Mother May I

When I was a child, I was addicted to earning my mother's love. I remember wanting to hug her all the time and getting the distinct feeling she didn't like me because she refused my affection. I never had enough friends because I was a loser. I was basically mentally retarded in Math. My nose was too big for my face and my body was fat. These were her complaints. I simply could not please the woman. Maybe I should have asked for a nose job for Christmas but I was apparently not that bright.

I spent the majority of my teenage years wondering how I could somehow fit into my own skin and growing into a space in my mother's heart. I was very confused on how to accomplish this, however. So I just lied to her. I told her stories that weren't true about what was actually going on in my life, because I knew she would not accept the truth. The truth usually was that I was hurt, had been betrayed, insecure, confused and afraid of the path I was on. Instead I told her about which boy liked me, what friends I was hanging out with that night and what outfit I had planned to wear. I told her everything was fine. It wasn't.

If I could go back and do things differently, I would have told her the truth long before now. Lies never breed love. Lies breed lies.

I also wish I could have reached out to her numerous times and hugged her, but my mother became even more against affection as the years passed by. She seemed to feel trapped, suffocated by someone's hands on her. I have always seen hugs as love touching love. I see them as warmth touching warmth. I see them as the intertwining of dreams. I see them as the deep breath you've been holding in all day but forgot to let out.

Today my mother and I are still strained. I still want to feel loved and she still doesn't do hugs. But for some reason, it's becoming okay. I have been finally freed by accepting the truths about myself and being okay with them. I needed her to tell me the things I couldn't find the words to tell myself. But I can say them now:

I am not the most beautiful girl in the world. I will never have lips like Angelina Jolie or curves like Scarlett Johannsen. I will always be at about a 4th grader's math level. I will always eat icecream at 3 AM when I can't sleep and I will probably never clean my bedroom. I will be afraid of alot of things and hold on to the fear for way too long. But I will survive like I always have. I will have really bad vices like picking my fingers. I will also be late for most appointments and will probably always have to go to bed with the TV on.

I also have some pretty cool virtues though like cool hair. It's perfectly straight and doesn't need any hair products. My eyes have a color that impresses me. Somedays I really dig my own personal style. My apartment is the only place that I have ever felt like the saying "Home is Where the Heart is" applies and I have completely made it my own. I can listen to a friend like no other. I will recite song lyrics to you if you're lucky. I will send really funny texts. I am a pretty good story teller. I can make one thing well: lemon peppered chicken. I am resilient. I will never give up on myself. I like my vocabulary. And I am always rooting for the underdog. I'm fun to make out with and I have a neat ear for good music. These are the truths that for some reason I either didn't believe or didn't see. Mom, this is me.

And Mom, if I could tell you anything it would be that deep down inside of you, someone beautiful is hiding. Someone you're so afraid of knowing. And I know you can't seem to let go of the past. I know you're angry. I also know you didn't mean to hurt me when I was a child. I know. I would like you to find peace, happiness, a little bit of serenity. And no, we don't have to be best friends, we don't even need to be friends. I don't need all that. But I'd really like that hug.