My Mother…
She is a mother. As a kid, it is common that you look up to your mother as a superhero or mother Theresa. I can’t say that I didn’t, but for me it stopped earlier than most. Teenagers often fight with their parents because they don’t get what they want because the parents are trying to do what they can for their kids. My mother fell down on that part of my life. I can’t say that she is a hero because she never was. A hero saves people, my mom didn’t save any one of her kids, she actually allowed us to stay children because she wanted to be needed and feel like she was relevant. While that doesn’t seem bad, it is when we look in the mirror and see how spoiled we are. Some are better at hiding it than others, but the effects are the same. I have to live my life fixing what my parents did to me. I don’t have the childhood of someone in Africa, that’s for sure, but I do have some trials of my own.
I thought my mom was the ISH, and so did a lot of my friends, but when my Dad left we got to see a little more about her. I won’t share all the details with you, but I will tell you that I have to work every day for the rest of my life to be a good person. If I don’t, I will suffer a miserable life.
I want to be the best mother a child could have, I want to have the right balance of strict and love. I hope to be the opposite of what I saw as a child. I know that it’s possible, but I also know that it will take a while to get there. Have no fear, though, I will get there!
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