• Angela Rushing

Sometimes The Universe Has Another Plan For Us… April 3, 2017

May 9, 2016  

This is going to be a difficult post.

I have a difficult relationship with my parents and I have never really come clean about some of the things that have taken place. Particularly in the last few years.

You see, I have attempted to “be the bigger person”. To right the wrongs, so to speak.

I have done some deep spiritual work, which has created the space for me to think and feel that I could make peace with my life by forgiving, being the bigger person and therefore, shedding the uncomfortable skin of my childhood.

It hasn’t worked.

Sometimes you MUST walk away. Close the door on what is painful. WALK AWAY.

I can not make it go away. Or make it get better. They are locked in their patterns. I can’t change that. I can only change my own involvement in the situation.


I went to see my parents, who are 83 and 88.

It has always been varying degrees of unpleasant. Always difficult. But I have continued to try to make some sort of normalcy out of chaos. Looking back, that’s what my mother did for the whole 55 years she has been married to him. He is a drinker and is now getting dementia. He was verbally and sometimes, physically abusive when I was a child and a teenager. I would go to school with bruises and weirdly, no one said a word. She would tell me I should just keep my mouth shut and not provoke him. That it was my fault.

They were going to let me borrow their 3rd automobile (which sits unused) for 6 months, which I was going to drive across the country, back to Los Angeles, where I live. I planned a beautiful solo soul journey across the west, where I was going to write, take photographs, meditate and look for a new place to live while visiting friends along the way. This was something I SO needed, after having surgery and not working for 4 months. You see, I am single and searching for some meaning in my life. Hoping to heal the old wounds that have blocked me from love and success. As things were looking, it was not meant to be.

My father went into a drunken rage about the car. He didn’t want me to take it. He called me “trash” and said I was a drug addict (I have not done drugs in years). He said that the family would be better off without me. Me, the only one of his 3 kids that will have anything to do with him. Me, who flies in from Los Angeles every 4 months to see them. All said while standing there at 11 am, holding his glass of wine.

My mother and I both left, angry and separately. I had to go find the car as he drove it somewhere and hid it so I couldn’t use it or take it on my trip as promised. Meanwhile, there was supposed to be a family BBQ, hosted by my nephew and niece because my 1/2 brother and his wife and my other nephew were going to be in town for Mother’s Day. It was all ruined by my father. My mother of course, rather than actually taking real action and keeping her original plan of leaving and going to a hotel, went back home (typical).My father then tried to grab the phone from her, it hit her in the face and broke her tooth. Police were called and he went to jail where he is today, 3 days later. I left and came back to Los Angeles where I alternate between sobbing and anger. I will never speak to him again. How many times I have said that I can’t even count. My father is dead to me and until he really is gone, I will have only limited contact with my mother. It is the only way I know how to begin to save myself.

I have tried to take the proverbial high road. Tried to rise above the bullshit. To save myself. I have meditated, done psychotherapy. I have seen astrologers and healers. I have chanted, traveled, done yoga. I have sought safety and comfort in the arms of trusted friends and loving partners. None of that has filled the deep dark hole that exists in my soul. There are so many lies and secrets which always exist in homes where there is abuse. I, until recently, never had a truly healthy loving relationship with a man because of how I was raised. My friendships felt oddly shallow and limited. I was never been able to be truly vulnerable. The only thing I can do now is share this story. Most of my family never knew any of this. It’s the only way I know to begin to heal. As I tell people, my sister, brother, some cousins, nephews and friends..I am comforted and touched by the love I am receiving from them. Maybe this will make up for the love that I never received from my parents. I don’t know. But there is nothing else I know that I can do. So I am starting here.

Stay Tuned…

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