For a very long time I had convinced myself I would never have children. When people asked me why my answer was simply that I was too into myself and selfish to have children. That it would be unfair to my child if I were to bring one into this world. The truth: I was scared. For a million reasons but mostly because of my mother. I was terrified I would turn out the same as her. In by that I mean totally incapable of being a mother due to her addiction. I suffered from my own forms of addiction for a long time and as a young adult I wasn't ready to give those things up and felt that having a child would be a mistake. All that changed when my addiction got so out of control I had a mental breakdown. Thankfully I had a lot of friends at the time that did not share my addictions and were able to support me getting it together.
It was while I was getting it together I reconnected with the man who turned out to be my husband. It was while I was dating him and supporting him through difficult times of his own that I realized I wouldn't mind having a baby, a child of my own to love and raise in the way
I should have been. Seems like no sooner had I changed my mind about wanting kids I was pregnant. I was so happy and still scared that some how my mother's maternal instincts were genic. That despite all that I had overcome I would still end up succumbing to some unseen demon that would turn me into the monster my mother was. As my pregnancy progressed my fears quieted. The more I thought of my mother and her parenting abilities I realized she had almost no chance to succeed. Almost.
My mother got pregnant with me when she was 14 years old and in 8th grade. I was born two months after she turned 15. I'm lacking on details of this time but from what I understand my mom ran away from home with me when I was still almost newborn to live with my father. Some time after she ended up pregnant again and my father left her. At 17 she was the mother to a toddler with another on the way. The father of her children had left and she had too much pride to ask her mother for any sort of help. My little sister was born and my mom had her at home for what I believe was a month before she gave her up for adoption. My mother never got over her choice to give her daughter up. She shared with me on a number of occasions her regret. I'm pretty sure it was after my sister's adoption is when my mother started really experimenting with drugs. I remember being about four years old and seeing her put the lip to her eyeliner in her nose and snorting what was in there. I nevere saw my mother use drugs after that though. She never got high in front of me. My little brother was born when my mother was 20 years old. By this time we were living in a different state with my mom's boyfriend and his family. This boyfriend is the man that got my mom using on the regular. Things went down hill from there. My mom started abusing me, physically and mentally. I was only six years old and could never understand what I had done so wrong. I'm sure I misbehaved like most children that age but my punishments made me feel like I had killed some one. The physical and mental abuse continued until I was 15 years old. Quite honestly the mental abuse continues to this day.
So having thought about all the failings of my mother as a parent I came to one conclusion: my mother was not a monster. The meth and the alcohol were the monsters. They were the ones that took my beautiful mother into those dark places. The ones that made her say horrible things to me and my baby brother. When my mom is clean and sober she is an amazingly kind hearted and gentle woman. Sadly her addiction has overshadowed her true self that no one sees her anymore. I remember when my brother was two years old. He had a tummy ache and was crying to my mom. She got down on his level and asked what was hurting him. As he started to answer he threw up all over the side of her face. I watched and waited for the explosion but it never came. In a calm voice I still can hear to this day she said "That's right baby. Let it all out." She was nothing but a mother in that moment. She was really good at being a mom when we were sick. She would sit on the couch with our heads in her lap stroking our forehead and speaking softly to us. Given the glimpses of motherhood I saw in her I feel confident saying the monster in her is meth and alcohol.
I have never once have even thought about harming my little girl. No matter how much she drives me crazy one look into her big blue eyes melts it all away. She is my everything. I couldn't imagine giving her up for anything. And the idea of losing her in any way makes me sick to my stomach.
I no longer fear being my mother. I will learn from her mistakes and make my own. Her addiction doesn't mean I will be a bad mother. The type of mother I am depends on me. Its the same with my mother. She choses her addiction over her children and now her grandchild. The little girl inside me still has hope she will come home.
Taya
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