It was something I was told a thousand times growing up. If you’re going to go out, leave a note.
By my mother when I was staying at my parents’ house. But not just her and not just there. Everywhere. At all the other places I stayed. Friends’ houses. With other relatives. » Read more
I know you’re confused by how I live. I’ve come to expect it. It’s understandable to me that you don’t get it. That you don’t get how I live my life.
You say my life is too quiet. That I should have a kid or get a few dogs. » Read more
When I was a child, I was told over and over again by my mother that honesty was very important. That truth was moral and lies were immoral.
That was what she said.
And then she showed me something different: That telling the truth is important unless that truth is embarrassing or inconvenient to her. » Read more
Being a Young Girl Was All About Mixed Messages
When I was a young girl, it often seemed like I was toeing a very thin invisible line, walking through the most narrow passage opening, sandwiched between two hard rock walls.
On one wall was the pressure to succeed, and on the other side, » Read more
“You’ll be fine,” my dad said, as we waited in line for the roller coaster. “It’s not so bad.”
But the old man was tricking me.
My first clue was the screams that we heard as we waited in the enclosure. “They’re just being dramatic,” Dad had reassured me. “Some people ride these things just to scream.” » Read more
Was there anything more disappointing as a kid than when you got to your hotel and the pool was closed?
It looked so lovely in the brochure.
I grew up being fed a lot of stories about Love and Romance and Happy Endings. Mostly through TV and movies, » Read more
The most exhausting thing I did this past week was mailing a mother’s day card back to Maine.
I don’t have the best relationship with my mother. We are consistently disappointed with who the other is and how they act. If we were neighbors, we would shoot each other dirty looks and avoid one another. » Read more
My mom called me on the phone to chat a few days ago, and the first thing she asked me was if I’d bought anything fun with the money she’d sent me for my birthday. I told her that I’d snatched up 2 new pairs of cute shoes for cheap on eBay, and when she sounded underwhelmed, » Read more
Me: I’m not a grown up. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Skyspook: No one really does.
When it comes to feeling truly loved and understood by another human being, I am roughly 3 years old.
My relationship with my mother is deeply troubled as she is mentally ill and only recently compliant with any sort of treatment (to the tune of starting talk therapy about 3 or 4 years ago). » Read more
My mother likes to relate a story of a visit she had to her primary care provider many years ago, right around the time my little brother was born. She’d gotten down quickly to her svelte pre-pregnancy weight but was still distressed. “I don’t know what to do,” she said to her doctor. “I have such fat knees.”
“That’s how you know you’re thin,” he replied. » Read more