Bitches I hope to be like part four: my mom

Say what you will about Brenda, but she just happens to be one of the most important ladies in my life.

I know, a lot of people say this about their moms, but for me, it’s true beyond the fact that she happened to birth me.*

*Note: There are many “witnesses” that claim that they saw this happen, but still think that I’m adopted.

Not that being adopted into my family would really be that bad of a thing.

Awww, okay. Enough of that.

Like most teenage girls, there was a time in my life where I really didn’t like my mom.

I thought she was annoying, I didn’t think she understood anything about my life, and I felt that she was way too controlling.

This is hilarious because my mom is annoying, she doesn’t always understand and it’s okay, and she was the least controlling parent that any of my friends and I had growing up.

I still made terrible decisions and got into way too much trouble, but hey, I was smart enough to not get caught most of the time.

I think this is largely because my two older brothers were both getting in trouble all the time growing up, so a lot of my shenanigans managed to slip under the rug.

My brothers always saw this happening and hated me for it.

It’s not my fault I’m perfect though, is it?

My mom and I’s relationship has been kind of a weird one. Mostly because my mom is one hell of a weirdo.

She and I are both very alike and very different from each other in a lot of ways, and this caused a lot of tension in my teenage years.

This is probably because for a long time I didn’t want to see eye-to-eye with her, because I was a teenager, and she was my mom, and I didn’t need another reason for people to push me around in middle school.

I feel like instead of explaining of how alike and how different we are, I’ll instead make lists because they’re easy, I’m lazy, and I like to allow the reader to make their own connections.

The author can’t do all the work.

Ways my mother and I are the same:

  • We’re both bitches.
  • We don’t have filters.
  • We’re loud.
  • We both really want to have sex with Chris Hemsworth.
  • We share an appreciation for cheese.
  • We like home improvement television.
  • We cry at dumb movies but will deny it until we die.
  • We’ve been known to be a little bossy.
  • We both have curly hair.
  • We’re easily offended.

Ways my mother and I are different:

  • She has this insatiable need for personal space which offends me because I’m her favourite child and need constant affection.
  • She will remain quiet when someone is acting like an idiot, whereas I will let them know of their stupidity.
  • She won’t cut negative people out of her life, and I do it every day.
  • She has crazy political views, and she thinks the same about mine.
  • She’s willing to forgive and forget, and at times I am not.
  • She has zero musical talent.
  • She is way too open with her mother about things her life, including her sex life.
  • She really wants to know about my sex life, and I really don’t want her to. Unless it’s with Chris Hemsworth, then I’d be happy to share.
  • She’ll drop hints about things until she dies, whereas I’ll just come out and say it (usually.)
  • She can stay in a committed relationship, and me? Hahahahahahahahahah.

Reasons I’m grateful for my mom:

She gives me my space. 

I feel like I was lucky growing up in regards to the space that my mom gave me in my personal life.

For years I watched (and still watch) my friends’ moms be way too invested in their kids’ lives.

They would dictate what they did before and after school, they would tell them where they could and couldn’t go, they would tell them who they could and couldn’t drive with.

It all seemed a little crazy to me.

My mom gave me the space to be able to make my own decisions about these things, I think mostly because she wanted me to learn how to deal with these things on my own. She wanted me to be able to deal with a crisis rather than be sheltered from one.

I noticed that because of this I tended to make some better decisions than those friends that were always controlled by their parents.

I was by no means perfect, but I found that my rebellion was a little more spread out throughout time, rather than all at once.

I think this probably made me a bit more tolerable to my parents and is what probably allowed my shit to stay under the radar.

Aside from giving me space in my life, she also gave me space emotionally.

I’m a complete emotional wreck.

I tend to blame the cancer in me, but whether or not you subscribe to zodiacs and horoscopes does not change the fact that you know it, and I know it.

On top of being a wreck, I also tend to hold a lot of my emotions in, mostly because there are so many and if I let them all out, people will think I certifiably insane.

So the emotion I do let out is the “bitch” emotion.

This was no exception to my mom either.

I could be going through the hardest times in my life, and I would remain stone cold and refuse to open up about anything.

This was for a multitude of reasons; one being that I was scared that it would result in my mom taking away my space and freedom because she had concern for me, the other being that I didn’t really think she would understand.

I still feel the ladder at times mostly because my mom and I are so different.

When she’s upset, she tends to allow all her emotions to come out, and then they’re out on the table for everyone to see, and she gets over it.

When I’m upset, I let it build and build until I feel like I can’t handle it anymore, and then I explode into a crazy, crying, emotional disaster.

I can understand why that can be a hard thing to deal with, trust me. So sometimes I feel like it’s easier not to open up about certain things because it’s easier to deal with my own problems than having to explain my problems, why I feel them, and what I need from someone while I’m feeling them.

This is true of any of my relationships but is most significant with my mom because she chooses not to push.

She knows that when I need her I’ll come and that I am fully capable of taking care of my own problems.

Which brings me to my second point,

She’s there when I really need her.

When I think of the limited times that my mom has seen me in full breakdown mode, there’s one memory specifically that comes to mind.

It was the day of my grandma’s memorial, and though I was devastated, I was holding together my emotions fairly well.

That is, until a perfectly lovely old lady went up to speak about my grandma, and referred to her loving family which consisted of her two loving children, and her two loving grandchildren.

Sounds harmless right?

It would be if, in fact, my grandmother had two grandchildren.

In real life, she had three, myself and my two cousins. I guess this line was somewhat blurred to this lovely old woman because I was a step-grandchild. Though, my grandmother never saw it that way.

Immediately I felt my heart sink into my chest.

My entire family’s eyes glued to me (or at least it felt like it) to see how or if I would react.

I sat there and choked back my anger and sadness and lasted through the entire ceremony. Once the reception began, I got out of there faster than I got out of my last relationship.

I walked down a highway, with no idea where I was going, in the middle of Bragg Creek, Alberta.

I didn’t stop walking for over an hour.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted someone to know just how shitty it felt.

But I did nothing but walk.

At one point, I guess I turned around because I ended up finding my way back to the lodge where the reception was.

I was perfectly polite, I did the standard “hi, how are you,” with everyone in the family, I ate some food, and I stole some liquor from one of my second cousins.

My family only acknowledged the fact that it had happened at the end of the day when everyone was about to leave to head back to my grandparent’s house.

Both my dad and my granddad told me how much she loved me, and appreciated me, and reminded me that I was also her granddaughter, no matter what some crazy old lady had thought or was told.

My mom, however, decided that we needed to get some ice cream and head home.

So my dad went back to his parents’ house and my mom and I left.

I remember that she was trying to talk to me about other things, to either distract me or make me feel better. She even blared modern music that I knew she hated to try and get me to sing along, a rare occurrence in Brenda’s car.

But I couldn’t fight it off anymore.

Within seconds I went from being stone cold to having a full-fledged breakdown.

I think I really surprised the hell out of my mom because for the first minute or two, she had no idea how to deal with it.

I now know, now that I drive and have a hormonal, puberty-stricken, mess of a kid in my life, how hard it must have been to try to console me while she was driving down the highway at 100 km an hour.

But she did it. She acknowledged my sadness, didn’t tell me how to feel or how to react and bought me ice cream.

This was one of the moments in my life that I feel my mom could really understand how I was feeling. I think partially because it made her really sad too, and because I can only imagine how hard it would be to see that happen to someone that you love so much.

If that were to happen to any of my nieces for whatever reason, there would be no stopping me from making a scene on their behalf. I would make sure that everyone knew how shitty that was to do to a kid, and how ashamed they should all be for not doing anything about it.

This is not my mom’s style, and that’s okay. Instead, she played the political game to keep everyone happy, gave me the space that she knew I needed and was there with food and open arms once I realized that I really just wanted my mom.

You really can’t ask for much better than that, can you?

I’m sure that a lot of that comes with experience, however.

I know that my mom back in the day was just as much of an outspoken bitch as I am, if you want to hear one of the stories, you can go ahead and ask my Aunt Sherry.

 

In all reality, I could go on and on all day about how great I think my mom is.

Hell, I could start up an entire website filled with stories and poems about my mom. Maybe I’ll call it momsabitch.ca (domain pending)

I just thought that while I’m talking about women whom I love and am inspired by, I make sure I introduce you all to my mom, and let her know how much I love and cherish her.

She may drive me crazy, not understand my wild dreams, and hate that I wrote this piece for the whole world to see, but she’s still my mom.

And I honestly wouldn’t trade her in for anyone.

Unless she gets to Chris Hemsworth before I do, then y’all can have her.

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