Always do the things you fear the most. Courage is an acquired taste, like caviar. ~ Erica Jong
This is going to take some courage for me to share. But I am hopeful it will be helpful for others. That is the only reason that I am sharing. To help others. Whether it be my family or some daughter or son on the other side of the world reading this post at 3am in a few months or years from now.
For many years I have been struggling to have some semblance of a relationship with my mother. A mother whom through my life has been different characters. Loving and kind, off the wall, a friend and an enemy. When I was a child she was betty homemaker and a room mother, and I loved being her doll. Watching her get ready, “helping her make dinner”, putting puzzles together, etc. She also had a wild side and a very dark side that I wouldn’t know until my dad left. But she has always loved me and my brother the very best way she knew how. She loves us dearly and I have no doubt that she would do anything she could for us. It hasn’t been until very recently that I have come to realize this. For a while over the past few years I thought she was flat out crazy. Often I have thought she was a bad mother, and other times I have considered the fact that she disliked me somewhere deep inside.