“But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.” –Mitch Albom
Our relationship is the farthest thing from perfect. I wouldn’t even define it as normal. There are nights I’ve spent silently crying myself to sleep. I wake up with my head high, despite your blows as I leave. Few people know the battle behind closed doors, I deal with. No one sees me break down. No one sees me cringe when you call. No one sees the screaming and cursing and tears. It's a fight for control.
Our relationship is derived from fear. I fear your anger, you have an inability to control. I fear the unkind words that cut me like razor blazes. I sometimes wonder, do you realize how much you continue to hurt me? I wonder does it make you feel better about yourself.
I’ve thrived in secrecy. I’ve thrived not telling you things, out of fear of getting yelled at for them. I lie through my teeth time and time again. I lie because I have to. I lie because I don’t trust you, just as you don’t trust me. I lie because if I open up to you, you'll use it as blackmail in our next fight.
I can look you directly in the eyes without blinking, and you’d never know what I was telling you was untruthful.
Abuse isn't always physical as much as it can break you down mentally.
You were supposed to be a mother to me. Not a drill sergeant or spy. I needed a mother growing up. I didn’t need an enemy. I needed someone to be there in those moments kids were mean, not someone to come home to, who was just as unkind. I needed someone to hold me, when I got my heart broken, not yell at me for not telling you about it. I needed someone to build me up, not knock me down, pointing out things, I later became insecure about. I needed someone to believe in my dreams, not tell me I wasn’t gonna amount to them. I needed a mother to love me, with actions and words, not be afraid of it.
In a desperate attempt to fill the void you left me with, I turned to other woman in my life. They gave me someone to talk to. They gave me a woman to look up to. They told me constantly, I was good enough and pretty enough. They loved me the way you should have. Why were they able to show it and you weren’t?
In a desperate attempt to fill the void you left me with, I loved others in ways I wish you loved me. The depths of the love I gave was an abundance.
But, because our relationship wasn’t great, I found myself tolerating the same mistreatment in relationships. The screaming the cursing, the fighting I realized was a direct correlation with our relationship. The men I dated weren’t too different from you. I looked for love from them just as I did you. Both which left me empty.
Why could you only say I love you with alcohol pressed between your lips? Why could you only talk to me, with liquid confidence in your system?
Slowly I watched as I picked up your habits. I took a step back in the moment I realized it. I could become like you, but you were the last person on earth I wanted to be like. I used that as motivation to better myself.
We don’t have a relationship. I don’t know if we ever will. My greatest fear is having a daughter myself, I don’t want to ruin her the way you ruined me. I don’t want to hurt her, the way you hurt me. I don’t want her to grow up with resentment and hate, towards someone she’s supposed to love most in this world.
I look at others girls and mothers with envy.
You did everything you were supposed to as a housewife. You cooked and you cleaned. You trained us to be disciplined and respectful. We are all successful, because of those fundamentals you instilled in us in us as people. But of the many things you didn’t provide us with was the most basic necessity and that’s love.
I needed you to love me. I needed to know I could rely on you emotionally, when things got bad. But home wasn’t ever a place I considered confortable. It was a place full of hostility. When the only thing you and your siblings bond over, is the dislike and the pain you caused, there’s no hope for having successful relationships. So we all went our own ways.
I cannot change you. I can try and understand you. We have both grown up a bit. I’ll always be your daughter and you my mother, I am no longer a child. You no longer can control me with threats. You no longer can tell me what to do. You will no longer raise a hand at me. In your attempts to keep the reins so tight, you didn’t realize you lost me, somewhere along the way.
Of the greater fears I have living with this hate in my heart and resentment, will be the guilt I live with when you’re gone.
It’ll be standing at your funeral and wondering why we fought when we could have gotten along. I’ll be looking back at screaming and fighting, when we should have been laughing and loving one another. That’s what I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.
I'll hold onto the good times tight, but there is no forgetting the bad times either.
I hope one day we get along. I hope one day, I can release the hate that lives in my heart. I hope one day, before it’s too late I can forgive you.
So I’ll start with now. I love you, despite everything. I forgive you, despite everything. And when I have a daughter, I know I’ll be the best mom, because I’ll provide her with all the things you never gave me. The cycle ends now and for that I thank you.