What a roller coaster of emotions I felt in the last few days. I finally bit the bullet and persisted in my attempt to find out what happened and talk through it honestly. It was a struggle. It seemed like she resisted a little, and so did fate. But I desperately just wanted to take control of my anxiety and get that shit over and done with.

I felt loved and mothered after the fact. But not before feeling rejected because the call kept being postponed due to her hospital appointments and her job and my damaged psyche thought she was deliberately hurting me.

I was clear in my intentions, truthful and composed. I refuse to go back to our old dynamic of injured child saying to her mother, please just take this pain away from me I can't bear it. I made sure to make her aware of that.
And in return I received sincere concern, frank reasoning for why she detached, a little scolding. A lot of validation of my feelings and the progress I have made in therapy.

But she wants me to toughen up, try harder and do this faster. Because whilst I'm figuring this shit out, my body is deteriorating.

She told me that someone (ie therapist, maybe husband) is definitely tip-toeing around the issue. Even though we both know therapist and he is doing his job to a tee. Her reason being, why am (still) I the weight that I am, at this point in my intervention? Why did I look even smaller on video chat earlier, compared to the photo she saw from a few weeks ago? She said if I was her parent, whose advice bears any weight (she may as well be, and it absolutely does), then she would tell me not to expect the same kind of treatment that was afforded to me by those professionals, when I was still younger and much more fragile.

I'm in my freakin 30s now. It is a massive fear of hers that I will be in my 40s, my daughter will be a teenager and this eating problem recurs. Even in a couple of years, eldest will be seven and more emotionally adept and will get these vibrations from me. She does not want my relationship with my mother, to repeat with my daughter.

I felt slightly mournful about a few things after our talk too. It marked an end to a version of our relationship. I had what felt like unlimited access to her comforting words but that was unsustainable. She became exhausted, I became dependent and unable to recover.

It also troubled me that she seemed to now face a new, unexpected challenge - facing her own mortality. In our previous conversations she would occasionally mention looking forward to being a grandmother and I shared that excitement. Now it seems to her that she may not have that long. I want to jokingly tell her son, hurry up! The way big sisters do to their little brothers.

I am grateful that she adopted me as her surrogate daughter all those years ago when I was younger, lost and unable to trust. She said she loves me like her own child. That meant a lot to me. That is the reason she is so frustrated and feels so helpless. Because I no longer live with them and she not only cannot physically do anything, she has nowhere to go with the information I bring her. So her role is, just to be there, to just be as she is.

I feel much more motivated to do well in therapy. I do not want to disappoint her when we next catch up. I owe it to her to be strong. I want her to be alive when I tell her I have recovered. I want to have conversations with her that are joyous, to celebrate life, take hikes, I want to see those grandkids, I want to be an aunt to those children!

I can't wait to see her son come back next month. I'm happy he is getting assigned here where we are. Hopefully it will be in the same office as my husband or close by because that kid (HAH! I am only 3 or 4 years older) is like a little brother to me. Those times in the kitchen where we would make stacks of pink pancakes, or when he would play guitar and I'd sing in the living room.

It is 5 am and need to go back to sleep, that is probably why I have digressed, but fucking hell, that was a lifetime ago. We had fun.

2021-11-19.5:45 a.m.
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