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I Wish I Knew How To Miss You

Mom,
There are days when I want to call and tell you I miss you, especially on the days when I long to have a mother’s hug  telling me everything will be alright. But if I called and said, “I miss you” we both know that would be a lie. I know that I love you because you are my mother — before my birth you could have ended my life but instead, you brought me into the world, cared for me, taught me how to be independent and how to survive. For this I am grateful and will always love you.

But as I grew, it was painfully obvious that we saw the world very differently and this affected our relationship significantly which fueled my need to separate myself from you for the sake of my sanity. I do not cast blame because I understand you have a right to your views for they were/are based on your upbringing, but I too have a right to my views and choose to associate with those of like mind so I can feel that my voice is being heard.

The tension I feel in your presence fuels my need to escape the mental torment so even though I long for my mother, you are not the mother with whom I can be my true self.

We communicate well now because distance separates us. Conversations go unspoken — buried — for fear such utterings would cause an eruption of ill feelings, resentment, sadness, inadequacy, regret, longing, loss… You gave up a career to be a mother, but there were times you made us to feel guilty for your choices. That’s so unfair! What an awful burden to place on a child.

Your standards of perfection were set so high, only you could meet them. But still I toiled to earn your admiration and only got your criticisms instead. My best was never good enough but still I tried.

At 19 I left home to make my own way in the world, finally free to be me. But my need for approval was still there, instead however, I sought it from others. I never found it in my personal relationships, but instead from my work. And so it seems I am incapable of bonding with anyone for I too now have your ridiculously high standards hammered into my brain. Oh the irony!

So here I sit, in the middle of the rubble of my life longing for my mom to put her arms around me and comfort me but I can’t communicate that to you for it would be a lie. It seems that I miss the idea of what you are supposed to be, but in actuality I don’t know how to miss the real you.

Written January 8 2015 | Edited June 10 2015 | Copyright 2015 Moylom Enterprises