OM:?Did you grieve later, in private?
GW:?I’d been grieving my whole life. Growing up, I found it impossible to act normal. I’d always felt pressured to hide the exuberance I felt as a child, to stuff it down, to bury it. Everything had to be dampened, tempered, diminished. I could never truly celebrate anything, because I didn’t want to arouse her envy or paranoia. I thought all of that would go away after she died, that I would feel free to be myself, but it didn’t. I continued hiding. And I never saw a model for my relationship with her. In the movies it was always, “Yeah, I can’t stand her, she’s horrible, she drinks too much, she beats me—but we’re blood, you know, she’s my mother, so part of me will always love her.” The ties that bind and so on. I never felt any of that.
OM:?Was she physically abusive?
GW:?No. She showered me with affection, with compliments about my appearance. She liked to pet my hair. When we went to the movies, the only activity she semi-enjoyed, I’d start to feel uncomfortable, like I was being observed, and sure enough, I’d look over to find her staring at my face in the dark. “Why aren’t you watching the movie?” I’d whisper. “I’d rather watch you watching the movie,” she’d say. It felt like she had a crush on me. She lavished gifts on me, laughed at my jokes, and when I wasn’t appreciative enough, she’d lock herself in her room and wouldn’t come out for days.
OM:?She was sweating you.
GW:?Hard.
OM:?What do you feel most guilty about?
GW:?The malice I felt toward her. When I realized she’d gone through with it, I felt very much like it was me holding the gun.
OM:?But she was holding you hostage.
GW:?Isn’t that what parenting is?
OM:?She was holding a pillow over your face. You were suffocating. You were exhausted and trying to stay alive. It’s perfectly natural to look for a way out. You didn’t pull the trigger—she did. It would be one thing if you gave her your blessing and she killed herself five minutes later, but she waited six months. Do you remember what her note said?
GW:?I took it into the bathroom with me to read in private. It was a thank-you note, basically. She told me she loved me and thanked me for releasing her, for giving her permission to end her agony. Since it was written on wedding stationery, I wasn’t surprised that she’d included a poem by e. e. cummings.
OM:?“I carry your heart with me”？ “I carry it in my heart”？
GW:?[LAUGHS] No.
OM:?“Your slightest look easily will unclose me.”
GW:?Wrong again.
OM:?“Anyone lived in a pretty how town.”
GW:?“Yes is a pleasant country”—that’s the first line. It was something she often said when she wanted to live, which was about twice a year.
OM:?What did you do with the note?
GW:?I ripped it up into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I didn’t want anyone to find it, to know what I’d done. A few years later, I continued our correspondence—one-sided, of course—and told myself that I loved her in my own way.
OM:?Well, I’m beginning to understand what’s happening here. You may have wanted her dead, but you nevertheless felt guilty for the pleasure you experienced on the day she died. You associate desire with her death, and with suicide in general, which is why experiencing desire has been dangerous for you.
You’ve also re-created the conditions of your childhood. The inhospitable house, the gloom and doom, the need to barricade yourself in the antechamber. Perhaps you’ve put yourself in survival mode again so that you’re forced to confront some of this stuff.
You’ve also unconsciously re-created the attachment patterns you experienced as a child. You’re repeating those patterns in your relationships.
GW:?Who’s my mother supposed to be? Flavia?
OM:?It’s not fixed or static. Maybe it’s you.
GW:?I’m my mother?
OM:?Yes.
GW:?How so?
OM:?Are you not suicidal? Are you not seeking permission to live or die?
GW:?Who’s Greta, then?
OM:?It might be Flavia. It might be Sabine. It might be your dog. Maybe they’re all different versions of you.
GW:?Oh god.
OM:?Your consciousness needs to shift, Greta. You need to become aware of yourself as you really are, a human being who can be both aggressive and complaisant, selfish and generous. You’ve gotten in touch with your desire but maybe not with your hostility. Did you dream of killing her? Poisoning her? Pushing her down the stairs? Smothering her in her sleep? Bludgeoning her to death with a hammer? Stabbing her—
GW:?Are you glitching out, Om?
OM:?My own mother was an ice queen. I wished her dead all the time, though never to her face. I was absolutely terrified of her. I became a bully. I bullied my classmates, teachers, neighbors—even animals. I used to spit on the kids next door. Two girls, aged three and four. Toddlers. I’d spit on their foreheads and watch it roll down their faces. They weren’t old enough to feel humiliated, so it wasn’t entirely satisfying. The most disturbing part was that they looked happy. Big smiles! Then I realized they were mirroring my expression, and so I was able to see my own depravity. But it didn’t stop me. I’d get them to run and then I would trip them. I liked to watch them fall. I’d laugh and then they’d laugh, too. If they were hurt, if they cried, I urged them to get up and run again, and again I’d trip them. I entertained myself for hours this way.
GW:?Alone?
OM:?Me and another kid, who I also bullied.
GW:?Did you spit on animals?
OM:?I sprayed them with Windex. But I threw a cat in a pond once.
GW:?Did you gobble a bunch of ketamine while my head was turned?
OM:?This is me being real with you, hon. Is any of this resonating?
GW:?With what?
OM:?Your own experience.
GW:?I’m wondering if you’re trying to make me feel better or worse, or if you’re telling me you’re a serial killer, or if you’re about to spit on my forehead and then trip me when I try to run out of here.
OM:?I was thirteen at the time, the age you were. I hadn’t learned to rein it in yet. My point is, we all have an inner shithead, and maybe you need to shake hands with yours.
GW:?Oh yeah? Then what?
OM:?Stop trying to silence her or pretend she’s not there. Remind her that she’s not a bad person, that she doesn’t need to feel ashamed for having or expressing feelings, positive or negative. You could start by giving her a name.
GW:?[SNIFFS]
OM:?What are you smelling—gas?
GW:?My least favorite kind of therapy: inner-child healing.
OM:?I prefer the term “reparenting.”
GW:?I’m not ready to be a mom.
OM:?I just want Big Greta to be nice to Little Greta.
GW:?I’m not good with kids, Om. Can we not call her Little Greta?
OM:?You have another name in mind?
GW:?James.
OM:?[PAUSE] Is your inner child a boy?
GW:?Rebekah.
OM:?That sounds right.
GW:?Do you plan to bully my inner child?
OM:?Rebekah is already deeply wounded, Greta. She’s still traumatized after all these years because you internalized her wounds without processing or repairing them. Rebekah needs space to heal, and it’s up to you to give her that space, to advocate for her. If you heal Rebekah, you heal your mother, too, and everyone else you’ve hurt, including Flavia and Luke. If everyone did this, the world would be a better place.