I spent a lot of time yelling at my mother. CORRECTION, I spend a lot of time yelling at my mother. Yelling because she asks a million and one questions. Yelling because my day was terrible and she tells me to calm down. Yelling because I have a problem and called her for help but disagree with her solution. Yelling because breaking down in front of anyone else but her is embarrassing. And yet, she has never yelled back. (Well at least during those instances) Despite all of the yelling I do, she never stops answering the phone. She never denies me her words of wisdom. And she has never turned her back on me.
As I sit here about to have a child of my own; I can only imagine the things they will yell at me for. And my heart hurts because what can prepare me for that pain. What pill can I swallow or prayer can I say to give me strength to not breakdown. Who’s going to hold my hand and stop me from giving the speech about “giving my life to you the moment I knew you existed” only to hear in return that they didn’t ask for it. Who is going to constantly pick-up the tiny pieces of my heart because this occasion will occur more than once. What will grow my skin tough enough to take your verbal blows but gentle enough to accept that your hugs will be the only form of an apology I’ll receive.
I spent a lot of time yelling at my mother, and now I regret every syllable. Because now one of my biggest fears is that this child of mine will forget that I’m their mother and will yell at me too. And the truth is, there is nothing that can prepare me for that. Just like there was nothing to prepare my mother for it either.