The stranger I call Mom

Mothers. They are angles that protect their children from everything and anything. They worry about us, they take care of us, they give us advice, they do their best to make sure we are successful. Mothers will truly do anything for their children, which is why I hate myself for being so distant with my mom.

Growing up I was never close with my mom, at least not that I can remember. I’m sure when I was younger, like a toddler, I would follow her around, but I was a vulnerable child afraid of the world. The older I got the more distant I grew from the woman who gave me life. I’m sure most teenagers can relate to that; however, my mother and I argued…a lot. We argued everyday. The constant yelling started when I entered middle school. I would get home from school, do my thing, and when my mom got home the yelling would start. She would yell at me for anything and everything. I didn’t do my homework, clean my room, wash the dishes, sweep, clean up the living room, sit down and have dinner with her. It was starting to get annoying and exhausting. My mom would give me this look full of disappoint, annoyance, and anger. It was as if I could never do anything to satisfy her.

I distanced myself from my mother to the point where we became strangers living under the same roof. We never spoke except when we exchanged goodbyes before I left for school or when she came into my room to say goodnight. The car rides with my mom were either complete silence or arguments she would start  because I refused to tell her about my daily activities.

I never felt comfortable going to my mom for advice or help because the few times I did reach out to her, she judged me. My mom made it clear that she thought everything I did was wrong, and she unintentionally without realizing it, made me believe I wasn’t good enough of a daughter or of a person really.

My mother only knew how to say “no” to me ,or “Do whatever you want. I don’t care” and one time, “You are a disappointment”.

The very few, rare times I did try to start a conversation with her, and tell her about my day or about whatever was going on in my life, my mom didn’t seem to care. She would just reply with “okay”. How the hell did she expect me to get close to her? It was because of all these reaons that I began to hate her. Just simply being in the same room as my mom enraged me. I couldn’t stand it. I Couldn’t stand her.

I understand mothers don’t want their “babies” to grow up, but they realize that eventually they have to let them do life on their own. My mom refused to let me grow up. She attempted to hold a grip on my hand and not let me do my own thing. Now I’m not saying I was a bad child that always wanted to be out and do things. I simply wanted to spend the night at a friend’s house, go out to dinner, football games, movie theatres. I wanted to do all the things my mom wouldn’t let me do.

Eventually the fighting stopped, but only because the both of us were too tired to argue. I made my mom realize I wasn’t a baby anymore and that I had to go out into the real world to do my thing. I don’t need to be babied. I need to be given privileged freedom. My mom and I talk every now and then but it took us years to get to this point and a lot of maturing on each others end. I guess that’s another reason I hated my mom; she acted childish at times and it annoyed the crap out of me.

If you and your mom have an amazing relationship then I’m happy for you because I look at my friends and their relationship with their mom and get jealous. I am jealous of anyone who can consider their mom their best friend, and joke around with them, and feel comfortable talking to them. It is a relationship I hope to have one day with my kids.


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