Therapy

“I hate my mother” – she said, after a brief moment of silence, waking our buried heads up after what we just heard from deola. “I hate my mother” – she repeated, her pretty face scanning ours wondering if we heard her clearly, her fingers clutching each other, he feet scraping the carpet. I could tell she wanted to leave, but the exhilaration she felt after saying those words was just something she never felt before.

We were silent, it’s customary at group sessions to let everyone speak their truth without interruptions. “she’s lazy and I believe she robbed me of my childhood” – she continued, her voice barely a whisper. She was talking and we were listening to the ultimate taboo.

You are not allowed to hate your mother, Ever! Even if she was bad. Especially if she was bad.
I sat there, holding my breath, listening to the screaming thoughts that stood on everyone’s head, their faces gave them away, they tried to hide what they really felt but I’ve seen too many criminal minds and Lie to me to not catch a micro expression. “can you tell us why” – Aisha our host said. “she has never worked a day in her life, all she knows how to do is want things she can’t afford, want to be in a class you cannot afford. We are fucking poor, accept that and agree that I am growing as much as I can, as fast as I can, stop making stupid outrageous demands that you can’t fucking afford, stop pressuring me to be more than I am. All you do is fucking sit there and list all the things your children should do for you, if it was so easy why haven’t you fucking done it yet?? Why do you have to attend every event even when it’s so obviously clear that you can’t fucking afford it and why do you have to make me get you the money every time. You have absolutely no respect for my struggles or pain, when you care about me, its more about you worrying that your cash cow might die or something might happen to me and that will end your money flow, I don’t think your affection is genuine, all you do is talk about your dreams for me… Like do you even ask me about my dreams for me??…. I hate her, I fucking hate her”

She pauses, takes a deep breath, her eyes running around the room, her hands shaking but hurriedly wiping the tears from her face. “I was wondering how I got this way, actually, deeply thinking” – she pauses again, her hand in a fist, placed on her knee, she needed to steady herself, there was so much pent up anger, Too much. “I was thinking how I got this way and it occurred to me that I might have always been this way but I just didn’t know what it was called, no one told me what happiness really was. Mum has always been sad for as long as I’ve known her, her happiness is tied to how much money she has and how she’s able to afford anything she likes and how “people don’t ever get to know that we are poor and struggling” I was forced to grow up, grow up too quickly, I was taught to tie my self worth to how much I could provide, how much money I was bringing in, nothing else I did was enough as far as I brought in money, how I got it didn’t matter; because how can she not know how I got all that money…. Nooo you were just happy to be able to go to all that stupid parties just to show off that you too were also rich”

Deola cried, a lot! And we all cried along, she got up, angry, walked to the punching bag we had in the corner and a few of us got up with her. “I didn’t enjoy my childhood, because I had to do your fucking job! I had to grow up and take care of the children you bore, I lost my years just so you could pretend to every family and friend that we weren’t poor but we were, we were”
Deola punched the bag, punching and going in circles, “aaaaaaaarrrrrgggggghhhhh” – she screamed… “Ohh we were fucking poor and if we had acted our wage mum, maybe we wouldn’t still be fucking poor as we are now, would we? Maybe all that money I made would have been invested in something good and we wouldn’t still have to struggle huh”
She spoke to the bag and punched it.

“you made me loose myself, I never got to understand my self worth because i felt that I was only useful if i did something for someone, I would go through relationship after relationship with this mindset, (he left because I didn’t do enough) … I didn’t think that I was enough, because even you didn’t make me feel like I was enough. I needed to bring home the bacon before I got any reverence with you so why should I expect anyone to love me exactly the way I am. I don’t even know who I FUCKING AM!!!! aaaaaaaarrrrrgggggghhhhh “

This scream was louder than the previous, I brought out my phone and began typing this, watching every mannerism, every gut she spilled, every table she shook…. I write when I’m stressed or in pain (or in love…).
“I love you just the way you are” – I said, I don’t know why I said it, but i just had to.. It needed to be said. Deola continued-
“I don’t know who I am, I don’t know the power I yield and I do not know how to pat myself on the back because no one ever told me that I did or do well. My sense of self is always connected to something or someone, I can’t be on my own because I didn’t learn how to, when I’m on my own, I am nothing, absolutely nothing. Like for reals guys, To my mother, this is a life position, how do you get out from under your own mother….” – Deola turns, her hand placed on her head, it wasn’t a question, it was a cry for help…. We were quiet… We couldn’t offer the help she needed… She continued – “you know my mum’s always looking at me like – why are you always angry…. No wait ma… Care to take a wild guess? – how about the fact that I am always broke even though I don’t have children of my own but yet I make enough money to care for me and 3 kids. Do you guys know I actually tried to have a baby, like I actually tried to have a kid, just so I could get out of that fucking mess. I’m stressed all the fucking time over shit that doesn’t even concern me, i am so tired, just tired, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want her to suffer but I want her to see that it’s not fucking easy and that I do my freaking best!!… I’m done” – she said and I walked towards her and gave her a hug.

“you were writing about me, right” – she said, I shook my head, yes. “Try and make me look tough ok” – she continues and we both chuckled.
We love you Deola, it was a chant we all said at the end of times like this just to make each other feel good.
But none of us felt good, days like today were emotionally draining… We walked back to our seats, the tension in the air palpable. “We understand how you feel Deola and a bunch of us have experienced this phase, family can be many a times very demanding and most times we are bound by our love for them to naturally gravitate towards wanting to satisfy their every whim. Please understand there is nothing more important than your health, nothing, not even family. I will see you after the group – Aisha our host said… “is there anyone with news to share” – she asked… A few minutes go by, before I spoke: “I had sex…” – I said. “I went 3 weeks this second time before eventually doing it” – I continued, my hand in my mouth, I was biting my nails. “or maybe I should do it at 2weeks this next time so I can break the 3weeks curse” – I said in a bid to be funny, no one laughed.
I know that kills my 1 month plan and I’ll have to start all over again and truly I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I’m not angry or sad, just indifferent. It seems like I am never ever going to be able to pull through…” –
I said and continued. ” I’m writing more now, that is when I find the time, mostly things I can’t post, because people’s don’t have my dark sense of humour” – I smiled, letting out a small laugh… “Ohh we know” – I heard mabel say and the rest of the group laughed. “it’s not that bad” -. I replied and raised my eyebrows

it’s not that bad” -. I replied and raised my eyebrows “ehhh it is o” – Deola said… ” Belle you sent me a story about the way you think I’d most probably die at 11pm at night, who the fuck even looks at people, doesn’t admire their clothes, hair, shoes or bag but instead thinks about the most probable way they’d die…. I stayed awake all through the night because of that crazy story and when I called you, you were laughing, saying things like everyone dies, it’s normal…. I love you babe, but you are cray cray” – she ended her short description by making crazy hand signs around her head…. “OK maybe that was a bit too much but I write, it’s what I do, i write about anything, any thought as they play in my head, what’s so wrong with that” – I responded… Waiting for their chuckling to die down. “I plan to take the whole of June off sex” – I said, my hand still scratching that imaginary spot on my head. “Why not tomorrow” – Aisha asked. “no, I like everything whole” – I said. “Ada, starting tomorrow or next month does not change anything, you do know this is not a permanent ban off sex, it’s just 1 month, 1 month just so you know that you control it, it doesn’t control you” – Aisha responded.

I shook my head… I understand the whole essence of the temporal celibacy. The problem was seeing if I could hold up. “I’m done” – I said “We love you Belle” – They chanted. “well I don’t love any of you bitches” – I responded and we all laughed. We were like a family, collectively we’ve all been through some stuff and it felt good knowing I had them here… Aisha went off on her usual speech about how important it was that we were here and how life is a journey, I wasn’t listening that much, I was busy planning my #NoSexJune until I heard “OK Ladies, we will see in 2 weeks, until then, remember? ….” aisha asked “YOU ARE ENOUGH” – We all chanted like school kids as we grabbed out bags, walking haphazardly to go face the harsh realities of the world.
In here we were safe and no one judged us or called us crazy or dramatic or any other silly names they call people like us.
In here, WE WERE ENOUGH.