My Mother

So I bit the bullet and showed my therapist this blog. She said she really liked it. Yay! Started gushing about how nice it was to hear my voice since I'm so quiet in real life. Said I maybe even have a way with words.

How about that? Madison. Me. The girl who couldn't string two sentences together to cross a bridge. A way with words.

One thing my therapist did suggest, however, was to try talking about more people in my life. I guess she noticed that there weren't very many other people in my entries aside from Linda. (Poor Linda, she does keep me employed after all.)

I think it's time to talk about my mother.

Her name is Hazel and she is one of the beautiful women I have ever known. My hair is long, thin and dirty brown. Hers is thick and full and curly and chestnut. Even though she's older and put on weight, she has this take charge kind of beauty. Big brassy voice too. She sings in the church choir and plays a mean round of Euchre.

We did not always get along. Actually, I used to hate her.

Part of it was the adolescent, hormone driven anger that makes you want to attack anyone who shares the same genes as you. Reverse natural selection, maybe. Part of it was that she didn't believe me. And when your world is collapsing around you and your own mom doesn't believe you, it's hard to take.

It's not that she's mean. That's not it. Never been it. She's got these big dark eyes and severe eyebrows. Her face always makes her look more angry or disappointed than she actually is. It's always been hard to tell her disappointing things.

When I started telling her that I saw things she would say, "Don't be silly" or tell me that making up lies was unbecoming. But they weren't lies. It was so hard to convince of things she didn't all ready believe.

Mom world. Everything in it makes sense. Everything outside is dismissed.

It doesn't matter if it was my creature or bullies in the school yard or even my sister's bulimia at first. Did I mention I have a sister? Because I do. Poor Zooey. I think the stress of me and my mom fighting all the time didn't help.

I used to cry all the time over her. But those days are long over.

You see here's the other thing about my mom. When she realizes she's wrong, she admits it. She does a total 180 without even blinking.

And when she's on your side, there's no way you can lose.

We've been in family therapy a little. Mom, dad, Zooey, and I. (Haven't talked about dad yet, sorry dad!) And it's helped. Me and Zooey talk about how it was hard to come to her with problems. She apologized. She actually did. She uses words like "control issues" to describe herself now. She talks about her own mother. It's nice.

There have been a lot of important days for me, but the most important is the day my mother stopped being an arbiter. That day she became a person to me. Ever since that day, we've had very few fights. Even though my problems have contributed plenty of things to talk about.

And even though my life isn't going how it planned, I am thankful for this. I'm thankful that me and Zooey and mom can be in the same room and not fight. I'm thankful for her heavy touch and her uncompromising attitude when it has come to my road of recovery.

I know it took a while, but thanks for believing me mom. I don't think all mothers would still be by their daughters after all of this.

I love you mom, I really do.