There are not enough healthy relationships between mothers and their daughters. I'm incredibly blessed to say that the relationship I have with my mother is not only healthy but beautiful. I adore her and she adores me, but more importantly, there is a very strong level of mutual respect.
Granted, I could start a twitter called "shit my mom says" that would be an overnight sensation since sometimes the things that come out of her mouth just... cease to make sense. For example: Mom: "Someone was knocking on the door last night." Me: "Who was it?" Mom: "I don't know, I didn't answer the door." Me: "Because...?" Mom: "Because when someone is knocking on the door you don't just open it!" At that point, I just pointed and laughed. It took her a few seconds to figure out why, and then she just stomped her foot like a three year old and said, "Oh, you know what I meant!" She's precious. Ridiculous, but precious.
But more importantly, there is an incredible amount of respect between us. I respect her, and she respects me. Moreso than I've ever known any other mother to have for her daughter. Because... she let me cry. She let me absolutely fall apart. When I was going through my summer of intense depression, she didn't bug me constantly to get a job. She mentioned it every few weeks, but only barely, and then let it go. She often left me alone, knowing that I didn't want a witness to my tears. She gave me the gas money to get to my friend's house because she knew that for whatever reason, being with him seemed to help. She didn't lecture me for drinking at 9am with the tears in my eyes, and when I'd rant/cry at night, she'd just listen. I'm sure it broke her heart to watch her daughter fell apart, but I'm so glad she let me. Because when I finally started to pull myself back together, it was because I was ready. I was strong enough to pick myself up by my bootstraps and keep going.
I have no idea what would have happened had she forced me into faking being okay. Into numbing myself into acting normal. I shudder to think of it. She let me fall apart. She let me cry. She didn't try and fix me. She knew that she couldn't. She trusted that God loved me more than she did, and left me in His hands. And He has truly done a beautiful work with a girl who absolutely fell to pieces. He put me back together, better than I was before. Because no hands were interfering with His. She let me cry. She let Him work.
Thanks Mom. You're the best.
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