Getting to the Root…Part 2

I am laying in bed I can visualize all the wrinkles in her face where life has taken a toll on her body and making her age very quickly. The bruises on her arms from bumping into something, her hands not as rough as I remembered as a kid. Am I looking in the mirror of who I am going to be when I reach that age or am I going to make a choice to change that direction.

My husband says a saying sometimes to me from a sign he seen at a department store years ago;

Mirror Mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all

I use to get so mad when he said that to me because I didn’t want to be her. I love my mom with all my heart. She was a single mom raising a daughter on her own which is no easy task. Especially, with no help from my dad since he was in prison and her family was not very supportive either. My grandparents were her only good support up until my grandpa died beginning of my 8th grade. My mom will tell you she really didn’t have anyone to teach her how to be a mom. When my older brother was born, my mom was 18 years old, and she had her grandma help her a little bit before her passing but her relationship with her mom was not good at all. So the way she treated me most of my life and the way our relationship has turned into a mirror image of her and her mother.

I know my mom was always supportive when I did church events. She would be the first person to volunteer and come to different functions to show her support for me. What happen behind closed doors is not always what it seems when the doors are wide open. I would isolated myself in my room a lot. At times my step dad would refer it as my “cave.” Only if he knew what happen when I came out of my room especially after he went to work. The yelling would start, the words that cut me so deep would begin. So it was better to just stay there than deal with that stuff. I wasn’t allowed to be the normal teenage girl with emotions.I was expected to just know how to live life without making mistakes and be perfect. I was always past my years because of harsh expectations at home.

So here I am now, dealing with the aging mom. When I fall down now, she now wants to extend her love and grace. When I was a growing up and I needed that attention, that time, be held, show grace, not capitol punishment like I committed the biggest sin on the face of the earth. I lived in a house that was no different than a volocano. I never knew when it would erupt and when it did watch out. It was always targeted at me it didn’t matter what I said or done. I got use to be controlled, bossed around, and pushed away when raising me was too difficult.

The physical pain would go away but the words have stayed with me. Words cut. Its so much harder to take words back once they have been spoken.

So where do I go from here…



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