Chapter 13 - Diane Heard What Her Daughter Had Repeated
Rebecca eventually called her mother.
Nolan did not ask her to.
The therapist did not require it.
She simply reached a point where hearing Diane’s voice inside her own parenting became unbearable.
Diane answered cheerfully.
“Well, stranger.”
Rebecca nearly hung up.
Instead:
“I need to talk about when I was little.”
Silence.
Diane immediately knew where this was going.
“Oh, Rebecca.”
That tone.
Exhausted before the conversation began.
Rebecca continued anyway.
“The weigh-ins.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“No. You’ve explained it.”
“I was trying to help you.”
Rebecca shut her eyes.
There it was.
The same sentence she had used with Molly.
Different generation.
Same defense.
Diane continued.
“You were miserable at school. You came home crying constantly. What was I supposed to do?”
“Believe me when I said the diets made it worse.”
“They weren’t diets.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
“What were they?”
“Healthy structure.”
Same modernization.
Same hiding place.
Rebecca looked across the living room.
Molly sat on the floor doing homework while Nolan cooked dinner.
Lavender backpack near the sofa.
Cardigan tossed over one armchair.
Ordinary.
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“I hurt Molly.”
Diane stopped.
“What?”
“I was scared she’d go through what I went through. So I started controlling her body before anyone else could hurt her for it.”
Diane’s voice softened.
“Oh, honey.”
Rebecca almost accepted the comfort.
Then Diane added:
“You were just trying to protect her.”
Rebecca felt something inside her settle.
“No.”
A pause.
“I was trying to protect the scared little girl I used to be.”
Diane went silent.
Rebecca continued.
“And I used Molly to do it.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“No.”
The word came more firmly.
“Her back injury was real.”
Diane’s defensiveness surfaced.
“Well, I certainly never made you carry things until you hurt yourself.”
Rebecca could have turned the call into a contest over which mother was worse.
She didn’t.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is that you taught me fear could become parenting if you called it health.”
Silence.
Diane began crying.
Rebecca felt the old reflex:
Fix Mom.
Make her feel less accused.
Soften.
She resisted.
“I love you,” Rebecca said.
Diane cried harder.
“And I’m not asking you to agree with me today.”
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing.”
That startled them both.
“I’m telling you what I’m changing.”
After the call, Rebecca sat alone for several minutes.
Molly wandered over.
“Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Is she sad?”
“Yes.”
Molly looked concerned.
Rebecca touched her hand.
“She’ll handle it.”
Another new sentence.
Not:
Go hug Grandma next time.
Not:
She didn’t mean anything.
Adults handle their own feelings.
Molly nodded and returned to homework.
Nolan brought Rebecca a glass of water.
“How’d it go?”
“She still thinks she was helping.”
“And you?”
Rebecca looked at her daughter.
“I believe she thought that.”
Nolan waited.
“That doesn’t make what happened okay.”
He nodded.
Rebecca understood then that accountability was becoming less frightening because it no longer required deciding whether someone was entirely good or entirely bad.
Diane loved her.
Diane harmed her.
Rebecca loved Molly.
May you like
Rebecca harmed Molly.
The difference would be what happened after the truth became impossible to ignore.
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