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 made me stop and think.
“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 routinely 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
These held my attention. I recognise myself in the five signs. Uncomfortably well in a few.
I initially thought the headlines might inspire another tongue-in-cheek blog but the more I thought about it, the more I could feel that the article had 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 always felt quite complicated. There was love and hurt, gratitude and resentment, loyalty and anger. But the underlying problem became much less of an issue when dementia hit our lives.
Up until the time I realised how vulnerable she was, 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.
Maybe that is what the five signs do so well. They strip away all the history and complexity and make you recognise what is happening.
So perhaps the 21-day “detox” isn't really about escaping a difficult mother at all. I’m thinking it’s more about cutting the apron strings. Growing up. Becoming sufficiently separate that you can love your mother without being completely tangled up in her.
I was, perhaps, a little slow on that one because in the end it probably took dementia to help me realise that I didn’t need to change her - I simply needed to change the way I was being her daughter. Because she wasn’t just a mother who got things wrong. She did her best.
Sign No. 1/5 - Her number flashes up on my phone and my heart sinks
Yep. I recognise that one from before, and now.
I have a camera on Milly and an alert on my phone. When that little bleep comes, there are times when my heart sinks in anticipation of what is going to happen.
No. 2/5 - I have an argument and eat a packet of biscuits
Before dementia? Most definitely.
Now? For sure. Some things apparently survive decades of personal development!
But again, there is more to it than that. An argument is rarely just an argument. It is usually the accumulation of a thousand little things - assumptions, expectations, old hurts, misunderstandings, tiredness, fear.
And once I’m triggered it can become almost impossible to hear anything. Since I gave up smoking - it has to be biscuits!
No. 3/5 - My best efforts to please her don’t seem to work. Instead she routinely criticises me.
I had my necessary “detox” gaps from my mother. They didn’t really solve the problem, but they gave me some space and I became better at dealing with our differences.
Then, Milly’s brain started changing and, as her dementia progressed, I had to reconsider how we were going to get along. The old ways simply weren’t going to work anymore. I couldn’t leave her for weeks at a time and I certainly couldn’t expect her to change - or get angry when she didn’t.
Too late. She never really responded to arguments, but now she couldn’t keep up with them. And, perhaps for the first time, I realised that if we were going to have a good relationship, the responsibility for changing the dynamic was pretty much mine.
And that was incredibly liberating.
I stopped trying to change her. Instead, I started trying to understand her. What Milly needed most was safety - something she’d probably always needed. That meant love, reassurance, not criticising, not challenging every view and not correcting every mistake.
Once she felt safe, she trusted me. Once she trusted me, she relaxed. And once she relaxed, the opinions and judgements reduced significantly. So did the worry.
That has probably been one of the biggest lessons of caring for her: take away her worries.
I told friends and relatives not to ring or expect communication or visits. I made her meals and did her shopping. I managed her money and took away decisions that had simply become too complicated for her.
And I told her I was doing these things because I wanted to. Since my father died, I want her to have a happy and simple life.
Milly can still trigger me in seconds and I can still get tangled up in an argument. But these days I tend to give up very quickly. Partly because she genuinely doesn’t follow more than one fact at a time!
No. 4/5 - I feel tired and resentful as I prepare gifts, tidy up or prepare food for her
Milly has always been delighted to receive gifts and I’ve always enjoyed buying things for her.
As for tidying up or preparing food? Pre-dementia, that was a definite no-no. Not because she didn’t want to be helped, but because she was very particular about how I should help. It could feel like a lesson, and I could fail very easily.
It could also make me feel rather subservient - as if helping was an expectation rather than a choice. And that made me very irritated. And resentful.
Now I do everything for her. I help her, I cook for her, I tidy up, provide personal care - and it’s okay. Because she is vulnerable and easily muddled, and very grateful to have the burden taken away.
I think it’s even easier because it’s in my home. Of course there are days when I become frustrated. Sometimes little bubbles of anger rise within me. But mostly, we rub along quite nicely.
I suspect some of that is because I’m doing things my way.
No more lessons, thank you! No more senior and junior roles either!
No. 5/5 - I ache for her so deeply that I struggle to connect with family, friends or my own children
If I upset my mother, it would take hold of me. The emotional aftermath could last for days.
Our relationship may have affected how I connected with others but eventually I learned that I needed breaks. The first breaks weren’t easy. I was accused of being a stranger. There was guilt. There was hurt.
Then I married. I had children. I became stronger. I started doing things my way.
I still ached when we argued, but the ache became less consuming.
And eventually it became something of a warning light - a reminder that perhaps I needed a bit of a detox.
And as for 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!
Sometimes it takes me time to feel strong again when I return but as Milly becomes more vulnerable, I’ve found that fourteen days gives me the space I need without making the separation too great for her.
Perhaps the five signs aren’t the whole answer, but for me, they’re not wrong.
Milly’s dementia has taught me things about relationships that I wish I’d understood much earlier. I’ve learned that safety can change behaviour. That reassurance can reduce criticism. That simplifying someone’s world can reduce anxiety. That arguing about the facts achieves absolutely nothing. And that stepping away can be kinder than pushing through.
Most importantly, I’ve learned that you cannot keep trying to change the other person. You can only change the way you connect with them and that has made me look back at my relationship with my mother differently.
Not to rewrite history. The difficult bits 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 really need a 21-day detox from Milly although I probably still need one on behalf of my husband, but that’s a different subject!
These days, 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 reckon that’s what the detox taught me in the end. I didn’t need to walk away from a relationship, I just needed to find a different way of being in it.