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Journal Entry 05/01/2025
Mothers Side
Introduction: Context and Core Experience
Summary of Early Dynamics
Growing up, my mother mostly engaged with me in very authoritative ways, enforcing strict rules and delivering harsh punishments for behaviors she deemed bad—such as any form of disrespect, rebelliousness, or poor grades in school. Punishments included being locked in my room for days, being smacked across the face for talking back, spanked with a rubber flipper bare naked, or being assigned extra chores like cleaning the entire house.
Despite all this, I yearned for her love, attention, and presence—especially during the rare times we spent together at the beach, which was our favorite thing to do. But when I reached for her emotionally, I was often met with dismissal or avoidance. She’d say things like, “I’m too tired,” or “I’m busy,” and much of the time, she simply wasn’t available—whether caught up in work, out partying, or focused on her relationships with men.
As a child, I witnessed my mother being physically abused by the men she dated. The relationships were violent and volatile. There were times I stepped between them to protect her while she was being beaten. Fortunately, they never turned that violence toward me. Still, I felt so helpless—even though I tried so hard to stop the harm, I never could.
Amid the chaos, I experienced a profound sense of emotional and physical neglect. When I voiced my feelings about her constantly prioritizing her boyfriends or how I felt about the men themselves, she would invalidate them—insisting that they provided for us or that she was in love and things would change. In her eyes, their money and what they offered in the relationship held more value than my emotions and needs.
I was deeply aware and constantly scanning my environment. But when I spoke up, I was often reprimanded, dismissed, or ignored. Over time, I either silenced myself or told the truth anyway—only to be met with more chaos, disconnection, and emotional instability.
✦ Section 1: Maternal Neglect and Control
Unmet Needs and Emotional Deprivation
When I asked for my needs to be met—or when basic needs arose—I was often met with responses like “I’m broke,” “I can’t,” “You’ll have to wait,” or “I’m not getting that for you because you’re a kid.” Her daily life struggles often took precedence, and my needs were left unattended. This reflected her own limitations and emotional overwhelm at the time.
Whenever my grandmother or aunt gave me something I needed or wanted, it triggered her feelings of inadequacy. She would get upset, not because of what I received, but because it reminded her of what she couldn’t give—stirring guilt, shame, and a deep sense of unworthiness within her.
There were times I had to beg her to take me to school or felt completely abandoned after we moved away from the beach—severing the only friendships and sense of belonging I had. These daily expressions of neglect reinforced the belief that my needs were either too much or didn’t matter. Over time, I became extremely bored and lonely, and started to escape into daydreams. Eventually, I turned to the party scene and began experimenting with drugs—because it was the only place I started to feel at home.
✦ Section 2: Vulnerability as a Liability
This dynamic left me feeling vulnerable in general—and even more so when I tried to speak about how I felt. I was highly attuned as a child and could sense what was happening, especially in the chaotic and violent dynamics with her partners. But expressing my emotions in these moments often deepened the sense of rejection. My feelings were rarely received or validated. Instead, they seemed to trigger more defensiveness or withdrawal, reinforcing my belief that my emotions were too much, inconvenient, or not worth holding.
After years of seeking love, comfort, and acknowledgment—and mostly receiving rejection or reprimands in return—I began to internalize a deep sadness and anger. I rebelled more and more, until one day, after she smacked me across the face, I turned and looked at her and made it clear: if she hit me again, I would hit her back. That moment was pivotal—it marked the day I reclaimed my inner authority. From that point on, I stopped listening to her as an adult because I had lost all respect and trust.
Looking back now, I can see that her overexertion of power was a reflection of her own disempowerment and unprocessed vulnerability—wounds I, in turn, criticized and shamed her for.
It wasn’t just the absence of love that hurt—it was the emotional weight of her life choices, and how they shaped both of us. They created cycles of shame, frustration, and resentment. Over time, our relationship lost its foundation of trust, and we co-created an emotionally unsafe environment where neither of us could express our true feelings.
✦ Section 3: Subconscious Beliefs and Identity Formation
Core Wounds and Internalized Patterns I felt deeply betrayed by my mother—unloved, unworthy, angry, sad, hurt, confused, and ashamed. These experiences created subconscious beliefs that love must be earned through good behavior, and that anything shameful should be denied or hidden to protect one’s identity. Over time, my sense of self became tied to what I could offer, feeding the belief that I held no value unless I was giving something—an identity rooted in martyrdom. These beliefs were intensified by the chaos of witnessing violence in the home—especially the moments when I stepped in to protect my mother from being beaten, even as a child. Feeling her pain as if it were my own, yet being powerless to stop it, created a subconscious blueprint: that love required sacrifice, vigilance, and emotional fusion with another’s suffering.
This began to shape how I measured my worth through external validation—particularly from women—as a way to affirm my value in comparison to men. It instilled a drive to be more, do more, or prove myself to feel deserving of love and recognition.
These experiences also shaped my relationship with power and authority. I became highly rebellious toward authority figures, believing that authority equated to control over others. At the same time, I carried a subconscious envy and resentment toward men. I began to mimic these dynamics in my own life, using coercive or authoritative behaviors to gain power—just as my mother had. When I did hold power, I feared losing it and would subconsciously misuse it to maintain control. This created a cycle: the more powerless I felt, the more I tried to assert control.
This pattern manifested in domineering behaviors, difficulty earning respect, and episodes of rage triggered by any perceived loss of control. These reactions mirrored the unresolved trauma of being forced into a protector role long before I was developmentally capable of holding it. When I couldn't stop the violence as a child, I internalized that helplessness—and later overcompensated through control, dominance, or shutting down. I became power-hungry, driven by a fear of disempowerment, and developed a boundless ambition rooted in that unresolved wound.
✦ How This Relates to the Wounded Masculine
✦ Section 4: Pattern Mapping – Vulnerability as Powerlessness
1. Wounding from Maternal Dynamics
Your early experiences with your mother didn’t make space for safe emotional expression. Vulnerability—crying, needing, asking, being soft—often resulted in punishment, rejection, or being told “not now,” “I’m too tired,” or “that’s too much.”
Imprint:
2. Emotional Equations You Internalized
These beliefs likely led to hyper-independence or control strategies, where your power became defined by how little you needed, how much you could handle, or how much you could dominate instead of yield.
3. How This Plays Out
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