My Mother

...Will always see me as a child. The child she made, carried, birthed, suckled, changed, and soothed. 

She was the best of mothers until I reached an age where mothering included disciplining. It was a long time before I understood that this is because of how she was disciplined and because she had no mother. 

Although at times I am hit with waves of compassion, most of my time is spent in bitter resentment; Revisiting the album of unpleasant memories and how they have shaped the adult woman I've become. Once or twice I've read articles on the ways my up bringing has rewired my brain and affected my character. I soak up excuses for all my vices and I pass her the blame. My heart is twisted and I find myself slowly becoming worse than what twisted me. I've taken on the story as my identity and write the rest of the plot accordingly.

But now I am asking myself, who I would have become if I had not experienced the negative aspects of my upbringing. I probably would have been balanced in most aspects of my life. I would be happy without the negative context written around my every day. So why don't I drop the old sob story and rewrite the context. Things are pretty good for me right now. And for things that are not going so well, they are all my fault, not hers anymore.

So this is my apology to my mother, for blaming her for everything I couldn't do. And even though she would never say it, I know she is sorry for not being the mother I needed her to be. I know this because that is the essence of all mothers.