Mother

My mother was never a stage mom. She was absent in most of my formative years and she was never really there for me in my most terrifying moments. For that, I resented her immensely, because I was left to fend myself on my own. I had a hard time growing up because I was brought up in lies, domestic violence and bad family-relations. Where was my mother all these times? She’s nowhere to be found. She’s busy making ends meet. She’s busy bringing food on the table. She was just not there. I had really no one to talk to and because I wan’t able to express myself openly, I developed a twisted view of the world and the resentment I had for my mother was turned inwardly. Then I started having mild depressions, but I because it felt like a chronic feeling, I became so good with masking it with pretensious smiles.

Although, it seem like I am blaming my mother, I don’t. Anymore that is. Because even if I kept on blaming her nothing will happen. She’s a flawed human with many imperfections. She wan’t a good mother perhaps she wasn’t cut for the part. As I grew older I began to understand her more, and have just began accepting her. It was easier this time maybe because I’ve gone through a lot of rough times it wasn’t so bad just accepting things as they were rather than disecting situations for which they were not.

I have forgiven mother. There was really no need for her to say the ‘S’ word because it was already given, that I’ll come around. My mother is not perfect. She’s not the mother that I envisioned her to be. But she’s only being a mother according she knew how.