Birthday gifts should be one of life’s joys. Yet it was with a sense of trepidation that I tore open my mother’s gift on my 55th birthday.
“Hurry,” Mom shouted, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. I removed the paper and saw two beautiful dresses from one of my favorite brands. Then I saw the labels: size 8. I’m a size 12.
‘These are too small mommy. I told you I was twelve when you asked last week, remember?’
She claimed to have no memory of this. When I suggested she give me the receipt so I could redeem it, she said she hadn’t kept it.
“You can simply show the transaction on a bank statement, which is acceptable proof of purchase,” said my daughter Flora.
But my mother claimed she had paid in cash, which I found unlikely as the dresses had cost £300 in total.
All my life my mother tried to humiliate and belittle me, writes Maxine Sellier (photo taken by model)
“You should just keep them,” she shrugged. “Maybe they’ll give you an incentive to lose weight.”
You’d think it was an innocent mistake, but I know better.
All my life my mother tried to humiliate and belittle me. To her, wasting £300 was a price worth paying to upset me.
It was this merciless cruelty that caused me to cut her off twelve years ago. Now I wonder why I ever welcomed her back.
One of my earliest memories is her telling me she didn’t want a daughter because “everyone knows it’s a nightmare.”
When I was eight, I was told I needed glasses, which terrified my mother. On school photo day she hid them from me so they wouldn’t be caught on camera – let alone so I couldn’t see the blackboard.
When I was a teenager, my mother always gave me clothes as gifts. Back then, when I was a tiny size 8, she bought them in a size 14, which left me swamped.
“The amount of food you store, you’ll fit in there in no time,” she said. I didn’t eat more than any other teenager, but Mom made me feel like a greedy monster. During meals she always said, “Leave some for someone else.”
As a result of her mother’s constant worrying, Maxine went through a period of feeling very unattractive and developed unhealthy eating habits (photo taken by a model)
She valued appearance above all else. The funny thing is that in reality she was not the great beauty she imagined. Yes, she was skinny, but she plastered herself in makeup and wore clothes that were way too young for her.
I turned 16 in 1987, when it was popular to place an advert in the local newspaper on a special occasion. On the morning of my birthday, Mom went out early and came home with a bundle of papers.
It contained the full-page message: ‘I wish my chubby daughter Maxine a very happy sixteenth.’
I was stunned. This was a new low even for her and I fled to my room in tears.
My younger brother Harry – who Mum had always adored – told her how awful it was. Yet nothing is ever Mom’s fault. She sulked, claiming it was a misprint and it should have said “cherub.” I didn’t believe her for a minute.
I remember writing in my diary how much I hated her and how I couldn’t wait to leave the house. As a mother, I would be devastated if my daughter ever felt that way about me.
As a result of her constant research, I went through a period of feeling very unattractive and developing unhealthy habits around food. I started stashing boxes of cereal and chocolate bars under my bed so I could eat alone in my room, away from her. It’s a wonder I haven’t developed a full-blown eating disorder. I didn’t really start enjoying food until I left home.
When I married Mark – my husband of 28 years – my mother told me it was a bad idea to have my three best friends as bridesmaids because “they’re all so slim and beautiful and everyone will look at them instead of you.”
But the final blow came after I had children of my own, Freddie and Flora. On Flora’s thirteenth birthday, mom also pulled off the clothing trick.
Flora had some puppy fat on her and Mom bought her some really big clothes and said, “They look about right to me, try them on.”
I wouldn’t let her make my precious girl feel as miserable as I did. There was no showdown, I simply stopped all contact.
It felt liberating. I didn’t have to fear her visits or calls and wondered why I hadn’t done it years ago.
So why did I finally let her back in twelve years later?
My parents were divorced during my childhood, and when we were estranged, my mother remarried. I never met her husband Keith, but everyone said he was sweet. He died last year and a short time later I saw photos of my mother, now 80, at my brother’s house. I was shocked at how weak she looked.
And so I wrote her a letter, saying how sorry I was to hear about Keith and would they like to meet up for a cup of tea?
I received a sweet, heartfelt letter back saying she would love to see me.
During those first few meetings, she seemed like a different woman. Then, after six months, the brutality began to increase again.
She was surprised that Mark stayed with me all this time. Were Flora’s teeth still crooked? After I told her I ran a successful catering company, her response was, “Trust me to work with food.”
Then came my birthday incident and with it all those old feelings of shame and worthlessness.
I realized that she hadn’t gotten better—and that she would probably get worse as she got older and less independent.
That’s why I went to Mom’s house last month to tell her that the reconnection had been a mistake.
In the end she made it very easy for me. When I arrived, dressed in a sleeveless dress, she shouted, ‘Look at your arms! Have they always been this big?’
I couldn’t allow her spitefulness in my life anymore. As I left, I hugged her and whispered, “Hi, Mom.” Greetings. I won’t see you again.’
This time I mean it.
- Maxine Sellier is a pseudonym. Names and identifying information have been changed.
- As told to Claudia Connell
