#mother problems

[ev1lgoob]

nothing i do is enough for my mom man

i can partially clean my room JUST enough to where im exhausted and she doesnt care, all she says is “you did NOTHING!!!!” and pointing out everything i did wrong and she tries to say SHE IS THE RIGHT ONE IN THE SITUATION?

NARC ABUSE BELIEVERS DNI I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU

[thoughts-of-a-caterpillar]

Like my mother

Like my mother

Like my mother

I need to be beautiful like my mother.

She's the most beautiful woman to have ever lived. But no one knows that except me because no one else has the same wounds as her like I do which can carry the entire truth of her existence. No one else has cried when she cried, bled when she bled, died when she died.

No one else has inherited her rage.

No one else has inherited her grief.

No one else has inherited her bloodlust.

Except me

So I need to be beautiful like her too.

I'll paint my lips to hide the crimson stains of spitting my own blood.

I'll darken my eyes to hide the bruises from nights spent with mania instead of rest.

I'll pluck out every imperfection in my brow until it no longer furrows for men who do not deserve it.

I'll put kajal on my waterline so whoever makes me cry has to see me in all my horrifying anger.

I'll powder up my cheeks to hide the tears my father never dried and put lotion on the skin that holds the scars from wounds I was too young to heal.

Like my mother did.

Because I need to be beautiful like my mother.

Even if it leaves me lifeless.

She has been lifeless for most of her life too.

[lilmissasap]

moms will do some wild shit like tell you that self harm is cowardly and self exiting is a stupid decision and tell you that your dad doesn't love you anymore when they get divorced and make you question whether or not you should be alive and threaten to kick you out at the ripe old age of 15 and then suddenly when you're a legal adult they want to be your best friend like what

[jewish-joy]

My mother’s religion is Catholicism no longer.

It is bitterness and pride.

She nods along to homilies about the nuclear family- how one mommy and one daddy is what makes the world go round. Never mind I have a scar on my right arm given to me from her as a late eighth birthday present.

Instead of hymns, she listens constantly to internet pundits calling “transgenderism” butchery and evilness incarnate. She sneers at women with short hair and men with painted nails. There is no compassion- no humanity- for those that do not conform.

She scorns the person she crosses who wears a mask, laughing to me about their stupidity and is uncaring about possible health concerns they could have. She is not bothered by the homeless mother on the street but is horrified to come across a man with a high pitched voice who could possibly be gay.

She wasn’t always like this. I look at pictures from when she was my age. She worked in charity at her church, spending all her free time volunteering. There’s a picture of her I found- a carbon copy of me in 1995- wearing an ugly yellow shirt with “Saint Thomas ministries” scrawled across it. Her arm is looped around a boy wearing the same t-shirt in a half hug.

What is strange about him is his painted nails and blue lipstick, along with two dangly earrings. He wouldn’t look too much out of place on my campus, but I cannot imagine how it was in 1995.

“My friend, Benedict,” she told me when I asked, and her eyes teared up. “He died a few months after that photo. They found him dead in a forest. I always prayed he didn’t kill himself.”

I lost the religion I grew up with, to trial and vexation, and finding a new path. And I don’t know if she’s realized it yet- but my mother has lost hers too.

The girl she was is dead, and she says no more novenas. The prayers she cries are for things to stay exactly how they were- with men and women in enforced gender roles and perfect families.

And i look at her, wondering what Bible she is reading where the world is her against everyone and everything. Where her love has gone.

I hope one day I will understand her. But I pray even harder that I will never become her.

(I do not resent Catholics in the slightest. You are on your own path. Do not become like my mother. She is as much a parable as anything)

[jdyyshit]

i don’t think i could ever be truly angry at you

“why?”

because in between all of that anger there’s a little girl who wants nothing more than to be loved

[di0rdolls]

i dream of being someone you don't hate, someone who didn't rob you of your youth, your job you loved so dearly

i dream about you looking at me as if you loved me, i dream about being good enough so you'll love me

[melancholic-medusa]

is it because I look like my mother?

please, save the comments

the slander

the low-hitting compliments.

I am no longer attached to her by the hip,

but my heart aches for the feeling to be loved

cherished

held by her again.

so what do you want?

to love me?

cherish me?

hold me?

just like you did to her.

[eccentricwallflower]

I kinda hate how my mother thinks it's a waste of time for me to learn AUSLAN (Australian sign language) for when speaking is too hard because she doesn't think anyone speaks it in town, so no one could translate for me. I was foolish enough to suggest that she could learn as well. She looked at me like I'd grown a second and third head and went on and on about how she doesn't have the time to learn and she has more important things to do and I should just get better at speaking. It fucking sucks. She's so supportive sometimes and then she does shit like that. I feel mad, but I also feel bad for being mad because she's right. She does have a lot going on and probably doesn't have the time to learn another language. And she already bends over backwards to accommodate me. Am I being selfish? I didn't think so, but maybe I am? I can't always expect people to be 100% on board with my ideas, and I get that, but I still need to be able to function. I feel like I'm being ungrateful. I mean, my mother does all these autism courses to try and learn more, is always reading one book or another about autism and she pays for all of my sensory things. And she does so much research she barely has times to do the things she enjoys! I want to tell her to take it down a notch, but I don't want to upset her. And I should be grateful that she's doing all this for me, right?