Itch

It’s always good talking to my momma.

Except tonight, I was itching for a fight.  I’d brought it up earlier while catching up with a friend.  I could get over the fact that our faiths are different.  I couldn’t get over the fact that I wasn’t good enough, couldn’t match up to her standards.  There’s obviously a lot more to the story.  Plenty of arguments, tears (on my part), strained silences.

In the end, I was hurt because she didn’t see past the differences.  I felt misunderstood and even condemned.

It’s usually good talking to my momma.  Not tonight.  Haha.  Like I said, I was itching for a fight.

I didn’t exactly get one, but I got pretty heated.  Bitterness welled up within, seeping into my words and gestures.  I couldn’t let it go.  I don’t know what I was looking for.  Approval?  An apology?  Understanding?  I don’t know.  I do know any of the above would mean a lot, especially from one of the most important people in my life.

After explaining again and again why I felt the way I felt, I left my mom sitting at the kitchen table, her confused at my outburst, me frustrated and feeling like a broken record, again.  I walked away, tired and wanting rest from myself, my quest for justification.

I took a shower.  I changed into pjs.  I popped in a movie.  All the while, I heard a voice say,

“It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t touch you.  You are whole either way.  It’s okay for her to be where she is.  Just like it’s okay to be where you are.  Just chill.”

Okay the last sentence I made up.  But I felt a familiar peace fall on me and it felt like it was saying that.

So yeah.  No closure but I feel like… it’s okay.  I’ll be okay where I am.  I’m okay.  Hahah.

Yay.

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I'm here to be me because I think I'm pretty cool. Walk with me as I explore myself, the world, and everything in between. I also curse a lot.

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