More times than not, the events that have changed me have been traumatic and filled with deep emotions. But surprisingly, a conversation caused more change than anything else in my life. 

It was a conversation between me and my mother much like any other so I guess you could wonder why this made me who I am. I realized all of the things that once upon a time I'd tell you could never be true, were. I realized that in her mind I was her shoulder to cry on and soldier she could hide behind. Deep down I always knew she was incapable of being what she should have been for me, even for herself. So involuntarily I was placed in that role and expected to play it because if I did not I “did not love her”, and god forbid i put anyone above her. 

It was different this time, to talk with her. I came into it with a lot less acceptance and open mindedness. I came in with every broken promise in mind, every time you broke your little girl's heart, every lie. Recently before I had dedicated myself to myself rather than her, and with a whole new point of view I took a step back and realized the damage she had done to me by putting me in that position. I compromised my peace and sanity for someone who should have done that for me all on her own. I no longer attempted to explain her selfishness and immature acts with traumas dumped on her from a young age, and inconveniences that left her to make the same mistakes over and over again. I did not formally resign but it was no longer my job anymore to explain her to others. 

July 26th 2021 you told me how you were going to end your life on the same day you’d given me mine. I was in bed, talking with my friends of the plans I had for the day before it turned sour. Calling your name through the phone although my voice broke in its high pitch being your mother meant i would not stop pleading. And I never did. No matter how much it broke me to give. Mid March I called you when I needed you most. 15 missed calls from your daughter, no response. 

And in June you called after not hearing from you in months. “Wyd '', and while the conversation focused on me momentarily you couldn’t wait to talk about yourself. And i realized. I realized that the traumas and burdens I carried from morning to night of someone who could not stand their sight if she ever tried to face them, were not mine to keep. And when I gave those back to her, if she were to extend her arms my hand would not be the one she could hold. I could no longer be the one to give that comfort she sought too much in her own mother. I could not provide her the safety and stability that was stolen from her at a young age. I could no longer sit and hear her trials and distress and open them up to my already heavy heart. I know that none of this could have been her fault, but neither was it mine. This conversation was the moment I gave away the burden of being your mother, and gave up hope of gaining my own.