Emotions That Run Deep

I really, really resent my mother right now. I hate the way she raised my sisters and me. There are only a few moments in my life that I felt loved by her. She seldom held or hugged me. What kind of mother wants her children to experience the 'hard' life she had growing up? We aren't in those times anymore when kids needed to help in the farm or walk far away to get water. Why can't a mother simply wish the best for her children or be happy that they live a comfortable life, different than what she had? I thought that's what all parents ever wanted--for their kids to have a better or good life. I recognize the fact that her poor background was what drove her to do well in life, but the philosophy that rearing children should involve corporal punishment doesn't have to apply to everyone. A loving, nurturing, and understanding mother would have been enough.  Sometimes, I couldn't help but think she's bitter or jealous that my father provided well and gave us an easy life.

I am done with all the abuse. I thought I got over the physical abuse (she used to hit/pinch/spank/beat me for every little thing done wrong. I was only a freakin child. What did I know?!) but the emotional abuse still lingers. When I was about 8 or 9, she would tell me things like my father is gonna leave or they are getting separated and we're gonna be put in orphanages.  I would get so scared and I would pray to God that nothing bad will happen to my family. One time, in a fit of pure fury, she told me that she hoped she had crushed me when I was baby. I was never a problem kid with some conduct disorder to deserve half of the harsh treatment I was given. I did my duties, excelled in academics, and never messed around with boys. The fights we had were only a defense mechanism on my part, or simply human nature.  That no matter how much a daughter must respect her mother, there's a tipping point for everything.  It's the subconscious reacting to repeated attacks, from which the human spirit gathers strength and learns nothing but to fight back.

I will never understand why she put me and my sisters to such abuse. If she did them unknowingly or on purpose, I don't know and I wouldn't want to know now. There's been so much pain growing up. These type of wounds--the kind that could change you as a person or mess up your life--take forever to heal, if they do at all.

I wish it was all a bad dream. That the seemingly normal family is actually perfect, void of any pain, pretentions, bitterness, and bad blood.

At the end of the day, I am still my mother's daughter.  I still owe her the life I am breathing. And buried underneath it all, nothing can dispute the archaic bond that exists between child and mother. There is love for her, for the better things she did, and for the good mother that she tries to be.