when your mother is crazy Archives

When Your Mother is Crazy, What Do You Do?

Without fail, each month one of my site’s top search phrases is “when your mother is crazy,” or “how to deal with a crazy mom,” or something similar. (Even more popular is “does strawberry flavor come from beaver butt,” but that’s a whole other story.) It seems like there are a lot of people struggling in their relationship with a mother who has a mental illness, just like I did at one time. I’m writing this post (and stuffing it full of love) for them. For you.

A few things about this topic that I know to be true:

First and foremost: You are not alone.
Your mom may not realize she has a mental illness or is behaving irrationally
It’s difficult to get a person with a mental illness diagnosed. In most states and provinces, they don’t have to get checked out unless they’re deemed a physical threat to themselves or others, and getting to that stage usually requires police intervention.
Whether your mom gets diagnosed or not, it’s a good idea for you to find a professional to talk to. Start with a family doctor or school counselor. You don’t have to share everything that’s going on if you don’t want to, just that you need a referral for a counselor. If you’re worried about money, look for a resource that is free or low cost. The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) is a good group for support resources, and they have local chapters, too. Some organizations can offer referrals for low-fee therapy, like NW Alliance for Psychoanalytic Study and Seattle Psychoanalytic Society and Institute.
You may never get an answer to “what’s wrong with my mom?” and it’s not always black and white anyway. So, that leaves an open question hanging in the air, but it doesn’t have to stop you from living your life and planning your future.
Your mother is doing the best that she can, given her circumstances.
Even with a mental illness, your mother is an adult, and is responsible for herself. You’re not responsible for her or her actions.
Don’t let the stigma of mental illness prevent you from getting help. Also, it’s not uncommon for a child of a mentally ill parent to experience a mental illness. For example, I suffered from depression; it started when I still lived with my mother (who has psychosis). I’ve had years of therapy. Besides helping me heal from the illness, it helped me grow as a person in a zillion different ways. I consider therapy an investment in yourself.
You deserve self-care. If you have a bad day at home with your mom, take care of yourself. Go for a run. Make a painting. Watch a movie. Hug your pet.
Your mother loves you, so hold on to that. It may seem the farthest thing from the truth sometimes—or a lot of the time. But her love for you is there, deep in her heart, hidden by “the crazy.” This I know for sure.

Here’s a list of additional resources I created a few years ago, so, possibly a bit outdated, but hopefully still helpful. And for a more narrative perspective on growing up with a mentally ill mother, this essay by Jeri Walker is a gem. ♥

Photos courtesy of Unsplash

The Third Act Is My Second Chance

By Laura Zera 36 Comments

In screenwriting, the three-act structure can be broken down as exposition, rising action and resolution. In my relationship with my mother, the third act of “resolution” began in 2009, and followed the lengthy and excruciating first and second acts of “raised by crazy mom” and “estranged from crazy mom.”

The thing about our third act is that for many years, I had no idea if it would ever come. My mother could have passed away before I saw her again (and that dreadful scenario was ever-present in my imagination). We needed a transition between the second and third acts, which, mercifully, was facilitated by a social worker. Once the third act started, I didn’t know how long it would last, and still don’t, but now count every year as a bonus. And given the volatility of our first act, the nature of this final one is, well, quite bizarre.

When my mother was crazy with undiagnosed psychosis, it was difficult to be anywhere near her. She was often in a rage, and when she wasn’t, my sister and I would be waiting on tenterhooks for the next rage to start. My sister left home at age 17 and I was out by 15 (and lived with my sister, a benefit of being the younger sibling). As I turned into a late-years teenager and then young adult, my mother behaved toward me the same way she had always interacted with the “outside world,” her rage replaced by a carefully controlled mask. It was fragile and fake, and, in the moments when cracks appeared and her behavior faltered, completely unnerving.

I tried to keep up a relationship – who doesn’t want a mother? – but the anxiety that came from dancing with the devil (or “dancing with the crazy person who is acting sane”) impacted my own mental health so much that eventually I had to sever all ties. I hid from her. She didn’t know my phone number. She didn’t know my address. She didn’t know that I got married. From my end, I knew where she was at all times, but was painfully aware that there was nothing within the law that I could do to help her.

After all of that, Act Three opened with my mother’s diagnosis of dementia. It was already quite advanced when an aunt took Mum to the hospital. She stayed there for three months before going to a nursing home, and that is where my sister and I met her again for the first time in 17 years.

Most people don’t count dementia as a blessing, but my sister and I do. My mother is no longer paranoid, suspicious of everything that moves. She has no anger left. Her delusions are gone. So is her memory and her verbal recall, but she doesn’t miss them anyway. In a magic twist of fate, she is the happiest, most cheerful and easygoing resident in her nursing home ward. And because of this, I have my mother back in my life. She doesn’t know who I am, but boy, do we ever enjoy each other’s company.

Mum turned 80 last Friday. To celebrate, I joined my sister, her ex-husband and their two sons, and we all took Mum for lunch and a walk in the park. We visited the petting zoo, where Mum was greatly amused by the children and I was greatly amused by the goats. We ate strawberries at a picnic table, and hamburgers and French fries at a restaurant. Mum chattered and sang and laughed. My brother-in-law, who hadn’t been near her for decades, was a bit freaked out. He said, “It’s almost like she’s faking it. You know, the last time I saw her, she tried to kick me in the balls.”

“Nope,” I said. “This is real. This is her.”

Our third act has been playing without intermission for six years now. Mum is physically healthy, and her dementia has leveled off quite remarkably, with no major changes in her symptoms for the last few years. I visit her whenever I can (she is in B.C., I am in Seattle) and just keep adding scene after scene to the screenplay that is our lives, filling those long-empty pages and feeling blessed that we never seem any closer to having to write an ending.

Year-end Fun: Updates on Past Posts – Travel & More

By Laura Zera 16 Comments

I’m going to put a slight twist on the “year in review” concept and instead give some updates and add-ons to previous posts that have appeared on my blog.

First, an update on the Heladería Coromoto ice cream shop in Mérida, Venezuela. I first called out this shop in the post Ten Whackadoo Travel Facts, highlighting its Viagra ice cream. Just a couple of days ago, I read that it has shut down until at least mid-January due to a milk shortage. Now the question is: do we blame the socialists or the cows?

I’ve spent a pretty good amount of time talking about edible things from animals’ bums on this blog – Say, Did That Strawberry Flavor Come From Beaver Butt? and My Cup of Wild Civet Coffee are two such occasions. Now my good pal Jo-Anne Teal (seriously good flash fiction author over at Going For Coffee) has brought it to my attention that elephants are now being touted as the next coffee-bean-pooping rock stars. So basically, any animal who shits out a bean is now a market commodity.

One of my favorite stories on this blog was the post Trinidad and Old Friends, which told of a 74-year-old gentleman that I met on a bus in Port of Spain. There was just something about him and his story that stuck with me, and despite asking the bus driver of that particular route to look out for him, and passing notes through the marketing manager for the bus line, sadly, I was never able to locate the dapper gentleman again. So, the mystery of his friend in New Westminster, B.C. remains unsolved.

I also lost touch with the fellow I wrote about in my post Let Me Give You a Quarter for the Shoes. He no longer occupies the corner by the KFC, nor any other nearby intersection, so has probably moved on to another city. There have been plenty of others filling those spots around town, however, as the number for people living in poverty in Washington state has topped 14 percent. Add a severe mental illness into that equation and the odds are stacked against you.

Now to the friends I can still find! I’ve had a number of great people come and guest blog for me over the last three years. Where are they now? Well, here are some updates on a few of them.

Author and blog coach Molly Greene visited in May 2012. At the time, she’d just released her first book; now Molly has five books out and is about to release the sixth. This woman works hard!

There was also Kendall Hunter, my old chum from when we lived in South Africa, and both author and photographer. Kendall was working on a book about female photojournalists around the world. From what she’s told me, it’s morphing quite a lot – oh, how books change shape, hey? In the meantime, she’s creating a really cool website and mobile app called CultureDock, where young people can find and post information about cross-cultural information and experiences.

Then there was Jeri Walker-Bickett, who contributed a moving essay that continues to be one of the most popular on my site. She was writing her novel then, and still is – oh, how books can take a long time to birth, hey? She’s got a couple of short travel memoirs out, set in Yosemite National Park, and has built a solid freelance editing business. If you have a manuscript (or other) in need of some love, drop Jeri a line.

Next, author Nadine Christian (of the Fletcher Christians) came to hang out, and shared all about life on the remote and remarkable Pitcairn Island. Nadine has since staged her own mutiny – okay, maybe that’s a bit extreme – and moved to New Zealand earlier this year. Her Twitter feed photos of her five kids experiencing life in a big city for the first time is a riot.

Chickybus’s Lisa Egle spun through my site about a year ago to talk about one of our favorite things: female solo travel. In 2014, Lisa spent time in Colombia and has put up some fantastic photos and posts about her visit. If that’s a country that interests you, you’ll find more here.

In the travel post Vacation Clothing Essentials, I shared my love for merino wool in all temperatures, freezing cold and blazing hot. An add-on for any of you who are bothered by the itchy factor (which is usually minimal already in a good merino piece): I/O Merino has gathered a bunch of sheep and conditioned the hell out of their sheepy hair – bottle after bottle of Pantene – and as a result, their clothes are beyond soft. I road-tested a t-shirt that was sent to me right before my recent SE Asia trip, and man, it was like wearing jammies. P.S. They’re having a HUGE end-of-year sale right now. HUGE.

It might be stupid to give away intel on my finds of amazing and relatively deserted spots around the globe, but that’s just what I did with Gilligan’s Island in Belize. I’m sad to report that Tobacco Caye has now been approved for a supermall, and construction is due to start in 2015. Noooooo, that’s not true. Actually, it has been completely submerged by rising water levels, a fatality of global warming. Nooooo, that’s not true either. It’s in fine shape, and I’d still advise that if you’re going to Belize and don’t like the vibe of Ambergris Caye (where most people go), head a little further south and you will be richly rewarded.

Finally, it was back in 2011 when I first published a post called Love in the Time of Saran Wrap, all about how the only thing that survived my long-term relationship with a guy named Hank was a 2500-foot roll of plastic wrap. At the time of writing, that roll was 15 years old. A year later, my husband Francis emphatically stated that he wanted to start his own roll of plastic wrap with me, and gifted me with 2000 feet for Christmas. It took until August of 2014 for the christening of that one, meaning that the old Hank roll lived to be nearly 18 years. Respectable for any relationship, I’d say, but my instinct tells me that the new roll will go further.

Stay tuned for another spin of this format in a couple of weeks, where I’ll do updates that are focused on mental health news follow-ups.

Thank you for being here, and I wish you a divine and prosperous 2015, in the way that’s most meaningful to you.

Photo of Asian elephant: By Yathin S Krishnappa (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

When Someone You Love Has an Untreated Mental Illness

By Laura Zera 52 Comments

“Are they a threat to themselves or others?”

It’s the question you will be asked if you are trying to get help (through involuntary commitment) for a loved one with a mental illness. And in many states, provinces and countries around the world, it’s your answer to that question that will determine whether help will be forthcoming or not.

For a person’s illness to progress to the stage of potentially harming themselves or others is very serious and obviously not desirable, yet the flip side of that coin is that if someone hasn’t reached that stage, and won’t voluntarily accept treatment, there is little a family member can do. It can be an excruciatingly difficult and heart-wrenching position to be in, as I learned some years ago.Continue Reading

A Phone Call to an Old Friend (of My Mom) – Part Two

By Laura Zera 20 Comments

Back in August, I published a post about a very special phone call. When cleaning out the condo of my schizophrenia- and dementia-addled Mum last summer, I found a letter from her old friend, Bunty. The letter was from 2001; the two of them met in 1953 at nursing school (psychiatric nursing, to be exact.)

I called Bunty in August to let her know that Mum had gone into a care home and had little memory of anything or anyone. What transpired was a warm conversation with a delightful and caring woman and I hung up the phone feeling exponentially better than I did before the call—better about my mum’s health, better because I knew more about her younger years, and better because I felt like I might have made a new friend of my own, the friendship even more meaningful given her connection to my mum.Continue Reading

A Phone Call to an Old Friend (of My Mom)

By Laura Zera 7 Comments

It has been two years since my mom, Ellen, went into a care home, addled by dementia on top of her 50-year affliction with paranoid schizophrenia. I am happy to report that she is doing amazingly well. Her memory is gone, but her spirit is strong and she can be damn funny at times. Now that she is under a doctor’s care and is taking an anti-psychotic medication, she is thriving, considering the circumstances. Last month, she had her 76^th birthday.

It has also been two years since a benevolent social worker gracefully reunited me and my sister with our mom, after a 17-year estrangement. Giving up on having a mom in their life is not something that any child would wish for themselves, I don’t think. I certainly did not. I am so grateful that I have her back, even though she doesn’t remember who I am. I work around that, though, and sometimes I am tempted to tell her that I married Wayne Gretzky, as that is what she wished for me when I was twelve.Continue Reading