At the End of a Rainbow, There Is Mud

On June 25, 2022, I began to teach my daughter how to protect herself from her government.

On June 26, 2022, I remember, I am a forced birth baby. I was conceived too early for Roe v.  Wade but close enough for it to chafe.

I was not planned.

My mom wanted to go to college, but lost that because of the pregnancy and never forgave me for it.

I mostly don't think about it. Because it doesn't have to define me. And yet, I've found I can't escape it.

My parents were teens and not ready. Some things they did okay. Other things, well, I was called down to the principals' office to talk to CPS about those. Once, I had to have surgery.

My one gift was the ability to see the dysfunction and choose differently. Very early on, I knew I didn't want whatever it was my parents were doing. I broke all the cycles. 

I was so aware, so competent that CPS didn't have to remove me. I'd already handled it. Either put me in foster care, I told my one parent, or let me move in with the other parent. I'm not staying here. I'm out. The other parent wasn't cake, but there was less abuse so I took it as a win.

Once I was eighteen, I never lived at home again. I got out. I moved on.

But my health is crap. In some circles, they would say because of the trauma. But I never thought of my life as trauma holding me back. I always focused on the strength that those difficult experiences gave me. I understood the assignment. My instinct is to leverage what I can control, which is why health and medicine are so annoying...they are very hard to influence.

I did better for myself than my parents ever could and because of that I didn't feel held back. I thought I could fly and not crash.

I have a good marriage. Hard sometimes, but good. We did the work and built beyond anything either of our parents ever had. I have an immediate family who thinks I'm funny and good and worthy. On the whole, when my health isn't fucking me too hard, I have a solid career where I always find a way to stand up for myself and come out ahead. 

I rode the rainbow, bitches. It was fabulous.

And yet, gravity always brings you down.

Gravelly, grave, gravity. 

As my parents age, their issues become more intractable, more vicious, and oddly, it's not as easy to escape their orbit as it was when I was young. Partly because I've been caught by surprise. Partly because they have developed addictions. 

It turns out, in the end, I have been too kind. I thought I had good boundaries, but the thing about aging when you're toxic as fuck is you start spewing even harder.  There are parents who spew dark, foul things to the moon and back. 

And so, all the resentments, all the bitterness, all the things they can't stomach to blame themselves for are projected onto me. I was the great interrupter. The thing that kept them from their dreams. The thing that has left them with less in their golden years.

The thing. Like a horror movie.

And yes, sometimes they say this to me. Not often. But I'm not assuming. I've been told.

To be fair, they also sometimes apologize. But that's a temporary moment of clarity. It never lasts. Their resentments were stewing long before I could fight back, before I could counter them. They're an entrenched default.

Their baggage all stews and brews and then spews at me as my health becomes more and more precarious. I sit here in the middle of a pandemic, knowing I'm going to get covid again and again likely because of them, and there is precious little benefit anymore to having done all that hard work. It did not set me up to deal with my parents in their final form during a pandemic. 

I don't have the health for it, for one. Not anymore. I never thought I would write or say this, but in a pandemic with my health with these people, I'm not sure I can survive them. 

I didn't know this final form even existed, for two. I had some dumbass optimism that they would maybe do the work. That perhaps they could evolve. Maybe, they could slay their demons.

That would be a no. They do not have the neuroplasticity. Maybe other aging parents do, but mine don't.  If anything, their traumas have gotten stronger...insatiable demons feasting on their souls and those of anyone who dares to get too close. 

I'm a dish on the damned buffet and I don't even understand how I got there. I said no. I refused to go. It doesn't matter.

I didn't even know that was a thing. Did you? Did everyone else know aging can magnify all the wrong things? That it's not always graceful or good? Guys, did I miss a memo?

My biggest failing was having too much optimism, I guess. The other, not breaking all contact sooner. And now, I think I'm stuck up to a point. 

All I can do is help my daughter never do that to any other baby, for both her sake and theirs.

I think she understands the assignment. If nothing else, her grandparents have served as a terrible warning. We have had limited contact her whole life, even though one does technically live with us at they moment, but believe it or not, I maintain good distance particularly between her and them. Unfortunately, they've just never been able to be good people for her.

But they think I owe them. That she owes them. 

They are mistaken.

I have tolerated them out of misguided optimism. Given them grace they never fucking earned. I don't know if I can completely unravel my mistake, but I will do my best to fix what I can.

I've inoculated my child as clearly and directly as I can. I've told her to never, ever do anything for my parents or even me for that matter if I ever dare try what's been done to me, or anyone who behaves like my parents have. That she does not owe us or anyone her happiness. That no one gets to speak to her like that or suck up her time and energy like that. 

Ever.

Walk away, I tell her. Run if you have to. Leave me behind and don't look back. 

This legacy of forced birth, of broken people forced into situations they can' t handle, doesn't belong to her. It ends with me. 

And for the first time I understand what Roe v. Wade meant. It meant never having to be me. It meant not having them. 

For all the babies like me to come...walk away. Run if you have to. They were forced to have you, but you don't have to keep them.  Don't make the mistake I did. Burn the fucking bridges to the ground.