It’s funny and amazing that I got to write about my mother. As an individual, who doesn’t believe in accidents, I have a feeling this has been long overdue. I need to acknowledge my mother and reconnect with her heritage.
In retrospect, I have always been daddy’s girl and then, step daddy’s girl, who was even more of a dad to me for as long as he lived until he passed away. My step dad (my mother’s second husband) died seventeen years ago. He was in our lives for ten years.
During those years, I barely spoke to my real dad. I felt neither need nor mutual desire. That changed, when my step dad died, and I needed to fill in my heart with new father figure. I craved father figure. For some reason, my whole life has been about fathers, brothers, boyfriends and then, a spouse. Everything about men and difficult relationships with them.
I slowly started talking again to my dad; it became easier, since I was transferred to school, where he was teaching physics and astronomy. To me, a fourteen year old traumatized and confused teenager he was a mesmerizing image of god, a source of truth, which was unquestionable, just like his authority. Due to my thirst of connection, I listened and believed everything he said; I was like a sponge, trying to soak every bit of information and attention, even like a puppy, craving love.
My father is bright, enlightened and passionate individual, a visionary. He influenced me profoundly. When he became successful in his business, which he was doing on a side from school, I was very proud. My mom was still working in some retail store, she was an owner, but eventually had to give it up, simply because it wasn’t producing enough money. To be honest, after spending all our savings, trying to save her second husband and the greatest love of her life, and after losing this battle with death, things went down spiral.
She found a third husband, but I felt she stayed with him, because she couldn’t stand the loneliness.
Her third husband was a complete opposite of her second husband. To make it more complicated he inherited two troubled kids (me and my sister), and a woman, who he loved with all his heart, yet he was doomed to be compared to the one she had truly loved and lost. It wasn’t easy. They were fighting constantly. He even left a few times, but always came back.
My mother is a very strong, powerful, insightful, deep and intense individual. For this very reason they couldn’t make it with my father. They were two leaders, who couldn’t give up their authorities.
By the age of nineteen, I was quiet and shy individual, with vivid imagination and dreams to be some kind of artist. I had a music band, where I was a singer, and I was constantly writing poems. What I didn’t have was guts to pursue artistic career. My mother was pressuring me to get a “real” education. I left music, went to study Tourism and Hospitality, and when I was twenty one, I came to the United States as an exchange student. I never came back home.
My father was trying to recruit me to expand his business overseas, but I just wasn’t wired the same way, and felt really guilty about it. His success and my inability to follow made me feel mediocre.
I was looking down at my mother, who was now working as a retail assistant at somebody else’s store. It was definitely under her intellectual capacity, but she couldn’t manage to get out to the next level. I was mad at her, yet I couldn’t find myself either.
Next year I’m turning thirty. I am just now realizing that I need to go into artistic field and not feel ashamed about it. I have been drilling everything my dad said out of my head, because I have realized that this man is not always right, and the wall between us can’t be broken even if I fulfill all of his expectations.
I’m learning to set boundaries and protect what’s important to me. I’m re-examining my relationship with my mother. My dad got this vibe going, as if she had nothing accomplished in her life, and he’s so successful, yet to me, she was lucky to experience the greatest love I have ever witnessed, and the most beautiful love story with the most amazing man, who had died for us. I envy her now.
I love talking to her; she’s my best life coach. I think part of the reason I couldn’t accept and find myself was because I didn’t accept my mom for who she was and her life experience as being worthy.
I sense that now things are changing. I’m blessed to have such a great, loving and wise mother. She is forty eight years old, she gave birth to her third daughter at the age of forty, and that little girl made her third husband and their marriage so much happier.
She went back to teach history at school, and loves it. Now she feels like she’s contributing to society. I am proud of her, and I want to take everything from her life experience, so I can apply it on my own life and be the best person and daughter.