Someday May Never Come

My relationship with my mom has always been a bumpy one. 

From a young age, I have been sassy. It is just in my inner- being. I like to think of it as having a little Sasha Fierce in my blood. My mom is never embarrassed to bring up the fact that the first time I slammed a bedroom door was at the age of two. They thought it was cute at the time. 

However, it got not so cute when I was in elementary school-- when I would taunt my mom and dad with my attitude, feeling accomplished by fueling their rage. 

I was raised in a military household where respect was a core principal which was always taught, however I lacked upholding it to the people who mattered the most—the ones who brought me into the world. 

As I got older, my attitude and behavior declined even more. 

I became the typical middle school girl who “hated” her mother, and I made it quite clear. Anything that my mom wanted from me, I did the opposite. We got in screaming battles almost daily, and I created our home to be a battle ground. I would wake up, fight, go to school, come home, and fight some more. This was our pattern until I moved out for college.

Constantly growing up, I said words to my mom that I would not wish upon my worst enemy. I knew the words which cut the deepest. Also, on multiple occasions during screaming matches, I pushed my mom; the last time I did it, she called the police. Through all of this, I knew how to put up a facade and how to behave when people where around. I would complain to all of my friends about how “psycho and controlling” my mom was, when really I was the one with the behavior problems. 

Going away to college mended a lot of our problems. I learned how to see her point-of-views, and learned how to better vocalize mine. When I am at school I am able to talk to my mother, and see her eye to eye on most things. However coming back for the summers and long breaks are still hard. I have to adjust from being in my own college world, to being in a family environment. 

So far I have been home for three weeks, and I cannot count how many times my mom and I have gotten into arguments. Although the arguments are much more civil than the ones which we had in previous years—they still bring up pain, they still bring a dark side of both of us. 

I keep telling myself that someday every facet of my relationship with my mom will be something I am proud of. Someday I will stop saying words which I wouldn’t say to anyone else to her. Someday we will get along, even on the hardest days. Someday this fighting will end. 

But what if someday never comes? I mean, what if today is the last day for one of us? 

There will be so many unsaid apologizes. So many statements which I wish said. So many missed I love you’s. 

So for the today—Mom, I am sorry that I can be so disrespectful at times-- I just want peace. I am exhausted from the arguing. I love you.