I can remember the feeling so vividly… My throat would actually hurt, scratched from the screaming. Chest rising and falling in heavy, deliberate heaves from being so worked up that I had to take some time to catch my breath. I was angry and I had shown it…
Slamming doors, flinging myself onto furniture, screaming threats and I-hate-yous… Empty words thrown haphazardly, without worry or care where they landed or how they hurt. Teenage pouty faced, arms crossed, nostrils flaring.
For a long time, I thought my relationship with my mother was dysfunctional. She just didn’t understand me! *back of hand to forehead, realllll dramatic-like*
Getting older has taught me a lot of things, but this was one of the biggest lessons for me. Sure, my mom gets on my nerves sometimes, but she’s human and I’m human — it’s inevitable. As an adult, having had more and more interactions with other people in different dynamics, I’ve learned that what I had with my mother as a teenager was normal, shit, healthy even.
And now I’ve got a pre-tween, an eight year old trying so desperately to be BIG. Wanting all the perks of being a big kid with none of the responsibility… Storming off and huffing and muttering under his breath when he realizes that I’m not budging and that he can’t do whatever it is that he wanted to do… I’ve got this beautiful little bit of clarity.
Oh, the things my mother must have thought about me… The times she must’ve said behind closed doors, the laughing, the “bless her heart”ing… I’m sure I made her mad, totally… But watching my teenage body revert to a flopping, fish-out-of-water toddler-style tantrum was probably hysterical.
Hey mom, what do they call it? Come’up’ins?