To My Best Friend

I was sixteen when I had to witness my mom's downfall. My parents sat me down in our kitchen, where we used to cook and dance around in the refrigerator light. My dad told me he was going to leave us, chasing happiness that he couldn't find in the depth of our love for him. They told me it wasn't my fault, people change and evolve, and sometimes things don't fit your life the way they used to. As my beloved dad told me his intentions with a coldness that made my mom and I shiver, I bawled my eyes out. My dad was my idea of a respectable man who put his needs second and his family first, and he shaped the idea of my dream man. Those life-changing sentences seemed empty after years spent in a picture-perfect marriage. What could have changed in so little time?

My mom was there, bawling her eyes out, and I now realize that she was trying to pretend like they had talked things out. Like that was a mutual decision, and she didn't find out a few hours later that the love of her life was moving in a few weeks. My mom doesn't know how much time I have spent trying to drown out her cries with music in my ears.

When we were sitting in the kitchen trying to make sense of what was happening, the first thing I said was "I'm not moving". My mom's family lives far away from my city, in a place that has always made me feel claustrophobic. If things were changing, I needed to be where the only people that I felt wouldn't betray me would be, my hometown. That's what that conversation felt like to me, like a betrayal from my best friends who happened to be my parents. They raised me but they didn't prepare me for this kind of pain. How could they put me in this situation?

I was so consumed by anger that I didn't notice how much my mom needed a shoulder to cry on. I would consider myself selfless, but I was watching my life on the sidelines. I wasn't acting like the sweet girl my mom always knew, and I didn't care about fixing what was broken. So my relationship with my mom crumbled, and I became so numb trying to heal that I couldn't empathize with her.

I was crying for her, not the pain I was enduring. I have always had issues with showing my vulnerabilities, so she has no idea. I heard her conversations on the phone when she locked herself in her room to avoid me eavesdropping. I have been meaning to tell her I know the truth, but I can't bring myself to talk about the most painful time of my life. I'm putting this down on a blank page to lift this weight off my chest.

I wonder if I'll feel a little less heavy if I muster up the courage to have a heart-to-heart with her that doesn't involve screaming. We fought so many times, and we would slam doors and yell, afraid of choosing honesty and empathy.

Mom, if you're reading this, I am sorry for shutting myself out. I should have been vocal about my feelings, and I should have recognized how much harder it has been for you. My dad will always be there for me, even if he's a version of himself that isn't familiar, but he won't be there for you. You lost so much more than I did, and you didn't deserve it.

I am proud of you, and I am sorry for not telling you this sooner, but I mean it. You went through unimaginable pain, and even though you lashed out at me and made my life harder, I don't blame you for it. You did what you had to keep yourself sane, and hurting me was part of it. I don't blame you because I hurt you too by saying things that I knew would make you feel miserable.

We have always been so different, even in our ways of coping, but I know you're the strongest woman I have ever met. You inspire me every day, and I'll be lucky to be half the woman you are today. I hid so many things from you, feelings and thoughts that I bury so deep inside me, but I wish I could tell you everything.

There's one thing I don't like about you, and it's your belief that your pain is always somewhat worse than the others. I want to be mad at you for belittling my trauma, but I'll admit once: you have had it worse. You have handled it better than what I would give you credit for, so know I look up to you. Remember when I told you it was your fault for making me want to start a new life when I deeply loved the one I had? It never was your fault, and I see that now. When you told me you don't have a handbook to teach you how to be a good mother, I have seen the love you have for me in your eyes. You don't ever tell me you love me, but I know you do, and I hate that I made you think you'd have to say it for me to believe it.

Actions over words, that's what you taught me, and I will keep it in mind whenever doubts eat at me. I'll say it to you: I love you. My confidence has stopped me from saying this so many times, so don't tell anyone this, but I want to be like you when I grow up. You have done something right, don't ever tell yourself otherwise.