I read somewhere recently that people often focus way too much on being dutiful descendants, when we should be working hard instead to be good ancestors. In other words, rather than fighting to live up to (possibly quite unreasonable) family expectations, under the (false) impression that we owe it to said family, we should allow ourselves room to set the right kind of example for the generations who will come after us. It should be less about holding up the past as sacrosanct, regardless of its tarnish, and more about establishing – or perhaps reestablishing – the right kind of legacy.

This concept has really struck a chord in me for a number of reasons. One, I very much feel stuck in the middle of my family line here, straddling the gap between breaking generational curses and holding a chosen few precious memories and traditions close. Two, my birthday was last week, and true to form and the only avenue of communication left available to her, my mother shipped me a gift via Amazon (more on that later). And three, my daughter has been really into watching Disney’s “Encanto” lately (more on that first).

I am risking the wrath of Disney’s copyright hawks by even mentioning this film (then again, I suppose I did that with my Buzz Lightyear post too), but “Encanto” deserves talking about. It’s an extraordinary story about an extraordinary family – and how its only (seemingly) ordinary member ends up saving them all. The Madrigal family is seemingly perfect, and the efforts to live up to those impossible expectations cause discord and ruin…but of course, this is a Disney movie, so thankfully, that discord and ruin get repaired, the family bonds and their home restored. In a surprising modern twist, this healing comes about when the elderly matriarch accepts how her well-intentioned expectations have had very painful consequences for her loved ones. She acknowledges the harm she’s caused and apologizes for it. The audience gets to see something rarely shown in media, especially children’s media – an adult admitting they were wrong. At the end, it’s the young lady who called Abuela out on her unfairness that says, “There is nothing broken that we cannot fix together.”

I never thought I would simultaneously love and hate a movie as much as I both love and hate this one. It’s really well done, from story to animation to music – oh, the beautiful music – well, what else would one expect from Lin-Manuel Miranda at this point, right? And if I could separate myself from all of that, it would stop there. But, of course, I cannot. So I inevitably cry every time I watch this movie, with ugly feelings rearing up irrationally, because who the hell gets jealous of animated characters? But the truth is, “Encanto” is about a broken family who heals, who is willing to do the work to become whole again together, and it throws into sharp relief everything that I don’t have.

My mother will never acknowledge the damage she has wrought, either directly or indirectly; she will never offer a legitimate apology, because she does not believe she did anything that warrants apologizing. To this day, she’s at a loss for why I have removed her from my life, and it’s not for lack of clear explanation on my part. Any shallow apologies that have come along – and there have only been a couple – have been apologies for what she thinks other people have done. She herself surely is infallible and therefore immune to criticism. She “did a good job,” she likes to say. Even while I know how much pain she is in by my not having anything to do with her, and while that saddens me too, because I don’t want to cause her pain, I know that the fact that she has caused me pain is irrelevant to her.

And so our fate has been sealed. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I’ve blocked her from every possible way to get in touch with me directly – except, she knows where I live, so she can still send me things in the mail, which she does periodically. The notes that come with these packages are the worst, since with Amazon at least, you can add a note if you’re sending something as a gift. It’s miserable to get these packages. Every time, it brings feelings like battery acid bubbling up to the surface of my consciousness. Every time she does this, I wish she wouldn’t.

Except…except…

Sometimes she goes a long time without sending things. Sometimes a couple of months go by. And that’s when the feelings get really complicated. One would think that not receiving packages from her would be a relief – and it is. One would think that I want her to give up. And I do…

Except…

Nobody ever wants their mother to give up on them, regardless of what kind of mother they’ve been. My therapist frequently reassures me that these contradictory feelings are completely understandable, but those reassurances don’t seem to sink in. I don’t find them particularly assuaging. I still struggle with it. It’s a horrible feeling. It’s very confusing.

Conflicts crave resolution, and I will never have one.

The best I can do for myself right now is leave the current half-opened box with her latest attempt to buy me back sitting by my front door, at least for a little while. Normally I promptly dispose of these packages, or my husband does it for me, but, for the moment, I needed it to sit there. Eventually it will start to perturb me, in the sense that having anything associated directly with her in my house makes me feel like she is in my house, which isn’t okay. For now, I haven’t disposed of it just yet.

My pain, my rules, I suppose? Let’s go with that.

So anyway, if we aren’t supposed to focus on being dutiful descendants, I think I’ve got that covered. I am the ultimate opposite of the dutiful descendant. I’m the disobedient dissident. I’ll probably always struggle with that, with the conflicting feelings of wanting to be a “good daughter” and wanting to live in peace and safety. But this idea of focusing instead on being a good ancestor is a validating concept, when much of the driving force behind my efforts to keep my mother away is about protecting my daughter from her, of breaking that perpetual cycle of harm. Being a good ancestor isn’t about family obligations, it’s about forging the right path ahead of you for generations who are to come. This is the kind of silver lining, the kind of “Encanto”-style miracle, that I can get behind.