I recently read a LinkedIn post by a writer who said, “Your audience needs to hear from you consistently. Not perfectly.” And I thought, that is so true. I don’t have to publish the most eloquent blog post in order for my content, my words, my thoughts to be relevant and valuable. In fact, I could argue that my imperfect blog posts are the most authentic and valuable. The following has been on my mind…so here I go, imperfectly.
What it’s like not having my mother in my life: sometimes it fucking sucks. Sometimes it really fucking sucks.
My Top 5 “Sometimes It Fucking Sucks” list:
- When I’m at the grocery store and something funny happens, or I need to know if I need salted or unsalted butter.
- When I remember the time I wanted to surprise my mother when she came home from work, so after school, I walked home and hurried in the kitchen. I didn’t see any of the white granules my mother put in our tea, so I went to the cabinet and opened it up. I found brown sugar — sugar is sugar, right? So, I proceeded to brew tea and then sweetened it with brown sugar. She took a big gulp and practically spit it out as she frantically asked, “What did you put in there!?”
- When it’s Mother’s Day, my mother’s birthday, or my birthday. On these days especially, the loneliness closes in on me, tightening around my neck as I realize the woman who gave me life is no where in my life.
- When I feel selfish for cutting my mother out of my life, even though it was necessary to save myself and not live out of my woundedness.
- When I read a book about emotionally absent or borderline mothers and I understand she is living out of her own pain and I just want her to get better.
In the moments when it fucking sucks, I keep choosing myself, even when that choice feels heavy, lonely and unfair. I can hold grief and relief at the same time. I can miss the mother I had, mourn the one I needed and still know that distance was an act of survival, not cruelty.
This is me showing up imperfectly, without a moral or a tidy ending. Just the truth as it exists today. Some days are lighter. Some days ache in ways I didn’t expect. But telling this story, even messily, reminds me that healing isn’t linear and that naming the pain doesn’t make me weak. It makes me real.
Photo by Artem Kovalev on Unsplash
