AMBIVALENT EXISTENCE
This is a fictional article based on some reality.
My mother did not want to get pregnant. She thought she was too old and that it would be frowned upon in the society she lived in. She got pregnant with me and continued to not want me, dying of shame from her late pregnancy and, consequently, from me.
She couldn’t proudly show me off to the world, as mothers who want their children do. For months, she hid me, tying herself with cloths and pressing her belly inwards. I can say it was torture: I had to fight to get away from the tightness and secure some space to survive, but I didn’t give up, despite the intense rejection.
The obvious question would be: why didn’t she abort me? Her most direct answer would be: ‘God doesn’t allow it.’ Or rather, the Catholic religion doesn’t allow it. She, who followed the commandments of the church to the letter, did not abort me, but kept me hidden as long as possible. The paradox is that I was ‘saved’ by the Catholic religion — although I don’t know if I am truly saved, since my birth became a punishment for years, marked by rejection and subjugation to her desires and ideals for life.
It was hard, folks, you can imagine. First, life in the womb, already threatening and cramped. The birth, which should have been a hope of welcome, was complex, fraught with fear and resentment. Soon, it became an idealised project: I would be educated to devote my life to caring for my parents, who, at the same time, rejected me.
Ambivalence — that Freudian concept that describes the coexistence of opposing feelings, such as love and hate, towards the same object — has haunted me forever. First, the lack of desire for my existence; then, the fact that I was a ‘desire’ imposed by religion, and not something genuine from my mother — and, consequently, from my father, who was submissive to her.
This ambivalence marked not only my pregnancy, but my entire education, from high school to university and beyond. It took me a long time to learn how to deal with it. I don’t even know if I’ve really learned, because even today, making decisions, whether for or against something, has always been — and still is — difficult.
Freud would say that ambivalence is a conflict of drives, an internal war between Eros and Thanatos. In my case, it translated into a need to be loved by those who rejected me, a bond that kept me trapped between the desire to exist and the guilt of existing.
Ambivalence ended up spilling over into my life. I had several girlfriends and ended up marrying someone who was most like my mother: someone who kept me in a place of contradiction. She said she loved me, but she mistreated me; she wanted me, but only on her terms.
My home life became increasingly difficult. On the other hand, at work, when I took on what I really wanted to do — my ideal, not hers — I achieved exponential growth. It was one success after another, until my work became my reason for living. Without it, I would die — or perhaps commit suicide. I reached the peak of my career and remained there for years.
When my workload decreased and I had more time at home, life became complicated. The first few months were deeply depressing, especially because I couldn’t find any comfort in my home life to calm me down.
As my ‘affection’ had been at work for years, I unlearned — or perhaps never learned — how to give and receive affection at home. Maturity, which should have been a more peaceful period, turned into a pit of anguish.
With psychotherapy, I gradually became aware of this. I learned (or am trying to learn) to deal with loneliness, which I never wanted but seemed inevitable. I fulfilled my role as a carer: I took care of my parents until they died, giving them everything they needed.
But I never took care of myself as I should have…
but there’s still time!