Mother Wounds

Mother wounds are a bitch. They are what trauma and nightmares are made of.

The way you look at relationships.
The way you look at yourself.
What you feel like relationships are supposed to be.

Even if she kept her relationships to herself or stayed single, hell even stayed in a bad marriage for the sake of the kids. She showed you that she didn’t think she was worthy of love. She says she doesn’t want to be bothered, but in reality, she stopped trusting herself a long time ago. She’s been hurt too many times, but instead of fixing her problems, she decided to stay the same.

I’ve always had a feeling my mom loved my sister more. My sister felt it was the other way around, but I have proof.

Anyway, what that perception taught me was I had to be okay with any love that I was offered and that it is okay to be second.

She taught me how to be second and be okay with it. She taught me that crumbs were good enough.

I have been okay with second my whole life that even when I get a taste of being first, I’m just waiting for the ball to drop. I’m waiting for the attention to disappear.

I’ve always valued my friends over my family because I felt like my friends loved me more.

And who knows if that’s the case, but they loved me out loud. They told me they loved me and did more than the bare minimum.

See, I grew up in a household where you got the bare minimum in love and maximum in stuff.

So, today I say forget your stuff give me love. I dont want things. I want to be held and touched and kissed, and I want to be loved out loud.

I have always been a secret and okay with it.

I no longer want to be kept a secret.

My mom keeps enough of those.
She’s kept herself a secret as not to be seen or hurt.

I’d rather be hurt until I learn than not to feel anything at all.

I don’t mind crying my eyes out, knowing that I tried.

I’d instead get back up and not lay there and die.

I could see her and feel her pain, but I refuse to live in it with her.

I have done the work; I have looked in the mirror.

And today, I release the ideas that I have to hold onto this mess just because my mother made me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s