I didn’t ask for this.
Posted by brittany | Filed under Uncategorized
I know that everyone goes through trials. Some, bigger than others. Some, more significant or meaningful than others. And some, more difficult and harder to comprehend than others.
Mine don’t make sense to me.
I mean, obviously, they’re significant. They’re meant to be there for me to learn things, I get it. But I don’t get why I have to learn these types of skills this way. Everyone gets along with their families most of the time, right? Despite sibling quarrels and “misunderstandings” with your parents, you’re still bound by an eternal love for each and every member. So, of course, I am too. You know, I often look at other families, usually noticing them in their good times, wondering, “What if she was my mom? What if I had a brother like him?” And then I step back and realize time and time again: God put me with this family for a reason. He knows that I wouldn’t function the way I do today without the proper back-up of a wonderful family. So if we’re meant to be together forever, then why do we have problems? I sort of feel like an idiot asking that, because I already know the all-too-obvious answer: because no family is perfect and we have to go through the hard times to realize the good ones. And I get that, I really do. But I suppose the point I’m trying to figure out is why can’t I be the one that gets along with everyone in my family? Why am I the hot-headed, “get off my Trojan horse”, one? Well, not to everyone, but to my mom in particular.
I love my mom. I don’t think she knows how much I love her–because I’m too proud to get off my Trojan horse and tell her–but I really do love my mom. And I don’t think she realizes how much she does for everyone in the family, especially for me. I’m not the perfect child everyone assumes that I am. I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, a lot of them bigger than anyone could really expect from me. But here I am, who I am, today, because of my mom. When I needed to get it all off my chest, when I needed to cry, when I needed to start that hard process of repentance, I would go to my mom and ask, “Mom? Can we talk?” She’d look at me and say in a perfectly calm voice, “Sure honey. Go sit on my bed and I’ll be there in a second.” I don’t think anyone can really appreciate the love and devotion a mother has for them, until she drops everything they’re doing so she can talk with you.
If I love my mom so much, then how come I can’t get along with her? I absolutely can say that it’s my fault. I’m too proud to say sorry when I mouth-off. I’m too sensitive to admit nicely that I’m wrong. And I’m too impatient to explain when I’m being misunderstood, or taken wrong. I feel absolutely horrid when I talk to my mom that way, and never in my life did I think that she’d “accept” that kind of attitude. (Well, sometimes she doesn’t. And that’s when I realize that I’ve gone too far.) Then, I feel horrid because I’ve treated my mom like that. Then… I think, “Well aren’t all mother-daughter relationships supposed to be like this? Constant disagreement and fighting, but in the midst of it, sincere love?” I settle on that statement for a while, and then think to myself, How can I ever hope to have a perfect, non-quarreling, always helping and loving relationship with my future daughters if I can’t even agree with my own mother?
You might be thinking, well why don’t you tell your mother all of this? Why don’t you get off this computer and go tell her, right now.
Because I’m scared. I don’t know if I can ever have that awesome relationship that I used to have with my mother. I used to make her laugh, all the time. It made me happy when I made her laugh. I sort of felt like that was the only thing I was good at, was making her laugh. My sister can make my mom happy by cleaning the entire house to boot. But let’s face it: I’ve never had, nor ever will have the patience to clean to make someone happy. I’ll clean when it’s dirty. The end. But I don’t share many things in common with my mom. So it’s not like I can go out and do stuff with her, because there’s really nothing to do. So I just continue to make her laugh.
And how can I politely tell my mom that something about her is bugging me? I’ve resorted to just not saying anything at all, because I hate hurting people’s feelings. So that leaves me with two other choices, saying it bluntly–which sometimes has worked, when I or my family has put a joke into it– or sitting down with her and discussing something. But she’s my mother. I can’t just say, “Mom, you’re bugging me, will you please knock it off?” I mean, not exactly those words, but you know what I mean. I’m so scared of hurting someone, making them feel bad for a short time, or even to the extent of leaving. So I just bite my tongue and bear it. But slowly, we are growing more and more opposite, less and less alike, and it’s tearing us apart. I didn’t ask for this.
