My mother's daughter
The house is quiet. Distance and miscommunication is hanging in the air. The words unsaid go through my head over and over. Nothing is wrong, but something is not right.
How does one define the relationship between a mother and a daughter?
I am not my mother's prodigy. I used to be.
Smart, polite and perfect. The perfect child whose accomplishments could fill a book. If my mom were to get into a competition where mothers' brag about the children (I know you all know what i am talking about), she would have had full confidence that she would win. I was the ideal daughter.
The deeper i dove into the real world, the harder it was to fill the shoes of expectations.
It's very easy to be special when you're twelve.
My mom is more than my guardian. she's my biggest source of love. No one roots for me like she does. she calls me out on every small step i take out of line and although it is frustrating and even annoying at times, it is necessary.
Then there's times, when she's laying her head on my lap and drifting to sleep while I caress her hair, where it feels like she needs my care. The older I get, the more she needs my nurture much more than I need hers. The way she confides in me lets me see what it's like to be her friend.
I am her daughter, her friend, her hope and at times, her mother.
Lord knows the world hasn't been kind to her. It made her tough and fragile at the same time. But I am not competent enough to lift her load. I am still learning how to stand and not doing a very good job at that.
I am competent enough to get on with my days. Good enough to not be condemned. That's that. She notices my wrongs but they're not bold enough to be pointed out. I see them as well. But neither of us have the voice or the knowledge on how to reach out.
My mother made me into the woman that I am. But what kind of woman is that? She's all the example I have of what I should become. Maybe she knows that. Maybe she sees me being molded into something she's familiar with. Do I look like what she sees in the mirror? Does she like her reflection? How many of her criticism is directed toward herself?
I share her blood. We have the same smile. We have the same glow in our eyes when we see babies. I recognize her strength when I am going through bad days. I look best in her dresses. We hum when clean, and our temper escapes when we least expect it.
How can i not become her when she taught me all i know about this world?
But how can i fully understand her when i don't understand myself?
Will time translate our lost messages?
Will my mom smile at her reflection with content?
Will my daughter have to learn self-love from scratch or will i figure it out soon enough to pass it down?
"...this collusion does not save the daughter from the mother's fate"