I always yearned for a strong relationship with my mother. Those kinds where you could depend on her without a doubt in your mind; the perfect picture-frame type relationship. I used to have a healthy connection with my mother. I loved her dearly, and no matter what she would do or where she would go, I would always validate her actions and reasoning. For years I believed that she would come back to my brother and me and again be the mother we once loved and cherished. As I grew older, I learned to accept that we were not the most important figures in my mother’s life, and she was probably never coming back. Even though someone as important and influential in my life as my mother left my brother and me, I do not need her to prove that I am worthy and capable of love.
My parents first divorced when I was three, and for the next five years, Ricky (my little brother), my mother, and I lived together and had the relationship a normal mother would have with her children. I grew to adore her with almost an angelic devotion, even though she often could not provide for us and would verbally berate my father. My mother’s struggle with unemployment and depression eventually started to reflect in our living conditions, but my father was always there to save my brother and me from the periods of poverty and destitution. By the time I was eight and my brother was six, my mother was no longer capable of raising us, and my father came to our rescue.
Soon after my brother and I started living with our father, my mother began moving from state to state for job opportunities. She would be absent for months at a time- seldomly contacting my brother and me. Throughout her leavings, I tried to justify the good in her actions. I fought against the fervent animosity growing in my heart and managed to continue to adore her as devoutly as I had before. As the months-and eventually years- passed, I became more and more conflicted with my emotions. Festering feelings of hatred for her absence and aloofness battled my diminishing feelings of veneration for her.
As I grew older, the golden pedestal I had placed my mother on had been almost completely replaced with a dark pit of resentment. I resented not only her, but also myself. I despised how inadequate I was- never worth her time and dedication. I blamed her departure on myself entirely. If I had just been the daughter she wanted, she would never have left. If I had just never been born, she would be living healthfully and prosperously. If I had just proved to her that I was worthy, deserving, she would love me. I grew to believe that I would never qualify to receive her affection, as well as the love and care of any person.
As I arrived at my early teenage years, the sweltering loath I associated with my mother had hardened me into a state of utter numbness. Nothing I accomplished, attained, or experienced mattered to me- because I was the worthless daughter that I had led myself to believe. I started to participate in all sorts of delinquent behavior, with no remorse or sorrow. Obviously my father took notice, and when he inquired about my motives and how I justified my behavior, I completely broke down and confessed everything that had plagued my heart and mind for years. I guess that was all it took for me to deviate from my path of hatred for my mother and perpetual self-loathing; someone simply asking and sincerely caring about me and my well being. Something my mother never did.
With a new-found confidence in myself and the unending support from my father, I learned that my life does not have to be scarred by my mother’s mistakes. I do not need a mother to validate my worthiness. I am eligible for love, compassion, and dedication, simply because I am my own person and I do not need to adhere to the standards set by others. Now that I believe in and love myself, I never let anyone and anything get in my way. I am independent and valuable, and no one will ever change that. When I become a mother, I will never-under any circumstances-leave my children. I will always be there to love and cherish them, and they will always know how important and special they are. They will never have to undergo the excruciating emotional torment I did. My children will feel real love, and reap the bountiful benefits of it.