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When I was younger, as a child I remember more horrible memories then good from my mother. I remember being three and left alone at a football game house party, wandering, looking for my mother and only finding a bunch of men with beer. I remember being left alone with stranger more than with my mother. My family would take time to raise me and teach me things my mother should have been teaching me. I remember being eight and my mom asking me for sex and relationship advice. At 12, I came out to my mother with a deep, dark secret that I was being raped, and had been for years previously. What did she say?
“I don’t know why you always have to lie and ruin everything!”
16 years old, puking as soon as I got off the bus because I would see her car there at the house and know that she was going to beat me again over something she thought I had done wrong again. 17 years old, I was left on the streets to fend for myself. The list goes on and on, of course, but this is just the outline to my relationship with my wonderful, loving, caring mommy dearest.
Now, at the age of 30, still trying to piece together a relationship, some sort of bond with her, I have pulled her out of an abuse shelter and brought her to live with me. She has stolen things already from me, threatened to surrender my car that I’m paying $400 a month on because she is primary on the lease. She says it’s her car, and without her, I’d have nothing. NOTHING! She’s so very right! I wouldn’t have PTSD from the trauma that came from my mother. I wouldn’t have nightmares about her attacking me since I brought her to live in my home. I wouldn’t be supporting a 49-year-old woman who decided to quit her job and live off of me. I wouldn’t be working on evicting her because she threatened to get my kids taken away, all because I told her I want her out of my house for her putting my kids down, cussing at them, telling them they are f'd up and hateful.
So what is a mother? I’m not sure I know, as I’ve never really experienced one. I know that I try and spend every moment with my children, giving them the utmost support and love that I have. I try and teach them new things everyday. I never raise my hands to them. I have “family night,” where we will have slumber parties on the living room floor, eating snacks and watching movies or playing board games. I never want to miss a moment. I tell them that, as long as they try their best in school and don’t make an “F” grade in school, I will be proud of them no matter what. Guess what?! They make As and Bs. Sure, I’ve seen a bad grade here and there, and they have gotten into trouble now and again, but that is what a child does right? Push your buttons and step out of line, only for you to show them the correct way to act and behave?
People say, “If you feel like you are never enough as a mom, you are doing your job.” Or another one, which is my favorite, “We become our mothers.” Well let me just tell you something! My mom always felt like a failure in life, love and motherhood. She DID NOT do her job with us four girls. And no! I will never become my mother! I would die for my kids, not the boyfriend of the week! I don’t know if I am a good mother or a bad mother. All I know is I learn how to be a mommy in a different way every single day. I will mess up and I will make mistakes along the way. I will never scold or turn my back on my children as long as there is breath left in my lungs. I will never stop cherishing these three blessings God has blessed me with. So what is a mother? Because I’m honestly still struggling with that one.