Speaking my truth

Speaking these truths about my mother feels really scary.

What if she ‘catches’ me? What if she finds out?

She views this as the ultimate betrayal – she’s not *capable* of ‘hearing’ me on this stuff – she *only* ‘hears’ her own needs.

She sees this as ‘bad-mouthing’ her. She even accuse me of intentionally trying to make her feel bad.

There is *never* any apology on her part, never any taking of responsibility for how I feel.

There is never *any* recognition, on her part, that I *need* something from her, as her child, as her daughter.

She completely fails to see that she, as my mother, is *supposed* to take care of me in these ways – I’m not some kind of ‘freak’ for wanting to be taken care of.

Actually, she’s *finally* begun to see, a little.

But still, she waits, in silence, and says nothing.

The person who says nothing often has the power, because it suggests that they *need* nothing, and so those of us who *do* need something? Rush in to fill the void, the vacuum, that empty space that sucks at you with its need for filling, for *some* kind of communication to recognize that, “Hey, there’s a fucking relationship here, you asshole, pay it some *fucking* attention for fuck’s sake!”