Why I despise visiting my Mom's house, a.k.a., my childhood home.
For some, returning to their childhood house sparks joyful memories of good times and loved ones. For me, I despise returning to my childhood house. Frankly, I'm sick of it.
In case it's helpful, below are the topics covered in this post:
An Awful Feeling
I love my Mom, but I hate visiting her house. When I visit her, I attempt to stay for several nights per her request. Mom doesn't like one-day visits. She always said we should spend "quality time" with one another over several days since I live in another town. She's also not allowed to visit my house after she discarded much of my belongings, rearranged the contents of my house, and dug up my Magnolia plants while I was at work. That's a story for a whole other personal blog post.
The thing I hate most about visiting is how awful I feel within hours of being at her house. There's something in the air that makes me ill. Within a few hours, I tend to develop a migraine and red, dry eyes. At some point during the first night in my old bedroom, I'd deal with a runny or stuffy nose, sneezing, wheezing, difficulty breathing, and nausea. I'd be lucky to get more than two hours of sleep.
Early the next morning, typically around 6 A.M., I'd take my dogs out of the house for several hours for fresh air and sunlight. (Mom's house is dark even with the curtains and blinds opened.) I wouldn't be missing out on "quality time" with my Mom because she'd be heading to bed for a full sleep.
It wouldn't take long before I felt better. I'd be tired from the lack of sleep, but my other issues would lessen or diminish completely.
We'd return to Mom's house mid-afternoon before she wakes. After Mom wakes, it's "quality time" together. Often, we'd head to my brother's house on the other side of town to be with family. Sometimes I'd drive Mom wherever she wants to go shopping. She doesn't like being out after dark, so we're back home no later than 7 P.M. in time for one of her favorite TV shows.
By the time I'd head to bed, the symptoms would return. However, they'd feel twice as bad from the prior night. There were nights in the past when I fought the urge to either head back to my own house or to the emergency room because breathing was difficult.
This past year, three nights has been my limit. When I was younger, I could stay for a week or two over the holidays. Last winter, I couldn't stay longer than a couple nights without wanting to rush myself to the emergency room.
I've contemplated what may be making me sick and narrowed it down to three possible things.
Three Things I Believe Makes Me Sick
#1: There may be a mold problem in Mom's house.
Last winter, I intended to stay at my Mom's house for two weeks. I arrived the day before Christmas Eve (December 24th), but I headed home on December 26th because I felt terribly ill. I stayed at my own house for a few days to recover.
I returned to Mom's house on December 30th with a mold test kit. I did a simple air quality test in my old bedroom. The kit I had required me to pour the special liquid in a petri dish, leave it uncovered for an hour, and then leave it covered for forty-eight hours.
Within twenty-four hours, evidence of mold formed in the petri dish. Within three days the petri dish was filled with mold. It seemed evident that there was a mold problem in Mom's house.
Treating the mold wasn't easy because my Mom refused to let me take care of it. She claimed I was lying, despite having physical evidence. Mom said I was making excuses to visit her less often. My niece eventually convinced my Mom to take this seriously. Mom bought a mold treatment spray and supposedly took care of the problem with a contractor's help. The "contractor" is a friend of a friend who offered to help around the house on his free time for cheap. I wasn't convinced that the mold problem was taken care of completely.
I'm currently at my Mom's house (once again feeling ill after last night) with two mold test kits. I did another air quality test in my old bedroom since it produced mold in the old petri dish. So far, it's clean, but it's only been eight hours at the time of writing this post.
I then did an HVAC test with the second kit I brought with me. This required me to tape it to a vent furthest from the furnace and running the fan at full blast for ten minutes. While this was technically easy to do, I found it challenging to convince my Mom to let me do it.
Mom keeps the house toasty (appx. 80F). Since outdoor temperature's already heating up here in Texas, Mom had the central unit turned off. I needed to run the fan to do the HVAC test. She didn't want to get cold. After some debate, she finally gave me the OK to do the test but complained about freezing during the ten minutes despite all other vents being shut.
It's incubating in my old bedroom closet where it's a consistent temperature with the doors closed. Only time will tell if there's still a mold problem in Mom's house.
#2: The many smells of Mom's house triggers my migraine.
My Mom's a chain-smoker. This means there's always a lit cigarette when she's awake. She's always smoking. It doesn't matter if she's eating, drinking, cleaning, or using the bathroom. There's always a lit cigarette.
She used to smoke in bed but stopped that a few years ago after burning her covers for the ump-teenth time!
Because of her extensive smoking, the air is always filled with smoke. The house is caked in nicotine. Everything is sticky, yellowed or browned, and smelly. The smell of cigarette smoke is embedded into everything. Cleaning isn't effective. The nicotine has accumulated onto everything for over twenty-eight years.
Mom always got angry when someone would come in and tell her it smelled like smoke. Mom can no longer smell the smoke, so she doesn't understand how others are able to smell it. She attempts to mask it with other pungent smells.
The many smells of Mom's house trigger my migraine. The second I stepped into her house yesterday, I was inundated with cigarette smoke, scented candles, and incense burners. There was a hint of bleach in the kitchen where I entered, but the bleach was stronger in the guest bathroom.
Despite knowing that I suffer from migraines and am sensitive to strong scents, Mom graciously sprayed my old bedroom with a significant amount of some Glade scent.
Of all the smells in Mom's house, the cigarette smoke is by far the worst for me to deal with. I'm a non-smoker and the smell sometimes make me gag, especially when we're sat at the table to eat a meal. Since the start of the pandemic, I've taken to wearing a mask indoors. Mom yells at me for it because it's "stupid." However, I believe Mom because even a thick cloth mask with a filter insert couldn't prevent my nose from smelling the cigarette smoke.
For years I've wondered if I have a tobacco allergy. When I lived under this roof, I was frequently ill. I started feeling healthier after I moved out on my own as a young adult. Still, I feel ill when I'm around my Mom or in her house for more than a couple hours.
When Mom vaped in addition to smoking cigarettes years ago, I discovered I was allergic to the liquid that went into the pen. Mom didn't know how to refill the pen, so I would do it for her. I spilled a little on my finger once. Despite washing it immediately, my hand swelled, and I developed hives on my hand and forearm. I haven't touched a cigarette, so I don't know if I'd have the same reaction.
I've read research studies that suggest people whose mothers smoked during pregnancy are most likely to have a tobacco allergy. While my Mom denies having smoked while she was pregnant with me, everybody else in the family said they witnessed her smoke regularly while pregnant. If this is the case, which most say is true, then there's a greater chance that I have a tobacco allergy. One day I'll get tested for confirmation of this thought. I'd do it today if it wouldn't cost money to get a tobacco allergy test.
#3: I'm sick of the bad memories.
I should start by saying I was and still am very blessed. Nothing significantly bad happened to me. I was never assaulted, have never been hospitalized, nor had anything else of severity take place in my life. Mom made sure to keep me protected from all potential threats. If I was home, I was safe.
Life was difficult as a shy introvert with an overly strict mother. It felt like I spent much of my younger life at home. I went home immediately after school. I wasn't allowed to participate in after-school activities. I wasn't allowed to go on school field trips. I wasn't allowed to get a job when I turned sixteen. I wasn't allowed to hang out with relatives without special permission.
I wasn't allowed to do a whole lot of things. However, I was allowed to stay in a smoke-filled house when I wasn't in school.
In high school, I was often called into the Vice Principal's office because of complaints from teachers and students. I was an honor student who followed the rules "down to a T." I was shy, yet respectful of everyone. I sat in my own little corner in my own little chair and didn't bother anyone.
Except the smell of smoke bothered everyone. I would sit in the Vice Principal's office for hours at times. I would be interrogated by the Principal, Vice Principal, and a school counselor about drug addiction. While I was being interrogated, security would search through my backpack and locker for contraband items they never found.
This always made me feel embarrassed, ashamed, and abused. It's one of my worst memories from my youth that I can't forget about.
The office visits got shorter over the years, but it was always a horrible experience that I had to live through repeatedly until I graduated (with honors and no misconduct) from that God awful place!
I dread coming back to my hometown not just because I fall ill every visit, but because everywhere I look, I'm reminded of something from my past. There are good memories. Unfortunately, the bad memories tend to overshadow the good ones.
A part of me sometimes believe that I fall ill not because of the mold or smoke, but because I hate this place. I love the people, but not the memories I hoped to leave behind.
Why I Continue to Stay at Mom's House
As I mentioned earlier, Mom doesn't like one-day visits. She complains that I live too far away, although we're only a hundred miles apart. Granted, I don't visit her every other weekend like when I was employed. Because of how sick I feel when I visit, among other reasons I've yet to share publicly, I now only visit for holidays and special occasions. Since I don't see her as often as she wants, and to fulfill My Purpose In Life According To Mom, I stay with her to remind her of my love and that I've never abandoned her.
Mom doesn't like visiting my house because I won't let her make changes. Now that my Dad, her ex-husband, lives with me, I doubt she’ll ask to return.
My brother and sister-in-law would let me stay with them at their house, except their dogs aren't compatible with me or my dogs. Of their five dogs, three are too high-energy and at least one is an unfriendly attacker (blood drawn from several victims including myself).
Former colleagues suggested the best option was for me to stay in a hotel. Unfortunately, this was and still is a costly option. When I was employed, I visited Mom and family every other weekend. There are not enough hotel points and perks in the world to make the cost of it worthwhile. Now that I'm unemployed and don't receive employment income, staying at a hotel is completely out of the question.
It only makes sense in my mind to stay at my Mom's house since she's adamant about me staying a while. I love my Mom and don't want her to feel abandoned or unloved. She wants to spend "quality time" with her only daughter. Yet, staying at her house is proving to be more challenging and painful in my older age. Hopefully, I can pinpoint the cause of my ill feeling and squash it.
My Thoughts
As the title stated, my Mom's house makes me sick. I just don't know what triggers my ill feeling. The possible mold problem would be the obvious culprit, but a part of me wonders if I may also have a tobacco allergy. Then again, it may all be in my head due to the bad memories that resurfaces every time I visit.
I've got a couple mold tests I'm waiting on results for. The packaging suggested that if there's mold, it would form within forty-eight hours. It hasn't been a full day yet, so I have a while to wait.
I'm going to see if wearing a N95 mask works better than my thick cloth mask with the filter. Ideally it should work better since it's the mask that the CDC and other experts recommend for combating COVID-19. Then again, COVID-19 isn't pungent like cigarette smoke, scented candles, incense burners, and bleach.
Today is my second day at Mom's house. I'm here for the gender reveal (I hope there's no smoke bombs or other special effects that could trigger a wildfire) of my niece's first child. If I feel worse after tonight, my second night at Mom's house during this visit, I'll head home tomorrow morning. Mom will likely complain that I'm selfish or don't love her as much as I should, but I'll risk it for my own health.
What's Next?
This was a long personal post where I ranted about a problem I'm dealing with right now. I think I'll take time to compose my thoughts. Next week I hope to have more positive posts to share with you.
How do/would you feel about returning to your childhood home? Comment below to describe what returning to your childhood home in your old hometown means to you.
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Thanks, and have a great day!
Simply Jelly Jam