I told her. I told her over and over again that if I did something to upset my father, he would take it out on her. She said that it didn’t matter, that she would let me do what I choose. But lo and behold, here I am, being yelled at by mother for my father’s anger for not calling him (he was affected by Hurricane Isaac). I told her that this is what was always going to happen. She just said that she needed to get off the phone because she couldn’t deal with me yelling at her. I wasn’t even remotely yelling at her. So I said that I wasn’t angry with her at all, but that I had told her a long time ago that if I decided to break off from my father that this is what would happen. That he would take out his anger on her. She had insisted over and over again that it was fine, that I could do whatever I wanted. But I knew better. I knew this would happen. I knew she would be angry with me as soon as he started to take it out on her.
But it still upsets me to my very core. I told my therapist last week that I didn’t like who I was becoming. I said that by standing up for myself, I was hurting others. She said that my dilemma goes down to the most basic existential crisis – by going to work last week, I helped a suicidal student, but I may have killed an ant while I was getting to work. It still doesn’t make me feel any better or any less guilty. I’m having trouble not just doing something destructive to rid the world of myself.
I knew this would happen. I just wasn’t as prepared for it as I thought.