Jump

My mom. I love her. I've hated her. I long to hear her voice. I don't care if i ever hear it again. I want her acceptance. Her approval isn't needed. She loves me. She hates me. She's proud of me. She wishes I was dead. This has been our relationship since I was nine.

I ran away when I was 12.

I smoked pot when I was 12.

I did crystal meth when I was 12.

I lost my virginity when I was 12.

I tried to commit suicide when I was 12. The day after I lost my virginity.

I was arrested and went to juvenile hall when i was 12.

It was a big year for me.

I turned 13 in a group home.

I turned 14 with my foster parents.

I turned 15 on the street again.

I turned 16 back at my mom's.

Then I got pregnant. Then I was kicked out. Well, in fairness to her she did give me a choice. Have an abortion or leave. I left.

I turned 17 and graduated from high school four months pregnant.

Pregnant. I was terrified. I didn't know how to be a mom. There was no way I wanted to be like my own mom. Or my mom's mom. Who would be my example? Terrified. You see, my mom had screamed and shouted at me that I would be a terrible mother. That I would screw up my own kid, that the baby's father would never stay with me, that no one really loved me because I was unlovable. "A piece of shit" to be exact. That I would end up alone, with a kid, and on welfare.

I remember telling the baby's dad when I was still pregnant I was afraid to give the baby a bath. I was afraid that when I bathed her, I might touch her the wrong way and, and, and, ....
I would be Just.Like. Him.

When she was born, I didn't give her the first bath. He did. I watched.But he told me I could do it, that i would never hurt her and when I was ready, he would be there to help me try.

I gave her the second bath.

And I cried.

Because I knew the moment I washed her little tiny foot, and held her tiny fingers in mine, that I would never, never, ever, hurt her. I felt this release inside. This heaviness, this fear was lifted from my heart. I could almost see it detaching itself from me. It wasn't contagious, the sickness that ran through my family. I didn't catch it. It didn't live in me. I wasn't like him or her or any of them.

I was still the one that got away.

And another part of me was free.

That was the worst feeling in the world, you know. Wondering if you would hurt your own child. If you could, in fact, turn into the very monster you hated. I suppose it happens to some people. The cycle turns and spins, all the lives blend together like the colors on a sit-n-spin. It just moves faster and faster, and you feel like you can't get off or get away because you think you're all one - all the same. I don't feel like I'm special because I didn't continue the cycle. I don't feel like I am better.

I just feel........


grateful. blessed. relieved. and hopeful.

The cycle can be broken if we want to.
It is scary.
It makes us feel small.
It makes us feel 8.
But if we try really hard and we start to let go, one finger at a time, yes we are still spinning. And yes we're afraid we're going to fly off and get hurt. And we might. We might fly off.

But then guess what happens?

We land.

And we realize we weren't really that far off the ground. We stand up and dust ourselves off. Nope, no broken bones. Maybe a skinned knee or elbow but that's all.
All of the fears we had, those were all lies. All lies that we believed because we trusted them. They were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to protect us, to love us. They were supposed to believe us.

It's not our fault they didn't do what they were supposed to.

But I can't get stuck on "supposed to". It's just as bad as "what if." They both suck. It didn't happen that way so forget it.

It happened the way it did.

It's my choice now. I can stay on the ride, I can keep spinning.

Or......

I can jump off, skin a knee, scrape an elbow, and give my daughter a bath.

because I am normal. I am sane. and now, I am not afraid.