Many of you have asked how I handled telling my mother about my decision to stop calling her every two weeks (at the end of August) and how she reacted.

I told her via email: "I've decided to stop calling every two weeks. Call or email me if you have any news, and I will do the same. Love, Karen"

I haven't heard from her since.

She immediately stopped sending me the "Friday Funnies" (a compilation of funny memes she got from the director of the retirement community she lives in), and hasn't responded to my emails.

I reached out to her again in mid-September to ask if they had been affected by Hurricane Lee (she and her husband live in Maine). I also shared some newsy stuff on our end.

No response.

I reached out yet again when there was a mass shooting in a town near where she lives.

No response.

And finally, I sent her a light-hearted cartoon I thought she'd appreciate.

No response.

As I said when I initially wrote about my decision, I didn't do it because I was hurt or angry, and I'm still not.

Do I sometimes feel pressure to reach out to make sure SHE'S not hurt or angry? For sure. This is to be expected. This is what happens in relationships where there is emotional enmeshment and a trauma-related pull to please-and-appease.

What I know is that her triggers and reactions are not my responsibility (and never were).

I decided a long time ago that being attached to her at my own expense is not an option and I had (mostly) healthy boundaries firmly in place.

What's telling is the difference I am seeing and feeling in myself since I made this decision. In hindsight, I can see the impact that calling her every two weeks calls had on me. I was in a low-level freeze/flop state, more disconnected from myself, and was engaging in self-destructive behaviors that hadn't been an issue in decades.

That's why what Dr. Gabor Maté says is so pertinent:

"This contest between attachment and authenticity can be a painful one. But you can decide which kind of pain you want. If you're authentic you might lose some attachment relationships. That's going to be painful. But which pain would you rather have? The pain of being authentic and losing some friendships that were no friendships at all? Or the pain of losing yourself and all it's implications and impacts on the body?"

I no longer experience chronic anger, hurt, and grief (thank you unshaming) in the relationship and haven't in years, so making this choice wasn't fraught with pain like it was 15 years ago.

Best of all is what I am now witnessing in myself: more readily available expressions of joy and vitality because I am willing (and able) to express them.

In You Are Not Your Mother: Releasing Generational Trauma and Shame I wrote about how my mother seems to be disturbed or triggered by such expression (like the time I gleefully smiled at my mother through a window and she gave me the finger and sneered at me) and so my body shuts it down.

I am not willing to trade my expression of joy for her approval and I didn't see how calling her every two weeks was slowing shutting me down. And here's the thing: you can't selectively shut down. You can't shut down for your mother and be joyful and vital in other parts of your life.

In deciding to no longer talk to her every two weeks, I am choosing to no longer override my body's intelligence. I am choosing my joy, vitality, and authenticity.

It really hit home the other day when I was walking the Niantic Bay Boardwalk like I have nearly every day since mid-September. I had YouTube Music cued to play "energizing" songs. And then Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls came on. And every time Freddie Mercury sang the refrain, I joined him, out loud, with my arms pumping in the air, loud and proud:

FAT BOTTOMED GIRLS YOU MAKE THE ROCKIN' WORLD GO ROUND!

And I may have just played the song on repeat until I got to the end of my walk. To those who heard me, may your world have been rocked, even if just a little bit.

I am at home in my own body once again.

This is where the pattern shifts. This is where I make a choice that my mother wasn't willing or able to make. I acknowledge that and don't blame her for it. And still I make a different choice.

Much, much love,

Karen