Chapter 1: A Chaotic Memory

The recollection of my mother’s handbag remains vivid in my mind. It was always a disorganized jumble filled with miscellaneous items: loose change, crumpled receipts, mints, discarded wrappers, lipsticks, and pens.

As a busy mom myself, I find that my handbag often resembles a miniature disaster zone, accumulating random items like debris washed ashore. I eventually reach a point of frustration and clean it out—usually once a month or whenever I decide to switch bags.

We all create messes and make mistakes, but not everyone possesses the self-awareness and humility necessary to take accountability and strive for improvement.

The last time I encountered my mother, five months ago, her handbag was in even worse shape. Unlike the enchanting bag of Mary Poppins, her drawstring purse was overflowing, chaotic, and cluttered. It appeared far worse than I remembered from my childhood. I watched as she struggled to locate the correct credit card among a stack that must have contained at least twenty. Observing her rummage through the disarray evoked a blend of pity and disgust within me.

Her handbag served as a mirror to her mental state.

I suspect she suffers from severe ADHD, which made it nearly impossible to engage in a meaningful dialogue with her. She would abruptly shift topics mid-sentence, often oblivious to what I had just said, as if riding an unshared train of thought. Attempting to join her on that journey would only result in being flung off. I cannot recall a single substantial conversation we ever had. Although there was an emotional connection, it was profoundly one-sided; she drew from my empathy without ever giving it back.

Even prior to understanding her ADHD, I sensed her helplessness and self-centeredness. From a young age, I learned to parent myself. While she provided shelter, food, and basic care, I lacked the emotional and mental support a parent should offer.

She never remained single for long, cycling through numerous boyfriends and fiancés, and she has been married four times. In my young adulthood, she compelled my sister and me to write her college papers and assist with job applications. She opened credit cards in my name without my consent and took my money for years, promising it would be returned as part of a real estate investment that has long since vanished.

I cut off contact when I recognized her behavior as indicative of underdeveloped narcissism—a realization that struck me following a violent outburst where she demanded I leave my husband. This reaction came after we declined to lend her $50,000 a few weeks prior. I established firm boundaries, which she ignored, leading to a barrage of outrageous and abusive texts. A few months ago, I decided to block her number.

These patterns of behavior have existed for as long as I can remember, causing harm to me and my siblings. I often believed that my anxiety and low self-esteem were my own failures, but I now understand the truth.

We all create messes and make mistakes. However, not everyone shows the self-awareness and altruism needed to accept responsibility and seek improvement. During meditation today, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. I am gradually coming to terms with the fact that my mother is a narcissistic abuser and that change is unlikely. I sat with that sadness until it passed. Now, I think it's time to clean out my own purse.

Section 1.1: The Significance of Handbags

Handbags can symbolize much more than mere accessories; they can reflect emotional states and personal chaos.

Chapter 2: Encountering Reality

The first video, "My Mother's Purse," explores the emotional implications of a chaotic upbringing and the impact of a disorganized life.

The second video, "WHAT'S IN MY MOM'S PURSE 2020," provides a humorous take on the contents of a mother's purse, contrasting with the serious themes discussed.