Help! My Son is Alienated!

-       "Mummy, where you there when I was born?“ 

My 4-year old son is standing in front of me, just woken up and rubbing his eyes.

I smile and cuddle him, shuffle his hair and ask if he wants breakfast. I do all this gently, softly, lovingly. Inside my head, through my pierced heart, every neuron, every blood cell is screaming "WHAT?“

I wish I could scream:

 - "Whose belly was it the doctor cut open to find you? Whose skin was stapled back like the seven pages of a contract bonding you and me forever once you were seeing the light?"

I am chocking on acid flooding into my mouth.

 - "Who spent three hours in the reanimation room while "he“, the hated man I did not want to even look at you, was playing "Dad“ and giving you a bath? He knew very well he had nothing to do with your happening into my life, yet, he played a role, he threatened me and the people I loved to cover up his uselessness"

But I gather all my love for him, take him up in my arms and I rock him from side to side:

-       "Yes, Baby, I was there when you were born, I made you. I was there all the time.“

-       "Ah... OK!“

He wiggles to get down and sits at the table, smiling and asking for his bowl of hot chocolate.

As my body automatically follows on auto-pilot, heats up water, pours chocolate powder, starts a toast... my brain is racing. This has been a constant state of mind for me, from the time I have known I was pregnant. On the one hand, I do what everyone "expects“ from me, on the other hand, my mind lives in its own space and time.

A space where I am with my child, where I can be his mother and am "allowed“ to do what other Mums do. A time when his father is with us, smiling and laughing and telling him stories from his culture. I have never been to Africa but he told me about it, and he tells our son about it, when we meet during holidays, when my life gets a window of normality, when I am free to be who I want to be.

But reality hits me in the face constantly, and, in order not to go totally insane, not to bang my head against the walls or worse, whatever worse a mother can do to save her child, I must smile and nod and not forget to show love to my little bundle of joy who is babbling away, telling me about his dreams and aspirations.

I am a mother, who is deprived of all the rights of motherhood as long as the oppressor is awake. Thank God, he sleeps most of the day, but then the circus starts at about 5 PM and goes on restlessly until the wee hours of the morning,  when he finally runs out of reasons to keep me awake, or when I finally slam the bedroom door hard enough that he decides all else will have to wait until tomorrow’s drama unfolds... inevitably.

I am a teacher, who is deprived of any influence on my growing boy. I am an Early Years specialist, I give classes to adults about parenting a young child, and I am denied interacting with my son, I am denied having an influence on any part of his day, what he eats, what he does, when he goes to sleep or how he naps. I teach other parents, but I am not allowed to practice my teachings.

"He“, however, gets all authority. If I refute what he says, he goes to his computer, where the "Internet people“ are so much more clever than me. He surfs and browses forums and I have to sit and listen. He prints out pages and pages so that I can "educate myself.“

I am a modern educator, I do not believe in drilling children, I work on a different pedagogical method with my students. I am in favor of letting children find their way, teaching them by role modeling, encouraging, and inspiring, letting them explore and discover, guiding them.  

At home, however, I see my son sitting on a chair, reciting the alphabet, not by heart, not as a song, but as a drill that he must repeat for about one hour every day. Tears roll down his eyes, he is scared to move, worried to miss one letter. He is staring at the alphabet, two pages of pain that he suffers every evening when he should be in bed.

I try not to discuss in front of my son, but somehow, "he“ always makes sure my baby's around when he starts his "lectures." When I still resist and try to explain my point of view and why I think I am right and I would like to follow my methods, he looks at me, smiling:

-       "Yeah, you can always try, it is not me, you know, but he won’t let you, he is also more clever than you. And you start to look crazy, anyway, look at you! Doesn't she, boy?“

Yes it is true, at this point in the conversation, my eyes are probably watery, my neck is stretched out in a fighting position, my arms are stiff by my side... I indeed must look crazy... and stupid too.

My eyes fall down on my son, sitting beside this man I refuse in our life. I melt down. Oh, how much I love this little boy and how much I want to let him enjoy what I know about babies, their needs and their development! How much I wish to wipe the tears off his sweet face!

The muscles in my arms soften, and my body slumps.

Rage unfurls inside me refusing this life I can’t stand, but on the outside, there is so much love for this son. I will never do anything to hurt him. He can’t understand this now, but one day (I sincerely hope so!) he will know that I did the right thing by not continuing the numerous fights in his presence. I spin around and escape to the bedroom, frustrated, I hear the detested voice:

-       "Yes, and she is gone again, that’s her answer to every problem she creates, what do you think, boy?“

More than his words, the silence that follows tears my heart. My son is growing used to this. I can see he tries not to get involved, he shuts down when he hears the discussions starting.

What am I doing to him? How to get out of this?

I close my eyes and I go back to my own space and time. A space where "he“ is not there, a time when I am a mother who is given the gift of a life with her baby.