abusive childhood and her abusive marriage, my mother had no voice.

And, I believe that, in the middle of those stifling circumstances, Mom made her choice. Her refusal to see how bad it was, her desire to be taken care of, to be viewed as a “nice woman,” and to have affirmation any way she could get it, all led her to be covert about obtaining and executing power and control, via me, the powerless child.

(I know, this is not an objective stance).

But my mother is passive-aggressive. She doesn’t directly voice what she wants. She undermines. She comments. She asks a question, instilling doubt and guilt.

But she does it all sweetly. She’s “nice” about it.

She did this even after my cancer diagnosis. She just couldn’t-or wouldn’t- get that I was preoccupied with treatment and healing, not orbiting around her.

And that’s what she wanted. Me orbiting her until she dies.

Only now, there was a possibility I could die before her.

My attempts to reason with her led to one critical exchange, exposing her victim mentality. She told me that I disappointed her, even though what I was doing was recovering from my cancer experiences.

To her, that was unacceptable.

Something had to change. I had to change.

I had to fight for my life.

Therefore, the “Grey Rock” technique would hold my psyche together and keep Yosemite Sam at bay. It’s not a perfect method, but it helps me, nonetheless.

I needed some go-to phrases in response to her. Staples like...

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

This remark plainly communicates I have heard and am responding, but she is not getting any further past the protective barrier.

Boundaries. “Do not cross.”

Sometimes, she insists on mocking me. Sometimes, she is quiet. In any case, I am resolute. I’m taking care of myself. Simple.

“That’s interesting.”

I use this response whenever Mom insists that I make lifestyle choices that would move me geographically closer to her. Perhaps, now, she posits that because of “the cancer,” the only logical option for me is to move into her care facility, residing right next door.

Or better yet, bunk beds in her room! My husband could assemble a cot nearby for himself, I guess.

So, “That’s interesting.” I give no other spirited Yosemite Sam feedback. Now, I do my best to “observe, not absorb” what is being said to me. Her comments are faulty, anyway.

“I’m hanging in there.”

I say this whenever she asks me how I am doing.

At first, she didn’t know what to say to that. Sometimes, she comes back with the question, “What does that mean?” and I retort with, “Just that, Mom. I’m hanging in there.” Sometimes, she laughs at me.

It probably frustrates her, sure. But that’s because she’s not getting “the intel” she desires: the attention/sympathy from her care facility, which she can use against me later.

Early in my diagnosis, I did try to inform her, with as little gore and fear as possible. She just didn’t want to hear anything other than “I’m back to normal and I’ll soon be focusing on you again.”

But energy is finite now; I need to be mercenary, even with this seemingly, sweet, meek, old woman. Mom’s still “covert.” Sneaky. Agenda-filled.

She has not- and will not- change. Therefore, I need to.

It’s surface chit-chat, a surface relationship. I grieve and resign myself to that. Sometimes, we don’t get what we need from the important loved ones in our lives.

But I am worth being in a healing, peaceful place. Change concerning Mom is helping get me there. I’m still her caregiver, but I do things concerning her more at a distance. I employ the speaker phone concerning her care conferences. I see her, but now, it’s less frequently.  I tend to her needs as best as I can…mostly, from afar. And that must be enough.

I love my mother. But needs and relationships must change. I’m aware of that now.

Do you see yourself here?

Are you a diagnosed caregiver, embattled with a vulnerable adult who is toxic to your condition?

There’s so much emphasis on the designated “vulnerable” person. We, as caregivers, can often get lost in the shuffle. It’s just assumed that we’ll be bulletproof indefinitely. Don’t worry about us. We can take it.

Only, sometimes, we can’t take it.

Sometimes, we are the adults that need to choose self over duty. And that is what caregiving is, isn’t it?

Loving, mixed emotion, challenging duty, but duty, all the same.

Dysfunction, abuse, codependency, aging and any myriad of health or personal issues don’t resolve themselves, by themselves. All of this requires our action. Yosemite Sam can be our alarm, alerting us to danger, informing us of our need to change. But WE must make that change.

It’s not selfish; it’s self-care.

It can be a matter of life and death. And you and I, no matter what, deserve life.

Therefore, care-give yourself!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse