I wouldn't say that my relationship with my mother has always been a nervous one. Sure, we've had ups and downs, a couple of spats here and there, but for the most part, my mother and I have a close relationship. I would tell her about my day, the things that I'm interested in, and she would tell me hers. At least, that's how it used to be . . .
I don't want to say that the turn of events can solely be blamed on the actions of my older siblings. Even though I feel that way, it's not the whole truth. Truth is singular yes, but it comes in multiple parts. My mother's problem, or so I believe, is that she has lived in a self-contained environment for nearly 30 years. The contact she has with the outside world is limited to the boilerplate transactions at the grocery store and the occasional pleasantry of running into someone she once knew. The change that has happened in the world frightens and angers her just as the change she sees within her own children. Being the baby of the family, I watched the pillars of my family shift from one side of the house to the other. The positions of their shadows changing with the movement of the sun. Eventually, I too joined the motions by heading off to college and pursuing a career with the federal government.
I still love my mother, I really do. But now more than ever, it hurts to say that. She's hurt me so much in the past few years that I'm not sure if we really can go back to the days we had before. Maybe she does mean well, what mother wouldn't? But her lack of trust and refusal to place a little faith in all that I do still feels like salt on a festering wound and I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on. I see more and more why my siblings did what they had to, but it doesn't mean that I can follow in their footsteps. History repeats itself over and over again until we find the way out, a way to break the cycle. I can only hope that third time's the charm before I break as well.