Ever since I was little, I dreamed of a home. A real one. A place that felt warm and steady, full of family and love and healthy relationships. A place where guilt wasn’t the language spoken at the dinner table, where manipulation wasn’t disguised as affection, where I didn’t feel like I had to fight every day just to keep from being walked on. I don’t know why it never came true. I don’t know why my whole life feels like a constant battle just to not be mistreated or overlooked.
I’m trying so hard not to be frustrated by everything around me, but it feels never-ending. I can say a million times how much work I have to get done — deadlines, pressure, responsibility — and somehow it still doesn’t matter. There is always someone who thinks their wants should take priority over my time. And then something as small as a package — something I need for work — gets taken into a house I now dread stepping into. A house belonging to someone I haven’t spoken to since that trip… the trip where I spent a week getting hit with pretentious attitudes, coldness, and tones that cut deeper than words. Why can’t it just be left outside? Why is everything a complication?
And then there’s my mom. I wish she wouldn’t make a holiday difficult. I wish she could come be with the whole family without needing to center herself or stir something up. I wish she wouldn’t make little “joking” jabs during Bible study when I’m trying my best — back from a trip one day, leaving the next, showing up anyway because I want to be present, and instead of grace I get remarks that sting. More nastiness than kindness. More commentary than actual focus on the Bible.
I used to think she wasn’t selfish. But around seventeen I realized she might be the most selfish person I know. My life with her has been one long spinning ride of guilt, sadness, and emotional exhaustion — not because she’s loud about her love, but because she only shows it when it benefits her. She boasts about me when it makes her look good, not because she sees me. And I don’t even know how that makes me feel anymore. Numb? Angry? Tired? All of it at once?
I just want one happy holiday. One. Free of stress and tension and walking on eggshells. A holiday full of warmth and joy and actual love. But somehow she makes it impossible. And I’m so tired of wanting something that always ends up slipping through my fingers.
