21-Day Detox …
… and Mother Hunger
Theme: The Broken
The Detox: dementia has removed my need for a 21-day detox from my mother.
The new dementia routine: I love pleasing Milly because it makes her feel safe and happy in her very simple, demand-free life.
The Shift? I finally learned how to be her daughter, and that is exactly what she needs right now.
21-Day Detox
Milly’s Daily Mail provides further inspiration. This headline stopped me:
“Why you need a 21-day detox from your mother … especially if she was a working Mum who put you in nursery.”
And then: “Five Signs You’ve Got Mother Hunger.”
Her number flashes up on my phone and my heart sinks.
I have an argument and eat a packet of biscuits.
My best efforts to please her don’t seem to work. Instead, she criticises me.
I feel tired and resentful as I prepare gifts, tidy up or prepare food for her.
I ache for her so deeply that I struggle to connect with family, friends or my own children.
Uncomfortably, I recognised myself in all five.
I initially thought this might inspire another tongue-in-cheek blog, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised there was a point. Gosh, I might have to admit to Milly that there was an interesting discussion in her comic?!
Mother Hunger
My relationship with Milly was complicated - as are so many relationships, so nothing particularly new there except I am now her full-time carer. There was love and hurt, gratitude and resentment, loyalty and anger.
Until dementia entered our lives, I still wanted her approval, reacted to her criticism and felt responsible for how she felt. I could be pulled straight back into the old dynamic despite being a grown woman with a career, children and a life of my own.
Perhaps the “21-day detox” isn't really about escaping your mother. Maybe it's about cutting the apron strings. Becoming sufficiently separate that you can love her without being completely tangled up in her.
It took dementia to teach me that I didn't need to change Milly. I needed to change the way I was being her daughter.
The Five Signs
1. Her number flashes up and my heart sinks.
Yep. It did, and it does. I have a camera on Milly and an alert on my phone. When that little bleep comes, my heart can sink in anticipation of what might happen.
2. I have an argument and eat a packet of biscuits.
Before dementia? Definitely.
Now? For sure. Some things apparently survive decades of personal development!
But an argument is rarely just an argument. It's usually old hurts, expectations, misunderstandings, tiredness and fear all arriving at once.
Since I gave up smoking, it has to be biscuits!
3. My best efforts to please her don't seem to work.
I used to take breaks from my mother. They gave me space, but didn't really change the underlying dynamic.
Then dementia changed everything. I couldn't expect Milly to change, so I stopped trying to change her and started trying to understand her.
What she needed most was safety - love, reassurance and fewer challenges, corrections and decisions.
Once she felt safe, she trusted me. Once she trusted me, she relaxed. And when she relaxed, so did I.
That became one of my biggest dementia lessons: take away her worries.
I began managing the things that had become too complicated - shopping, meals, money, visitors and decisions.
Milly can still trigger me in seconds, but these days I give up on arguments fairly quickly. She genuinely doesn't follow more than one fact at a time!
4. I feel tired and resentful caring for her.
Before dementia, helping Milly could feel like a lesson I was destined to fail. She was very particular about how things should be done.
Now I cook, tidy, help with personal care and do whatever needs doing.
And it's okay.
Perhaps that's because I'm doing things my way.
No more lessons, thank you. No more senior and junior roles either!
5. I ache for her so deeply that I struggle to connect with others.
If I upset my mother, it could consume me for days.
Eventually I learned that I needed breaks. The first ones weren't easy. There was guilt, hurt and the accusation that I was becoming a stranger.
Then I married. I had children. I became stronger. I started doing things my way.
The ache didn't disappear, but it became less consuming.
Eventually, it became a warning light: perhaps I needed a detox.
And the 21-day Detox?
I haven't had a 21-day detox for seven years. These days I manage around fourteen days of care-free days -carefree and care free!
It gives me enough space to feel strong again without making the separation too great for Milly.
Perhaps those five signs aren't the whole answer, but for me, they're not wrong.
Milly's dementia has taught me that safety can change behaviour, reassurance can reduce anxiety and arguing about facts achieves absolutely nothing. If only I had had therapy - I would have known this a long time ago and made my journey, and my family’s, so much easier!
But at least I’ve learned. I've learned that I cannot change the other person. I can only change the way I connect with them.
The difficult bits of our relationship were real. The hurt was real. The arguments were real.
But so was the love.
Milly was doing her best. And so was I.
I don't need a 21-day detox from Milly anymore, although I probably still need one on behalf of my husband. But that's another story!
I'm not trying to fix Milly, change her or make up for the past. I'm simply trying to find the best way to be with her, for whatever time we have left.
I didn't need to walk away from the relationship. I just needed to find a different way of being in it.