My mom is a good gal. She has had her struggle and I still bear scars of a fight that was never mine--- but my mom tried the way she knew how. I am grateful for my resilience.This blog has documented our struggles. I mean to say, I've documented my struggles with her through this blog. The blog didn't arbitrarily start talking about my damaged relationship with my mother. I started talking about it because my blog co-owner and best friend, at the time, talked frequently about her inability to openly process the dilemma of her two very abusive mothers. I started writing about it because I wondered how many other women were like Sadie. How many people were stuck in these worlds pretending they had childhoods that didn't really exist because their maternal figures couldn't accept their daughter's experiences. I started writing about the resentment toward my mother because some stories should be told before everyone is dead. There are things we don't see until we are on the other side of some kind of orienting event. Each and every one of my most powerful orienting events come around the birth of my children. I've had others, for sure, but the most raw-break-you-open moments came when those three arrived. As much as I would like to claim that my children are all equal in my eyes, they haven't been. Addison was automatically a fixation of mine. I was terrified to give birth to her. I was damaged by her. My mom wasn't sure about raising someone like me and so I wondered, in paralyzingly fear, if I would end up damaging Addison like my mom had damaged me. Addison was born to me late just like I was born to my mom late. Do our daughters know before they are born that they have entered a lineage of war and peace? Do they know that we will see ourselves in them. We will see our mothers in ourselves? We will fight against it and accept it and hopefully in the end refine it. I had to learn she was not me. And I was not her. She is Addison and my mother is herself. I am not my mother and Addison is not me. Do you see how confusing it can be when we try and tell our stories from fixed points. Language is fluid and changes, just as our lives should. History, even, gets rearranged depending on our orientation to the event. I gave birth to Addison March 25th, 2010. March 22nd, 2015 I am still learning how to love her as her- detached of a history she doesn't deserve to inherit and without my own baggage attached. I am learning she is wild in a way I am not. She is brave in a way I am not. She is, however, just as resilient as I am. I gave that to her. She is a shining bright part of the world who has a momma who will read and learn and do whatever-it-takes to be better. Things are different than before. She isn't me and I am not my mom. We deserve space for our own story.
These are my thoughts, yo.