As women, we are never allowed to reflect on what we left behind, wanting more, or just being plain sad, for the life we didn't get to have, the dreams that were just that, dreams. Plans that had to be put on hold. Only men are allowed to do that. We sacrifice a huge chunk of our lives to raise our children. We stay behind and witness everyone's milestones, including our husband's. Their milestones become our milestones.
I know what you're thinking... there she goes again, don't forget to roll your eyes. Proving that everything I just wrote is pretty sad, but true.
I just sat in my kitchen, as I was being torn apart. It hasn't been the first time, and it probably won't be the last. Everything that I've done, every step or misstep that I've taken, dissected into little bits. I didn't even know how to respond. It doesn't even sound like anything that I recognize. Same house but the take away is always different somehow. I had a similar conversation about this with my brother. He was reflecting on our childhood and growing up in our home and he also described a home that I didn't recognize. His take away was so different from mine and we grew up in the same house.
Every decision that I've mulled over, around and around in my head, making sure I got everything right. Sounds like it was all wrong. How did I get it all wrong? I once read that the trick to being a good parent, is not making the same mistakes that your parents made. Stop the cycle. No where in that article did it warn that you would now make your own mistakes. You just wouldn't repeat the mistakes of your parents.
I was accused of treating my youngest like he's still a toddler. Do I? Am I still trying to hold on to that chapter of my life/his life? My middle one feels slighted, don't they always? My oldest was here for Christmas and I felt detached from it all. She's been on her own since she went off to college. I'm sure she has her own grievances. I tried really hard to
Mothers don't usually get a pat on the back, or nice job, no promotions here so I've given myself a high five on occasion, because hell, I have three great kids, decent human beings, intelligent, focused, I should be mother of the year. NOT. At least, I truly believed that. I guess the success of your children doesn't always run parallel to how good of a parent you've been. Go figure. Why do kids always believe that they are the all knowing in how to be a good parent?!
I'm not easy for most, because I have a differing of opinion, an uncomfortable realistic approach where most people want to live with the comfortable lie. I've learned a lot about myself over the years, like most people should. A little self awareness goes a long way. This naturally comes when you reach a certain age, I think. The feelings of grandeur subside and the flaws start to make themselves visible, just like the laugh lines that creep up on you around your eyes and face. Although, I don't mind the laugh lines.
I guess I'm a lot like my Dad in many ways. My cousins and I always found it funny how my Dad and his siblings, their parents, didn't have much of a filter. If they thought it, believed it, or felt it, they were sharing, whether you liked it or not. Truth was golden, whether it hurt your feelings or not. I can't just be agreeable, that's not me. Agreeable to me is just being insincere. My Dad gave me my voice, we would debate, discuss, and disagree but he always invited me to speak my mind.
My mother is the opposite. She is the agreeable sort, in silence. She drives me mad. She has always silenced me with her silence. Any conversation, discussion, grievance, rant, worry, difference of opinion was always met with silence or indifference.
This has come full circle, I did it to my mother and now they do it to me, and others will do it to their mothers. What would they all do without someone to point their fingers at? We're that someone. Whether you cared too much or not enough, maybe you were in their business too much or you took a step back and let them figure it out, maybe you pushed them to much or not at all, maybe you fed the fire you started under their ass and the embers were too hot, maybe you worked too much or not at all. Maybe you weren't around enough, you didn't hug and kiss them enough, whatever it is. It doesn't matter how much or how little you did or still do, the outcome is always somewhat the same. Do we truly ever appreciate what our mothers have given up for us? No, because no one is allowed to talk about it, or bring it up.
And in the end.. in conversation, the dad always comes out on top. Cue.. another eyeroll.
