My mother

My mother never showed me how to be a girl, she never showed me how to be a women.

My mother never taught me how to be a good wife, she never taught me how to be a good mother.

She didn’t teach me self love, self care, or self respect.

My mother yelled at me the first time she caught me drinking at the age of five, saying it better not be her last wine cooler.

My mother didn’t even seem mad that my father was the one who allowed me to drink at such a young age.

My mother was my example, my mentor, a role model I quickly despised.

My mother was a like a porcelain doll shattered on the floor

It’s okay momma we can fix this, we can glue the pieces back together,

Broken porcelain can still turn out beautiful with the correct supplies

I became the fixer, the helper, the parent, the mother, the wife,

While still being the problem, the student, the child, the sister, the daughter.

I was going into puberty, mom never talked to me about that. Mom never told me anything about sex, or staying safe, or that some people would use their body parts to harm my body parts, some people would use their authority to harm my spirit

I wasn’t warned, only taught the take, and obey, accept, and please

Years went by and mom changed some of her ways, but being a nurturing mother wasn’t ever her thing.

I forgive her anyways, which was definitely not something I learned from her.

As I became a parent it became apparent I didn’t have a real great back ground to fall back onto

I didn’t have a motherly mother to teach me how to become the type of mother I wanted to be

My mother is self projecting her own guilt onto my parenting skills and styles.

When my daughter decided to stop eating I tried to reach out to my mom for advice

Several days went by before she even seemed to care

My mother insisted something bad happened

That could be the only explanation as to why my daughter was on a hunger strike at the age of seven.

Take her to the doctor have them do a FULL physical make sure nobody harmed her she insisted

My mother was only feeling guilty because she didn’t protect her own children.

Mom it isn’t like that, I have the safe talk at home, I ask my children questions, I know what is going on in their lives, she would tell me if someone harmed her.

But you never told me she says.

That isn’t even the point, I never told you anything, you never asked.

You never even knew I had constant stomach aches growing up.

I tell you things now about my childhood and you seem so surprised.

Like you weren’t even there..Wait…were you even there?

That’s right… my childhood wasn’t about me it was all about you how could I ever forget.

You were the victim,

You didn’t know,

It was your husband,

You did the best you could.

Never mind I was the survivor,

Never mind you ran to my father feeding him information about my puberty allowing him to be more curious then a father should have been.

Never mind he was my dad..Yeah your husband… but still my dad who harmed his own children

My dad who taught me all about sex, all about what is expected of a wife, all about anger and hate, and personal hygiene, and what looks attractive and what doesn’t, and how to drink, and how to numb away the pain,

I guess he taught you that too and I guess you taught me that this is how life goes.

Never mind I did the best could too.

My mother didn’t teach me how to change, I taught myself, I seek out help from others,

I am breaking the cycles of true dysfunction when it comes to raising children.

When my mother makes wise ass comments about how much worse things will get with my kids behaviors such as when they are teenagers I feel annoyed because I don’t believe she has any room on telling me how to raise kids when she couldn’t even raise her own.

My mother locked me out of the house and then called the cops reporting me as a run away

My mother chose getting to know a man over getting to know her own teenagers

Two out of three of her teenagers ended up teen parents

While the third ended up with an eight year prison sentence

My mother never explained the importance of education, or of building a life, or how to be independent.

My mother doesn’t know how to be independent, she has always counted on others It isn’t her fault.

My mother’s mother taught my mom the same lessons, and her mother taught her the same before that.

This gives none of them the ability on telling me how my kids will turn out, when I am clearly raising my own differently. They will not be a history repeat.

I had a major women problem and silly me attempted to ask my mother about it

Why did it even hurt that she completely brushed it aside when I knew good and damn well this is just who she is.

My mother doesn’t know how to be a mother yet she still cries in guilt for her mistakes.

Mistakes she still makes,

Mistakes that simply slip through the cracks of the broken porcelain doll

I forgive my mother because she needs it. I accept who she is because she needs that too.

I am the child parent, and I choose to not to share the details of my life with someone who can’t even seem to accept the responsibilities and details of their own life.

How do share your life with broken porcelain? You glue it, and paint it, and improvise.

I can only hope my children will feel close to me, that they can be children and I will continue to learn how to be a better parent. I will continue to learn to be a better women, I will always continue to learn better ways.