#thusa

coHow are you supposed to feel when you hear these words be spoken by the one that birthed you? Carried you for 9 whole months, raised you from the ground up. The one you did everything for, buried hurt feelings and painful encounters for, followed the rules, did what was told, never strayed from the line she drew up for you; was the poster child for Perfect Daughter. Made it all the way to 18 years of age and had every one look up to you, appreciate you, respect you, want you as there own and have no one to “thank” for that but Her. You lived almost two whole decades following the word of that one person, trusting they know best, since it’s something they’ve repeated so many times, you started to believe it yourself and then you make to university and are confronted with the possibility of the college experience and you realize all of the other experiences you missed out on.

My routine since I was twelve years old was always: wake up, go to school, eat when I got out, go to any after school activity (which changed throughout from Girl Scouts to Softball to Student Council, Honor Roll, Library Club and 4H), then swimming practice for three and a half hours and then I’d be so exhausted I barely had time to do homework or study so I would just shower and go to sleep. And then we’d repeat, day after day and that didn’t change much even in the summertime. I’d have more hours of practice, which sometimes included morning swims at 5AM and also hours long cardio work outs pre-swim. It was, to say the least, exhausting. I remember taking a few days of for vacation or sick leave but the only time I really took a true break was when I begged mom to let me miss practice for a week to see Avatar The Last Airbender. My aunt had cable and they would give this marathon during the summers where in a week you’d see the entire show from start to finish. And that was my big break, the thing I had to spend days begging to have and still had to take back-handed comments for before, after and throughout the entire week. But I was happy about it so I didn’t care. Oh and I forgot the weekends! Lazy Sundays? Mondays to clean and spend time with the family? No. I had swim meets, almost every single weekend, in different towns and states, almost always 1-3 hour drive away and we’d have to spend the entire day there, just for 1-3 races, and then come back the next day and do the same thing. I know I’m making it sound like a pain but in the beginning it wasn’t. It was sort of fun. It was a huge sacrifice but it was my choice; I wanted to do it, I had fun doing it and I was good at it. Really good. But She couldn’t just let me have a hobby that I was excelling at, no, she saw an opportunity and she took it. Scholarships, grants, full-rides, Olympics, recognition, etc. I was barely a teenager so I didn’t understand the importance of that. All I saw was my love being turned into a job and my talent being put on a stand for everyone to stare and pick at and I couldn’t handle the pressure. Of going from naturally great at it to “It needs to be perfect, change everything and apply 1,000% more effort”. 

“Find something that you are good at and that you love and do it for the rest of your life”. I feel like swimming could have been that for me. I could have slowly fallen so in love with it (way more than I already was) and had that competitive spark be lit all on its own and nurtured it so that I could have gone to the levels she wished I had, but on my own terms and for myself; not because it was what she wanted. And when I was younger I followed everything she wanted obediently because I didn’t really have a mind of my own, but as I slowly began to grow up (in a freaking swim team), I got to see what freedom was...by looking at others. I’d hear my teammates talk of what they’d do after practice, in the weekend, the dates they had planned, shopping sprees, and in the meanwhile all I knew was my bed, my school, the pool and in rare occasions, movies or school parties. Only if they didn’t conflict with my practices. It was weird...and sort of depressing. I never really was too interested in the whole drinking, smoking and partying scene (even after I experimented in college, but we’ll get to that later) but the idea of having the choice to go or the galls to attempt it without parental supervision or consent was...enthralling. And I just wanted to find my own version of it. My own way of having freedom and exerting independence. But it was just seen as backtalk and disrespect. Apparently when you spend your entire life keeping quiet and blindly following the rules, any attempt to stray from that is seen as a form of aggression. An attack to what has been ‘under construction’ for the last 15 years and counting. 

That is when I began to see that I wasn’t a person to Her. I was a failed Reality trying to keep up with an Idea. You see, something she has never let me forget is how she never ever ever wanted to have kids. She says it’s because she had fears on how it would pan out or whatnot but I’m not 100% sure of what’s the truth. But when She got pregnant, after the initial want of an abortion which was expertly thrown at my face at the ripe age of 19, She fell in love. She started thinking and imagining all of these possibilities, mostly if it was a girl, of her likes and dislikes, her sense of style, hobbies, talents, the things they could do together (Mother-Daughter bonding) and the person she would be. And when I was born, instead of letting me find my own way, grow into myself and find what I could call my own personality, mentality and self, she started molding me into her own, steering me into the paths whose destinations met with her standards and keeping me away from whatever she deemed unfit. And the more I grew up, the further I got from her initial Idea. She wanted a girly girl, I became a sporty girl who prefers jeans, t-shirts and Converse/Vans/Pumas over skirts, dresses and heals. I preferred sunscreen over make-up, earthly greens and burgundy hues over the generic pink and purple scheme, I liked books and sci-fi shows over chick flicks and reality tv shows. I became the exact opposite of what she wanted. And instead of giving up, she still tried. She was the one who bought my clothes till the beginnings of high school, controlling what I was able to wear, she tried to make me as girly as she could but when she couldn’t, she opted for a more cool chic approach which was mostly dressing up girly and rocking my style of shoes. And it worked for a bit. But it wasn’t my thing so whenever she tried to let me make the choices in wardrobe, I almost always opted for t-shirt jeans and Converse. She didn’t like that. And lets not forget jewelry! We’re sort of archenemies. I can’t do the whole ‘changing-my-everything-every-day’, donning new earrings and necklaces and bracelets, rings! No. I wear the same earrings and necklace for weeks straight, lose all of my rings and wear the same bracelets, which is just two bracelets and three hairbands, if I’m are being honest. And she hated that. I literally have a big drawer full of jewelry I never wear unless I’m going to a wedding or very formal activity and a corner in the closet full of uncomfortable shoes and heels I was forced to buy for certain occasions. She didn’t like that too much. 

Now on a day-to-day basis I live as a complete disappointment because I was meant to be so much in her eyes and I’m lacking in every single part. There’s so much more to this story but I have time and I know I’ll have future incursions that will push me to tell more about myself.