Another Day Of Hell

I just finished calling my daughter a f*cking bitch ... to her face.

Yeah.

I'm pretty sure she's old enough now to hear the truth, no mincing of words necessary...

She accused me of not being fair, once again, and I guess I've just had it. Today was not the day to play with my mind and play the old guilt trip on me.

I just buried my mother today. Do I need another reason?

I'm bitter, and I'm exhausted, and I'm sick and tired of being accused of never being good enough, of never having her best interests at heart, of not loving enough.

This time, it was about asking for my money back that I had given Em for her trip to Toronto. She didn't use it there, and it was given to her as an emergency fund. She immediately accused me of being unfair because she didn't have to spend the money, and I wanted it back. Somehow, this is all my fault and I should now feel bad about it. Then she had some other choice things to say about how I never do anything for her, and how I'm not much of a mother. Things I've heard coming out of her mouth before.

I didn't remind her of the money I spent at Lick's for whatever she wanted to eat, or the Starbucks drink I bought her because she wanted one, or the more-expensive-than-I-expected bedding I so excitedly put together in her bedroom so she'd be surprised when we got back home last weekend, or the offer to buy her new curtains and other things for her bedroom, or that I always try and make time to listen to her many stories about school or her friends, or that I always put down what I'm doing to braid her hair at night. I do this without complaint or expectations, as any good mother would do.

I'm especially tired of hearing her complaints and nasty words when I've just buried a mother who was not a very good mother, and I was pretty much justified in often thinking those things. I never actually said them to my mother, however, because I loved her and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I realized the power of words. They can often hurt more than any weapon could. And although my mother was very good at the art of inflicting pain, I never reciprocated. I only tried harder to please her.

I think it's time Em realizes that words can hurt. A lot. And that I am nowhere near perfect, but that when she tells me I do nothing for her, that I am not a good mother, it really hurts deep inside, especially since I know how untrue it all is. And it upsets me because I think Em doesn't realize how fortunate she really is to have a mother who truly would do anything for her, who loves her unconditionally, and always will, and who always puts her first.

Of course, Em is in the throes of teenagehood, self-centred and full of anguish, and this is all very real to her.

But her words sting, and they hurt deep down inside, and they are the words I heard my mother speak to me, which makes them hurt all the more.

I hope she reads this, and realizes this. Because I just buried my mother, and I only wish I could have had in her what Em has in me.

Em, my mother never once told me she loved me. Think about that. And next time, think before you speak.