Mother’s Day, if I could rhyme it with the word “fuck” I would.
I DESPISE this day. DESPISE it. Almost can’t handle it.
It’s an emotional day for me that I wish away every single year. Even as a parent myself, I still don’t enjoy it. It’s a constant reminder of what I have missed in my life.
For those of you not up to date here is a quick synopsis (to not bore those who are strong and steady with me, love you BOOP) my mother dislikes me to the core. One might say she hates me. She always has. I couldn’t give you one reason why she feels this way about me, but she does.
Mother’s Day is a yearly reminder of everyone who has an amazing, movie-like relationship with their mothers. Troop Beverly Hills comes to mind when I think of movies where I envy the mother/daughter relationship. For you youngins you probably don’t remember that movie, but it’s a gem. When I would watch movies like this, I felt out of touch. I don’t know what it’s like to be loved by a mom. I don’t even know what it’s like to have a conversation, let alone a relationship with my mother.
As a parent, I am constantly reminding myself I will not end up like my mother. I’m already different. I give hugs, I say I love you, I give praise, I say “I’m proud of you”, I listen, I give my time, and I love selflessly. I’m hard on myself though because I know how bad it is to go without the affection of a parent. I know how hard it is to never hear “I’m proud of you.” I know how terrible it feels to grow up thinking that you’re not enough. I know how bad it feels to not have someone protect you when you’re too young to protect yourself. When you don’t have that reassurance as a child, you can really end up being quite the fucked up adult. How I didn’t go down a million wrong paths will always amaze me. Talking to my therapist over the last year and a half I’ve realized how resilient I was as a child, and what an even more resilient adult it has made me become.
“Those who left, left us a lesson.” My lesson was to not make the same mistakes that were made with me throughout my childhood, to love without fear, to open my heart without being afraid of all the risk.
When I first wrote about my mom, a few people from high school reached out to me shocked because they had NO idea what I had dealt with, one stuck out to me in particular. She too has a mother with borderline personality disorder. When she read my blog she felt the pain in my writing, she understood the feeling of not being enough, and yet she had no idea that I had lived through all of that. She told me she admired me through high school and had always looked up to me. Little did she know what a hot fucking mess I really was. I was living by myself at 16, hiding it from the world to try to keep up my perfect image.
What you see of people is 1/16th of the real picture. Shit can go down behind closed doors, and I am the perfect example of that. I hide the hurt behind laughter. Sometimes I’m weak, I need reassurance, I need to be reminded that I am liked. I can be completely insecure, but behind all that is strength because I’ve endured through some real shit experiences.
If my mother ever read my blog, I would tell her that I am sorry. I’m sorry that she missed out on being a grandparent. I’m sorry that she has anger in her heart, and that she doesn’t know what unconditional love is. Mostly, I’m sorry that she will never know me as a person. I think that’s a huge loss for her.
Maybe that’s why I feel like I can empathize with those dealing with fertility issues so well. Although the ache of wanting a baby may be different than the ache of wanting a mother who cares about you, it’s still a longing for something that isn’t happening.
I’m going to stop rambling now.. but for those of you who dislike mother’s day like I do… I’m going to drink a Tito’s for you (maybe a couple). For those of you celebrating your first, fourth, thirteenth, twenty-seventh mother’s day, I hope you love your children with every ounce of your being, and know that THEY are the reason you even get to celebrate mother’s day. Don’t take the love of a child for granted because there are some people who dream of being called “Mom” that aren’t as fortunate.