I’m Lil Peep’n it right now. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I am very much moved by music and the musicians behind the music I listen to. Needless to say, I did a lot of research on Lil Peep, I learned about GothBoiClique the music collective he was a part of. I discovered this new artist (new to me) Wicca Phase Springs Eternal. What does all this have to do with my mother?

It doesn’t. Wait, what? It doesn’t! That’s what this post is about. It’s about what she does NOT have control over. I go on and on about where I’m tethered to her even though we haven’t spoken in nearly 15 years. Just – can we stop a moment? I have not talked to my mother, my mommy, for 15 years. That’s the saddest fucking shit ever. I digress.

Music is MINE. And it brings me joy. I love nothing more than turning up the speakers as loud as I think the neighbors can handle. I’m pretty respectful. But I want it loud and louder and then I start singing in the worst voice ever and I’m enJOYing every moment of it. Is that too simplistic? Like, okay yeah loud music and singing is great. What’s the point?

The point is I’ve used this as a coping mechanism with my husband. We were headed toward an argument over I have no clue, probably something stupid. So I walked away and I went into my office (my sacred place) and I put on my headphones and turned those babies all the way up. I was able to break away from the reality that was happening before me and just…chill. I don’t know the definition of chilling; but, if chilling means relaxing all tightness from head to toe and stepping outside of my mind to just exist in the music, then I WAS CHILLING. It was the best feeling ever. After 10 or so minutes, I went back into the kitchen where my husband was and I don’t remember the rest because it was so non-memorable. We just figured shit out. And we moved on. Had I not taken my music “chill” break, I would have gotten lost in the moment and my gloves would have been off. That’s what my mother would have done. (I’ve also said before that I hate to think I’m anything like my mother so this is a huge win for me doing the OPPOSITE of what she would have done.)

When I think of my mother I get sick to my stomach. She’s just so icky to me. And she has so much potential but she needs some work. And Dr. Collins told me, “Don’t do that to yourself.” The hoping she’ll change, if she’d just do this. But I have to let that dream go. Ugh. Yes, I admit it. It’s a dream. “I used to dream that you would talk to me” is a lyric by (you guessed it) Dermot Kennedy and I think of my mother when I hear those words. She talked at me, not to me, and certainly not with me. Gosh, I was wrong all of the time. I was wrong and bad and shameful every interaction. I’ve always felt so uneasy hugging her. It just doesn’t feel natural. The connection just isn’t there. I feel worse after hugging her. That’s why I’ve never liked hugs! EXCEPT! My husband’s hugs are the best. They are the only hugs I really love. And I have told him, and I’ll continue telling him, that his hugs are the only hugs I love. Because I think that’s special. This is another point I’d like to make. I don’t remember my mother ever complimenting her long-term boyfriend. She was always critiquing him. They had a volatile relationship. I feel bad for the guy. There was just so much turmoil surrounding my mother. And I’ve started turmoil in romantic relationships too many times to count. That’s a pattern I am breaking. I’m trying to live a “normal”, stable, healthy, productive life, and for the most part, if I were to make a list of the things I’m doing I’d be proud of my life) Back to the music, I’ve found how to use it as a coping mechanism and to put it bluntly a shit STOPPER (you feel me?). It stops shit from happening. Whereas my mother is a shit STARTER. Another win — I’m living from a different place.

As I write this, I realize I compare myself to her a lot. Like, when I look in the mirror. My double chin reminds me of her. I want plastic surgery to correct it. I have it even when I’m really skinny so it’s not a current weight issue. I want to be and do and say the opposite of everything my mother has been and done and said. And I beat myself up in the areas where I see similarities between her and I. In addition to my double chin, consistency in any area just isn’t there for me. It’s very hard for me to remain consistent with work productivity, weight loss plans, general healthy living (like more activity). I start high and then crash. This yo-yo basically anorexia I’m doing is so much like my mother. She was always trying to lose weight. And she did. Then she put it back on and she’s just kept putting it on for years. She’s in a very unhealthy place imo and if she asked me, like honestly wanted to know I would tell her just that. Again…if she would just go to counseling weekly for 3 years and work with a psychiatrist long-term and deal with her shit – dive into it for a good handful of years, she could live out the rest of her life so peaceful and happy and all of her daughters would be with her.

I spent time with family today. And I don’t want to go into it but it was a fun time but it was a trigger. I thought of my mother today because I saw my sister’s mom (Lala) organizing the kitchen in my sister’s new apartment. And I told her, “You’re such a good mom. Look at you putting up her towels.” I was just so moved seeing her fold up these kitchen towels and place them perfectly in the drawer. Helping her little girl make a home of her own. My mother bought me a bunch of cleaning supplies. That’s all I remember. Stuff to clean with. She did help me move into my dorm, and maybe she made my bed I don’t remember. But I am not saying she never did motherly things. She did them. And then she attached strings to them. Reminders that she’s done X and X and X for me. “If it weren’t for me” she would proclaim. And then proceed to name off shit like my stereo (boombox back in the day), the phone in my room, the tv in my room. She gave me those things, then continued to punish me with them. Then take away the tv and stop bitching at me. Do that. Try that. Is there anyone in the entire world who can relate to any of this? If so, if you would just comment “yaaaaasss” I’d really appreciate it – I’d feel less alone. Less guilty for being so judgmental of my mother.

I need to explore that with my counselor. I feel guilty for being judgmental of my mother. Because she did do things for me, and she did keep a roof over my head as a single mom but she chose to be in that situation. She chose bad guys (sorry, Dad) and had bad relationships and unfortunately kids were involved. But I didn’t deserve the shaming she did. The name calling, the belittling. I didn’t deserve that. “But the roof over your head” I hear in my mind. And the answering machine. She gave me her old answering machine and I believe ripped that out of the wall during one of her rages when I was in high school. “But for the answering machine.” So she’s put a roof over my head and given me a used answering machine. And she would hold that over my head. All.the.time. I couldn’t just enjoy my shit because she’d remind me that she got it for me any time she was mad.

To wrap this up, because it’s getting late but I promised I would blog daily during this 108 Day Journey I’m on. Today is Day 20. The message was basically about keeping commitments that you make with yourself. And hold yourself accountable. Don’t break promises with yourself. Honor what you say you are going to do. So I’m honoring my promise to both of us to deliver you a blog post today. It’s just ramblings but someone out there (my spirit animal) can relate to this, I just know it. There’s too many damn people on the planet for there not to be someone with the same contentious, non-existent relationship with their mother. (Again, “yaaaasssss” in the comments, much appreciated).

Okay, I’m now going to shamelessly promote this blog post because I’m working to gain followers tbh. If you’re on Instagram (which I am all the time) look me up. I’m thedaughterjourney <—- linked to it.

Until tomorrow.

With sincere, feel-good joy,


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