Hi R.,
Your letter touched me because I could have written it from the child's point of view. I hate the words lazy and selfish. My mother had labels for all four of her kids and seemed to always think about us by those labels. We were all smart, but my older brother was smartest, I was pretty, but lazy, my sister was plain, a tomboy, and my younger brother frail and cute.
Our mother was the drama queen. Everything was all about her. She acted like we intentionally hurt her when there was an accident, like when my brother broke his arm falling out of the tree in the backyard or my sister cut her knee crawling under the house.
She was pretty awful to me...endlessly repeating over and over what I had done wrong, telling everyone my "transgressions." I felt humiliated and hated my mother and felt guilty because I hated her. Of course, I loved her -- that's why she could hurt me so badly.
I recently read Prisoners of Childhood by Alice Miller. This classic text explained that women who were not treated fairly and respectfully as children pass down their frustration and anger to their kids. I know that my mother was a talented artist, who took drawing lessons and also painted some beautiful crafts. But in those days, the man ruled the home, and for some reason, my dad didn't want her to take lessons. My mother quit her classes, but was unfulfilled through motherhood.
When my mother was in her 50s, she seemed to realize how she had influenced us, and was kinder and nicer to me. We had a good relationship when she passed away at 68.
(Recently, my doctor suggested that I have ADHD -- it helps a lot of know that and explains my energy when I was a kid--and now. I feel compassion for my mother now. I also have restless leg syndrome and take mirapex each night. It works really well and I don't have to get up at all at night. Restless leg is hereditary.)