Someone Judging Me Who Thinks Very Little of Me

The other evening, lying in bed alone, with two of my girls sleeping soundly in the next room, thoughts of my son, who passed away seven years ago, suddenly washed over me. It truly came out of nowhere. At first, tears silently traced paths down my cheeks. Soon, they fell like large raindrops, and before I knew it, all the raw emotions from back then crashed through me. My body shuddered as I sobbed. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried with such intensity, and a while since I’ve felt such an overwhelming moment of missing him so profoundly. Don’t misunderstand; I miss him every single day, but I’ve grown accustomed to this “new normal,” the reality where he is no longer with us. Yet, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by this emotional release. I had just returned from a week away from my family, and then, only three days later, my husband and oldest daughter left for youth camp – she as a camper, and he as a chaperone. I hadn’t slept well in over a week, and it seems all that exhaustion and emotional strain simply caught up to me in that quiet, vulnerable moment.

Later that evening, a text arrived suggesting a movie, described as a powerful story about a mother who discovers her son’s death by overdose. My reply was simple, “That probably isn’t a good idea for me.” Her quick retort, however, was sharp: “Everything is not about you, and that movie wouldn’t—couldn’t—correlate to your life.” While I conceded the literal correlation wasn’t my point, I tried to explain my reasoning, but it was futile. She continued to press, convinced I was only seeking to center the conversation on myself, repeating the dismissive phrase that not everything was about me.

I explained, more than once, that my refusal to watch the movie had nothing to do with the overdose versus my son’s unique circumstances, and absolutely nothing to do with “making everything about me.” Still, she refused to listen. Rather than continue to argue and defend myself against her unfair implications, I finally just typed “okay” to close the conversation. Two days later, it’s clear she still doesn’t grasp my reasons – or perhaps she does, and for some inexplicable reason, chose to be deliberately hurtful.

Honestly, can someone please explain the logic in that texting conversation? And more importantly, can anyone truly *not* understand my reluctance to watch a movie where a mother discovers her dead son’s body after an overdose? Is it truly so far-fetched for a mother, especially one who just experienced an intense emotional breakdown over the loss of her own son seven years ago, to feel *any* hesitation about such a film? The specific manner of death is irrelevant; I am a mother who has lost a child, and my heart breaks anew for every mother who endures such a devastating loss. Yet, my reluctance didn’t even stem from that shared grief. It was a direct consequence of the raw, recent emotional breakdown I’d just been through. In that moment, and even now, I’m simply not sure I’m ready to witness a fictional portrayal of a mother not only losing her child but also facing the profound trauma of discovering their lifeless body.

SMH…..some people’s children.