Some say my mother and I are too similar to get along, but if you asked either of us, we would say we’re too different to tolerate each other. I guess in a way, it’s a combination of the two. My stubbornness and attitude towards discipline brings out the overbearing, control-crazy side of her; her stubbornness and desire for me to conform to her rules brings out my irrational need to rebel against anything she wants me to do. Together, my mom and I could make a team, though opposing each other, we would shame hurricanes.
Earlier in my life our relationship hadn’t been this extreme, but lately it has reached an all-time high. Some days begin with us kicking-back and watching cheesy movies together, popping popcorn, and explaining our days in exaggerated detail. Nevertheless, these same days have ended in screaming matches, where doors are slammed and threats are made. My siblings will retreat to other rooms until my mother and I finish spitting comebacks at each other like immature 5th graders. Around this time, my technology privileges are revoked and no social plans are allowed for two weeks. The night closes with her stalking off to her room and me left in mine, pissed and crying.

Only a couple of months ago, one of our fights had really set her off. Out of pure frustration with my inability to listen, she had screamed “If you don’t want to play by my rules, then you can just go live out on the street!” At that point, my anger had gotten the best of me and my thought process was clogged. I replied with a simple “Fine” and trudged outside into two foot snow banks with nothing on besides a soccer coat, pajama pants, and a pair of Uggs. Living near the golf course, I hid in maintenance parking lot, stupidly hoping I’d freeze to death so I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of my lame attempt at running away.
I crouched on the ground for what felt like hours, but what must’ve been only 30 minutes, the entire time thinking of the fight. It was over my grades. I thought about it and concluded she was right. I had the potential to have A’s and B’s, yet I only put in the effort of C’s and D’s. But I was getting tired of her constantly picking on me. I convinced myself that my mother was merely using me as a verbal punching bag, something in which she could yell at and take her stress out on. There was no way to avoid the repetitive sound of her lectures without using some form of “attitude” and getting grounded for it.
Granted, I did bring it upon myself most of the time. One of the most important lessons she was trying to teach me was to learn when to shut my mouth. She said it to me clear as day, but somewhere along the way, the message got miscarried and I ended up spit firing an audacious reply back at her.
Eventually, I crawled out from my hiding spot to wave down the car that had been circling the area for a good 20 minutes. Lo and behold, it was my mother, who promptly instructed me to get into the car and then proceeded to maintain a silence so icy it dropped below 0 degrees.
After that night, my mother seemed to have even less patience with me. Even if she detected a microscopic trace of attitude in my voice, she would instantly pull out the merciless version of herself. At this point, I get grounded every other week. Any form of not continuing an argument with her is perceived as pouting. I have even been threatened to have my door taken off its hinges a few dozen times.
Still, my mother’s messages ring clear in my head. I now find that when I speak I hesitate about what I’m about to say and really think it through before voicing it. After constantly hounding me about homework and studying, my grades have begun improving and reflecting the intelligence she knows I have. I sat through lecture after lecture, grounding after grounding, every time believing that my mother was delusional and had no idea what she was talking about. But now I see it. What she had been hollering at me for years now had finally started to make sense; if I didn’t take a serious look at myself, i would face the repercussions.
Yet somewhere along her great journey to make me see the light, my mother lost sight of merely helping me. She was corrupted by the need to constantly prove me wrong and demonstrate her dominance over me. Her reasoning grew desperate and I grew frustrated. Even now, if I simply question why she said no to me, she answers with “because I said so”, which poorly masks her inability to manifest a reason for her “no”.
Because of this detour, I mirrored her actions. Instead of simply listening to my mother, I rebelled against her judgements to show that she can’t control me. Nowadays, my mother and I have gotten so caught up in proving each other wrong that she lost sight of helping me. It wasn’t just her ameliorating my attitude. It was now a never ending contest between us to challenge each other.
When I insisted that she was a horrendous mother (not true) and a witch with a capital B (sometimes true), she would laugh and say the same to me. It wasn’t name-calling we were playing at, but more of trying to see who could get offended the most.
A few months ago we were going to a family party. About 20 minutes before our agreeable departure time, my mother stated that she didn’t agree with the jeans I had chosen to wear. Instead of listening to her, I instantly threw my guard up and refused to change the pants. The simple wardrobe disagreement escalated into a full-on battle between mother and daughter. During my overly dramatic tantrum I burst into tears a few times, screamed that I hated her about a dozen times, got my phone confiscated, slammed my door, threw inanimate objects, and got grounded for a month. All of this was over a pair of pants.

Looking back at that moment of pure stubbornness especially, I realize that I have yet to learn humility. She is my mother and I am her daughter. No matter how much I hate to admit it, while I am still living with my parents, it is my mother’s rules and way of life I have to follow. I have to come to terms with the fact that my pride obstructs me from understanding the lessons my mother is trying to teach me, whatever form they be delivered in. But I can hope that this is what all teenagers and young adults have faced. At one point in our lives we have all had to realize that we have to follow the rules sometimes and do what we are told. And eventually, like everyone else, I will learn.