Letting Go

It had been almost a year since I’d moved out of my mom’s house, as well as states. I knew she wasn’t happy with my decision, but it had been mine to make. I was anxious to be out in the world on my own. I was ready for a place of my own, where I wouldn’t constantly feel like I was under a microscope. I was ready for a sense of freedom and to live my life as loud as I’d always wanted to. For her, I’d kept so much of myself hidden but no longer was I to worry about that. I was on my own, and doing fine. She’d call me often to check up on me, seeing how things were going, and nitpicking every one of the decisions I made. I was so happy to tell her about being accepted into the local community college, only for her to judge me on the waste of time and money that college was. Albeit she ended up being right, but that’s besides the point.

I just wanted to share some good news with my mom, and for her to say she was proud of me. But my mom is unlike those moms that are displayed in tv shows and movies. The soft mom, the mom who is kind and loves her kids and shows it. The type of mom that lets their kids actually be kids and not burden them with the weight of the world. My mom is an enigma that has yet to be solved. I wanted to solve her so much. I wanted to crack the code and make my way into her heart, but it just wasn’t in the cards to happen. Instead, she invited me into a mind of horrors. I had been drained to almost completely nothing. I didn’t feel like myself with her; I wasn’t myself with her and that was the real horror. I felt lost, I had no idea who I was or what I wanted from the world. What it was that I needed. And I wanted to figure it all out, and I knew that the sacrifice for that would be cutting my mother out of my life.

It wasn’t any one particular thing that my mom had done to me, but rather a culmination, that had made me cut her out of my life. It was a series of events that led to the last straw I had endured from her. This was my mother, a woman who had been soft and cruel. She knew how to manipulate and play it off as love. I took to unhealthy coping mechanisms and one night landed myself in the hospital. A night in the psych ward had been a strange experience for me. The next day, when I had myself arranged back at home, I called my mom who had been made aware of the situation.

“Why the hell would you do something like that, Jael? I mean, come on. That was a stupid move,” her voice came through my headphones in a screech. We’d already been on the phone for ten minutes and she had barely let me get a word in. I’d been ready to finally tell her how she had made me feel my entire life, how low she brought me and how little I thought of myself because my own mother didn’t even like the fake me I offered her. There was no way she’d love who I really was. She had already asked me why I did what I did and what I wanted to say was all right there on my tongue. I don’t think I have a place in the world. I feel so lost in my own life, like I’m just on autopilot and everything is happening around me, not to me. And when I think on these feelings, of being so lost that there’s no chance of ever finding your way out, they always come back to you, Mom. I have no ambition because I feel that life is beautiful, but I don’t believe there is an actual spot for me in the world. I feel like I’m three steps behind in my life, like I’m on the wrong path. I realized the anchor that was dragging me to such low depths is...you. 

But instead what left my mouth was, “It was just an accident, Mom. Nothing to worry about.”

Her response had just been to tell me that what I was doing wasn’t going to make me happy and it would leave me empty, just like her. The “what” in question was concerning my love of reading. Literally. She’d always brought up my love of reading in a bad light, like it was such a terrible thing I read fictional books. So horrifying, right? The only reason I had loved fictional stories so much was to escape the reality of mine. It was falling in love over and over again; all those other worlds would take me away, if only for a short while. Life with my mom had been difficult, and when I had the spare moment, I would disappear into my books. I think she just hated that the books weren’t religious, that I wasn’t trying to be a mini her.

The phone call on that day was what hit me the most. I had made an attempt at my own life, and she didn’t show an ounce of caring. All the years that I had been her shoulder to cry on, and to hear her talking about my siblings behind their backs; for her to have as an emotional punching bag. I looked back on our relationship and I knew that the time had come to let her go. All my life I had just wanted a mom to love me and care about me. My mom’s actions and words had proved time and time again that she just didn’t care. She would cry about being such a bad mother, but instead of actively trying to change, the next day would be the same. The cycle had happened too many times to count in the 18 years I had lived with her. She’d done this to multiple of my siblings, even. It got old really fast. Why cry about something if you’re not even going to try to change yourself? 

So, I thought to myself any reasons my mother should be kept in my life. Her being my mother couldn’t be a factor in this as she’d only acted like a real mom a handful of times in my entire life. From her actions, many and often repeated, alongside her words, it seemed as if she really did not care about me one bit. I’d seen through her manipulation tactics, always trying to victimize herself and guilt me. Even if I had spoken up about the real reasons behind doing what I did, she wouldn’t have listened. I know that now. All she’s ever liked is the sound of her voice talking, anyone else was irrelevant. Including her youngest kid. That had been it for me. I had to cut ties with her. I didn’t need her, I was fine on my own. It wasn’t like she’d been there for me when I needed her, I could be there for myself. I refused to depend on that woman for anything.

When my mind was made up, I took three deep breaths and dialed my mother. She picked up right before the last ring brought me to voicemail.

“What?” her voice was clipped but I could hear the slight tremble in that told me she’d been crying. Pushing down my guilt, I held fast.

“Mom, I am going to speak, and you are going to listen to me. No interruption, please. Seriously,” I spit out. There’s a breathy silence on the end, and it begins to rise to an angry snort.

“What’s this about?” she asks.

“Just listen to me, that’s all you have to do.” A frustrated huff from her tells me to continue. My heart raced in my chest. I had held out so much hope for this woman. I wanted her to be better, for herself and for her kids. I had loved her and hated her. I had loved her so much my heart was broken from it. I knew that the future held nothing regarding her. If she ever wanted to change, actually and truly change, then I’d be there. But I couldn’t see that happening from her anytime soon. It was time to do the right thing and put myself first for once.

“Mom, all my life...God, I love you so much but there’s also so much resentment and sadness. Why was I never enough for you? Why would you make me feel so small? That was complete bullshit. I’m your child! And your youngest for that matter, I shouldn’t have been the one to be there for you! You should’ve been there for me! But instead, you broke my trust and violated my privacy to try to know my life. I don’t trust you with anything I tell you. I don’t even want to tell you anything anymore! You don’t even know me, Mom. You were never there...and I don’t want you to be there anymore. It’s not fair to myself to let you treat me like you do. To talk to me like you do! I’m not your therapist, I’m your kid. Please do not try to talk to me after this, I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want or need you in my life. I’m grown up. I’ve got this without your so called help.” 

Before my mom could get a single word out, I hung up the phone and set it to do not disturb so I could delete her number in peace. Afterwards, I put my phone in my pocket and stare out the window onto the street. The sky is beautiful streaks of cerulean, orange, and a deep violet. Thick, lazy clouds of hazy gold coat the sky and a glowing crescent moon beams from the corner of the sky. I smile at the beautiful sunset. I think about my mother, and wonder if she’s trying to call me back. I don’t check my phone, but instead let it sit quietly in my pocket. I find myself watching the sky until it turns deepest midnight blue and small pinpricks of light appear in it. I wish for a sky of stars, but in the city it’s a wish that can’t be granted. I think yet again of my mother and feel my heart thudding in my chest. I search for a thread of anxiety and find it squeezing around me like a snake. I can feel the deathly grip, and I conjure up the image of my mother crying to me on multiple occasions how she was such a bad mother and her kids hated her. I brush it away and find the thread of anxiety.

My thoughts wrap around it gently, coaxing its grip off me. I think of all the times my mother has acted motherly towards me. The memories are few and far between. I feel my heart swell with love for the woman she is in those moments. I feel it harden, knowing that’s not who she really is. I look deep inside myself and find someone who is lost, scared, and not yet ready to be rid of her mom, the one person she solely relies on. I tell her it’ll be okay, that she doesn’t have to feel scared or lost, at least not alone. A younger version of myself looks skeptical but finally she accepts that she no longer needs her mother. How it's been years since we’ve needed a mom. She knows that it’s for the best, that I can take care of us. I realize I’ve been standing at the window, hands pressed against the panes, with tears running down my cheeks. I start to laugh before I swipe my sleeves against my eyes.

I take a deep breath and let it go.