The room is dead silent as I’m sitting across from a stranger who knows absolutely nothing except for the fact that I can barely speak a word of my mother without crying. This woman is my therapist and I had been sitting in her room for about 20 minutes until she asked me what my relationship with my family was like. As I got to my mother, my voice began to shake and I struggled to find any words to explain the past 18 years of my life and how I was just filled with sadness at the thought of her.
My relationship with my mom is one that I don’t try to explain to people. If anybody ever asks I just shrug my shoulders as I say “I love my mom, but it’s just…” I don’t even know how to finish that sentence, so many like to just fill in the blank space with their own assumptions, a popular one being “complicated.” Now, while that is true, I’d rather say that it’s just not what I wish it was.
I spent a lot of time growing up hearing about my friends’ mothers and the things they would do for them. Usually, it would hurt me to hear of how my peers were so clearly being shown love but would fail to recognize it as just that. I tried my best to understand where they were coming from, but I couldn’t help but compare my own mother and think about how I wasn’t being cared about in the same way. It really led me to believe, at a very young age, that my mom wanted nothing to do with me. She didn’t want to listen to me, have a conversation with me, or even spend time with me, and her lack of participation in my life was becoming more and more evident to me. By the time I was 12, I couldn’t believe that my mother could ever love me, that there wasn’t any reason for her to, and if she did something for me, or if I asked for anything, I was only burdening her with my presence.
Originally, I wanted to write an article about how I’ve never felt like I was truly enough to anyone, but I quickly realized that I’ve probably made my mother feel as if she was second best to any other person I spent time with. It was unfair of me to pin my mom against all others and think that she was given the same privilege that other mothers had. My first few months of university have been me noticing how I’m not allowed to have the same experiences as other students on campus because I’m just not as privileged as them. I don’t live on campus, have an expensive apartment nearby, party every weekend, and just let my priorities go completely out the door. This made me think of my parents a lot, and I soon realized how they’ve been put in the same position their entire lives. They don’t get to travel to new and beautiful places, take time off, or give their children the things they wish they could. It’s a tough place to be in and I see now what kind of pain that can cause a person.
Towards the end of elementary school, my mom wasn’t around much. I would see her in the morning before school started (mostly yelling at all of us), and later at night when I should’ve been asleep. There really wasn’t much time for conversation because she was very tired and it only got worse over the years. She ended up getting a second job, so she was gone practically every day. It was very rare to come home from school and see her car parked outside of our house. Truly, there had been times when we went days without speaking or seeing each other and I can only remember those days being some of my loneliest.
My mother always spoke about how I acted like an adult and how it seemed like I couldn’t wait to leave because she didn’t feel that I wanted or needed my family. I wish she knew how many times I tried to explain to her how wrong she was. She just never gave me the chance to, and it was hard enough to tell her anything, let alone talk to her about an issue she has always had with me. She is stubborn and hot-headed, which are two qualities of hers that people cannot seem to work around, including me.
There are so many things I wish my mom knew about me, even more things I wish she was there to help me through, but I can’t seem to ever be vulnerable with her. I don’t believe that she reads my articles because if she did, I’m sure she would’ve called or mentioned it to me by now, but I haven’t received anything from her. If she hasn’t read anything of mine before, then I truly hope she is reading this one (or that my sister has made her).
To me, my mother is one of the strongest and most hard-working people that I know. She worked her ass off to graduate high school and has dedicated her life to raising four children who have been anything but easy. She has lost such important people in her life, which is something I don’t think my heart could ever manage. Sometimes I take the time to put myself in her shoes and really think about the pain, sadness, and loneliness she must feel and it is a true heartbreak that moves me to sobs every single time. She always keeps going no matter what, and I can tell how difficult that must really be.
I know my mom thinks that I’ve never understood her, but she doesn’t know that I’ve spent my entire life trying to do just that. I wanted to know what it took to be just like her. I wanted to understand that as much as I wanted to be around her and talk to her, I just couldn’t and I didn’t know why. She doesn’t know that there hasn’t been a person, besides my father, that I’ve wanted around more than her. It hurt me so much to have her not show up for me, but I know now that I can’t blame her.
My mom has never liked how much time and attention I give to my friends. There have been many times where she has insinuated that I lack proper judgment of character. She couldn’t really understand why I would deliberately choose them over my family, but it’s because I found the love within them that I didn’t feel from them at the time. My friends have always made me feel important, and I share some of my best memories with those select few. They’ve become just as important to me as my family, and I want my mom to know that they are good people who have shown me what true friendship is by having my back and helping me through some of my most difficult moments.
Now to my mother, those times when it seemed like all I wanted was to be alone, I wish you hadn’t given up so easily on me. I wish you would’ve thought about, and worried for me more when I was very young. I wish you would’ve questioned my actions a bit more. I didn’t have to feel like a burden. I shouldn’t have thought that my silence and obedience would make you any happier, but it clearly did. It was hard for me to be who I wanted to be because I knew you wouldn’t be happy with her. I just wish you would’ve been there more as I was growing up. Maybe then, I could have just a shred of the strength that you have.
I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you throughout my life. You must know that it pained me just as much because I can’t even bear to think of you carrying around such sadness. I realize that it was all because you cared. You worked every day to make sure the bills were paid, that we had food on the table, and that we could have the things we wanted like new shoes and clothes. You sacrificed your time with us FOR us, and it’s okay. Yeah, I would do anything to go back and maybe try it all over again because then maybe I could fix our relationship, but I can’t.
I spent so much of my life feeling incredibly alone and helpless, and I used to blame you a lot. It wasn’t just your fault, I know it was mine too. It’s really unfortunate that it took me 18 years to know that you loved me, I should’ve known sooner. I know you still think of me as someone who has never needed your help, but these past 18 years I’ve been the same little girl that used to read books with you in Sergio’s room. Maybe I had gotten lost along the way, but she was always there. I wanted you to see past it all, break down the walls we both built, and tell me how to get through what horrible things I was feeling and thinking. I’ve always wanted you to be there for me, Ma. I’m just really sorry that you thought otherwise, and that I failed to let you in.