Carelessly searching through my news feed, I came across an article regarding what all twenty-something young women should have before they are 25. Half expecting the article to contain pictures of the newest trends in nail polish or fashion, I apprehensively opened the link. I was surprised to find a discussion of advice on how to complete oneself as a woman in early stages of adulthood. I found this encouraging.
Amongst the items that struck out most to me was the ideal that a young woman should have a relationship with her mother, whether that be healthy or healthily distanced. I thought about this concept briefly and then carried on with my day, but the thought came back to me as I sat in the backseat of a car, watching my parents interacting together while they presumed I was only reading a book. I watched in awe as they flirted with each other from their respective seats in the car, holding hands, being silly. It saddened me to think of my brief marriage and how far my husband and I had drifted from the simple, silly things that once held us so close together and stitched the patchwork of our comfortably numb existence, resulting in demise.
My parents never had a perfect marriage, it wasn't a cookie cutter. They faced difficult challenges in building a life together, as all marriages do. They separated briefly, years ago. But despite the resentment my siblings and I felt for my father for leaving, a selfish and childish resentment without the patience only understanding can give us, my mother took him back. She welcomed and accepted his faults. She forgave him. And after nearly thirty years of marriage, they still do the stupid stuff that kids do. They still hold hands, something I don't remember the last time I did so with my husband. I don't even remember any sincere touch after saying our vows. And though this is utterly depressing, at the same time it offers me relief. Not that holding hands is the deal breaker of a successful marriage, but that my marriage lacked that forgiving, hopelessly intimate aspect that lets you embrace vulnerability and security.
Through the course of the road trip on our adventure, I contemplated the relationship I have with my mother and how it differs from the relationship she holds with my siblings. My sister, a stubborn brute of a woman with no regard to the perspective of others, views my mother as an equal. She only reaches out to her when she needs someone to talk to or to run errands with. She belittles my mother to her in-laws and treats her as an object of convenience, not as someone who fostered her childhood and sacrificed her dreams to be my sister's mother.
My brother sees my mother as a virtue of solace. To him, my mother is the only person he can tell everything to, without her judgement. Her love for him is so translucent, even when he argues with her. He calls her to discuss ideas, find answers, to relieve stress. To him, she is the sounding board in which he finds his moral compass.
My mother made me promise when my father left that I would follow a path that led me to a career in which I would never need to rely on anyone to make ends meet. This was one of the most impacting moments in my childhood. And through all of the anger and the hatred, I promised her. And I meant every word. To me, my mother is my anchor, a beacon of hope, the light house that always provides for the safe arrival home at the ideals in which I preserve my identity. She is my own role model. I wish I had her everlasting, faithful compassion. Her ability to love unconditionally is not a skill, but a habit. She knows no other purpose in life. Through all of the challenges in my life, she has rejoiced in my triumphs as if they were her own, as if I had been fulfilling her dreams for herself. With each one of those minor successes, I know deep down that I will continue to challenge myself in attempt at becoming more than I am today, tomorrow. She will always be the reason I fight, because she lit the fire within my innermost being so many years ago with a promise made, a promise kept.
I liked to think that I modeled my relationship after that of my parents, but it really falls short. Love really isn't all you need, even though I really wish it were. My ex and I on the surface modeled them, but when it came down to the struggles, when it came down to the devastating let downs over and over again, I wasn't compassionate enough and he wasn't near as dedicated. As of late have I begun to appreciate the endless challenge of salvaging a relationship instead of walking away. I believe it truly is harder to stay with someone who wronged you, to forgive them and to carry on, knowing that the love you share outweighs all of the costs of the harm you were inflicted. But with that struggle, it must be carried by both parties. My husband didn't have it in him to forgive me and move on, and I couldn't take any more of the blame, especially when it had encroached the antiquated promise I had made and fully intend to keep. Working it out isn't for every relationship. Sometimes, where you're at is the only option. I'd rather be alone and happy than with someone who I would never rise above the faults I had committed. I know that there is so much more to me than the bad decisions I have made or the losses I have suffered.
Growth doesn't happen all at once, and it is important to focus on ever bettering yourself. Always. Becoming comfortably numb leads to demise in all aspects of life, whether it be your relationship or your career. Pushing yourself further is key in progressing. Call your mother. Redefine what made you YOU before you ever felt the destruction someone took out on you. Learning from the past, you will be able to make a clear defined future. And then be thankful it isn't the holidays, because we'd all need way more liquor for that.
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