Almost every woman wants to share the birth of her first child with the person who created her: her mother. But isn’t it more important to be strong than to give in to some emotional whim? Isn’t it more important to remember how much pain and suffering it’ll cause in the long term? I once loved someone who was incredibly abusive to me. (Well, I guess I’ve done that a couple times.) When people asked me why I’d always go back to him, night after night, year after year, knowing how badly he was treating me, knowing how much he was hurting me, my answer was so simple: “I love him.” I thought I’d rather be in love. I thought I’d rather be tortured. I thought nothing else mattered, and even though I knew he didn’t love me, I thought it was more important to be true to myself than to let go. I had to accept him for all his cruelty, and I had to accept myself for loving him, because none of that could ever change. That’s just love, I thought. Then I got older, and I almost married him. And then I thought, “This is dumb. I’d rather be happy.” I guess I find myself in this predicament often. So what do I do? Do I accept her because she’s my mother? It’s never going to change, and I’m always going to feel something, whether I’d like to admit it or not. A few months ago, one of my friends urged me to just resolve things; he said, “You will eventually anyway. You always do.” But can I live like that forever? I gave her a choice: Seek help, and I’ll allow you back into my life. She hasn’t; I can’t. After six months of silence, she sent me a text:
Hello Jess: hope you are well. If you need anything please let me know. Also Jason’s trip was cancelled.Iwould like to see you so let me know if you will be available.
She sent it at 1:20pm. Now it’s 7:30. I haven’t responded. Because what can I say? You’re the person who always reeled me back in, only to abandon me when I needed you. You’re the person who only wanted to be in my life part-time. I could count on my two hands the number of times I saw you when I was in high school. I can count on one hand the number of times I saw you when I was in college. I can count on one finger the number of times I saw you while I was pregnant, and that was only because we happened to be at the same place at the same time. And after all these years, I don’t even know you anymore. I think it’s something that many people struggle with when ending a relationship. You have so many memories with this person. You knew this person. You cared about this person. You loved this person. And when they change, it’s so hard to accept that — the person you knew, the person you loved — that person just doesn’t exist anymore. You can go back a hundred times, but that’s not going to bring back the person you knew and loved. You can’t bring back all the memories you had; they’re just memories, and you have to just remember them fondly, acknowledge that the past is gone, and move on. How funny that, as I’m writing this, I’d hear from my sister about the latest way that my mother is trying to manipulate her. It’s just best to let go. My little boy will be here so soon, and my top priority is to focus on him.