went coconuts

The relationship I have with my mother has seen its fair share of ups and downs. Over the years, it’s unfortunate that I can count more downs than ups, though. If I could go back in time, and figure out just where things went bad, I’d change them. The tension is always there, but the distance between us seems to sedate it. I was the quiet kid. Placed in several dance classes by the age of 5, clinging to my mother’s side in crowded stores, and preferring to stay home instead of hanging out with my cousins, if my mother chose to do the same. At that stage in my life, nothing could alter my decisions about wanting to be within the same vicinity as her.

Things did change. When I started middle school, and began opening myself up to new ideas, and new friendships, I became aware of just how much fun the world could be outside my relationship with my mom. I realized that my friendships meant almost as much to me as the bond between mother and child. I was excited about this. It was chance for me to “grow up”, and figure things out for myself. I know this hurt my mom. I started keeping secrets from her. Secrets that my closest friends told me, and made me swear not to tell anyone else. At the time, I felt some sense of urgency to become independent. I wanted to wake up every morning with my own agenda. Sometimes, this didn’t include spending time with my mom, but I saw nothing wrong with that.

When I was 15, I was prescribed my first set of anti-depressants. I won’t go into detail about why I started seeing a therapist, but it was then I realized that my stability had the power to turn order into chaos with a blink of an eye. My mother wanted me to stay home on nights that I wanted to go out, and this upset me. Why couldn’t I have a “normal” teenage lifestyle? I wanted to see my friends, I wanted to spend time with boys I liked, and I wanted to experience life. I guess you could say that this was when our relationship started its downward spiral. A spiral that is nine years in the making.

When I first started dating my ex, my mother warned me about him. She didn’t like him, or the things he did. Of course, I saw none of this. I wanted to prove to my mom (and perhaps myself) that he wasn’t “that guy”, he wasn’t set on “using” me. I spent close to five years in the relationship with him. Denying the evidence of things he did to hurt me. This is what changed my relationship with my mother forever. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t see things the way I did. It was frustrating that she would threaten me when I went to go see him. She told me, with tears in her eyes, that I wasn’t the girl she thought I was. I wasn’t the daughter she raised. Rebellion was my constant companion. I disregarded everything she said to me, and wouldn’t come home for days. The most important thing to me then, was making sure that the commitment to my ex wasn’t all for nothing. My instability spun out of control. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and I even stopped talking to my Mother all together. We lived in the same house, but never spoke a word for over six months. I would leave before she woke up in the morning, and came back home after she fell asleep. I was angry with her. Angry that she wanted to control my life, and dictate every breath I  took.

Long story short, my mom was right about my ex.

After I severed ties with him, I tried to work towards forgiveness from my mother. Nothing could have prepared me for what she said to me on the day that I told her I was sorry for everything I put her through. She told me that it didn’t matter, and that she still loved me. Unconditionally. How much pain had I put her through? I knew the answer because I was hurting too. I was hurt for the way things ended with my ex, but mostly because I knew my mom hurt right alongside me, and I negated her feelings for the past few years. An overwhelming sense of guilt sent me back into myself. How could I have been okay with putting anyone before her? I tried to make my amends, and spend time with her, but when she would bring up my past, I would get angry and defensive. I became an empty shell of the person I used to be. Work was the only thing that made me get out of bed. I couldn’t sit in the same room with my mom and have a decent conversation without tensing up, wondering when she would bring up my mistakes, and what they did to her. Eventually, I decided to move away. In October of 2005, I made the biggest and most sporadic decision of my life. I gave everyone a month’s notice about the fact that I was packing what I could, and moving to Seattle. This broke my mother’s heart, but I knew that if I chose to stay, things would not get better. We would pass each other in the hallway, without a second glance. Maybe I was running away, but I didn’t care. All I knew is that I could not stay.

It has been almost four years since I’ve left home. I am a different person, with different values, and a stronger heart. Things with my mom are slowly traveling on the road to recovery, but I know for sure that time is the only cure we have. I destroyed the bond I had with her because I thought I was right. Now, I know my biggest priority is and will always be my family. I would walk to the ends of the earth for them. Everything I do in my life out here, isn’t done without first considering my family.

If I could tell my mom just one thing, it would be that I am still sorry for all the hurt I’ve put her through.
And though it may not seem like it now, she will always be one of my best friends.