The Pain is Exquisite, a blog in three parts

All Kinds of Monsters

Introduction*

Good versus evil. Truth versus lies. Beauty and the Beast. Who's turning on whom? I know you think, “Here she goes. Let the male bashing begin.” No. True, a lot of women who write horror, well let’s just say, the men don’t fare well in revenge stories. But that’s not what this is about. It's not "all men." Most of us like to think there is a sisterhood, a closing of ranks, like minds and visions; but that’s not the truth. True, it is “some men,” but there are also “some women.” Maybe it would be best to say, “some people.”

“India had previously entertained no sympathy for the Southern way of life, with its pervasive friendliness, offhanded viciousness, its overwhelming lassitude.”

-The Elementals by Michael McDowell

I’ll start off by saying, I am from the south. I was raised to be nice, and I’ve been fighting that my whole adult life. As Julia Sugarbaker said in an episode of Designing Women, “We can give a man the dickens, but you’re supposed to be nice to other women.” Or something to that effect. I was raised to see other women as threats, as competition. I’ve tried really hard to raise my own daughters differently. And I fail at this sometimes; however, in order to not judge or condemn or snipe, how do we stand up for ourselves when there are still women out there who see each other as threats, as competition?

I think there is a sisterhood, maybe but there is also a war going on. Words. Women use words as artillery. It’s all sunshine and slapping sugar in public and behind your back, there are “some women,” who will cut you to shreds and verbally annihilate you. It hurts. It makes me angry. Behind your back. THAT’S what I hate the most. It’s not the people who publicly say they are for this or that, speak their beliefs, share their agenda. It’s the phony ones. The liars. The ones who want everyone to like them and think they are nice when in reality, once the mask is removed, you see their cold, black souls.

I will be exploring these ideas in this blog post. What is beautiful? What is vile? What is true? What is false? It’s not one or the other. It’s all. They say monsters are made. But who is the monster?

The Pain is Exquisite

All Kinds of Monsters

Part One

The First Monster: Mother

Good versus evil. Truth versus lies. This piece follows the introduction to what I hope is an inspiring read when it’s all said and done. May it be illuminating for some and comforting for those of us wondering if we are alone. Like I said before, it’s not “all men,” or “all women,” but it’s some of them. And here I’ll be calling some of them out. The women.

I’d like to introduce you to the first of “them.” The mother. Often the first person we see when we are born, the first person to care for us, to raise us, to teach us. And Goddess help you with “some” of the things we are taught. As I get older, I can see my own mother for what she is. Hurt. Damaged. Monsters are made. My mother, like all mothers, was raised and taught by her own mother. My grandmother, who doted on me (I was her favorite,) was in reality more than just a tough cookie. She was mean. She got angry. Words hurled at you like weapons. A narcissist, the star mother, taking center stage. My mother then became the smother mother. I was an extension of her own desires, her own beliefs. Textbook, really. I was programmed and have spent way too much time trying to unravel the mess of the messages I received.

Most of the time, we refer to the matriarchy in a glowing light; however, no man ever told me how to dress or how to act. And on the few occasions when a man did tell me what to do, I acquiesced. I became a victim. THAT came from the mother. Don’t wear short skirts. Don’t wear too much makeup. With beauty comes pain. Cover your arms and wear panty hose to church. Cross your ankles when you sit. If a boy is mean to you, that just means he likes you. And say yes when a boy asks you out. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. What a pile of shit! Boy, would that one bite me in the ass. How many of us are told to say yes to men? It’s no wonder if we are ever assaulted, that we blame ourselves and feel shame. I had very little knowledge of sex even about my own body parts. My mother referred to everything below my waist as “your bottom.” Good luck discovering what an orgasm was. It would be years after losing my virginity that I would finally uncover that secret. Once, she tried to be that open mother, telling me if I ever wanted to get on the pill, to ask her. And when I did, I was met with, “Have you lost your mind!?!” Then, I stopped trusting her. That constant critique, the never measuring up. Failing. Love with conditions. All of this chips away at you. It wouldn’t be until I had children of my own that I realized how crazy it all was.

I was raised to not trust women. They were competitive, malicious, and judgmental. How difficult it would be for me to make friends. Not only because of what my mother taught me about women; but also, since I was an extension of her, I became a pleaser. Her happiness depended on me and that’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid. As I grew up, it just so happened that I became this person in most of my female relationships, so desperate for a friend that I would put up with a lot. I was the glue, as I call it. I would get hurt. Though, when we learn that relenting and giving away our power get us some sort of fucked up love and attention, the pain becomes comforting and familiar. I see this now with my eyes wide open. I won't put up with it anymore.

I think my mother loved me the only way she knew how. She was just repeating the outdated rhetoric. As they say, “She did the best with the tools she had.” Having my own daughters is a learning experience. They are my best teachers. I’m trying really hard to break the chain, have open discussions, offer advice but listen as well. And when I’m wrong, I apologize. No adult EVER apologized to me as a kid. If I had to bear some of this pain in order to spare my girls even a little, it’s worth it. Big women make little women, and we’ve got to stop spreading the lies, let them live, and teach them to be strong. As a mother, I should help build them up, not tear them down. You can pave your own way. Wear what you want to wear. It’s okay to say no to a date. You can have female friends. But that’s a topic for another season and tales of other monsters.

*The Introduction was originally published as part of the summer issue of Pink Shock Coven 2024.

Have you read my book, Wounded? As fiction, it’s an exaggeration of course, stemming from my own personal pain. If the topics of narcissism and breaking ancestral chains interests you, check it out.