Scorpio

I wrote a blog this morning. It was about how adults, the legally “mature” 18+ group, should not determine what and who is mature, since most of them do make mistakes anyways. It went something along those lines — I don’t quite recall. It was forced and somewhat not as heartfelt as it should’ve been.

Tonight, at 10:44 pm I began writing this new one, even though I had already accomplished the task that I was given for this Sunday night — a kind of twice a month task that requires us to write a blog every two weeks —, tonight I got a better idea, I found something that really got to me. My mom.

This isn’t going to be another little childish rant about her rules, or my curfew or whatever. Those are small things that I cannot even be bothered to care about. Rather this is about the words that I had to hear come out of her mouth — not only tonight but over and over again — and how she truly believes them, even though she is a successful working mom and she does love her career.

She’d begun fighting with me about a year ago, as soon as I begun making my own decisions, changing the course that she’d so neatly laid out for me for all those years. Nothing stood out about what she said to me tonight. It all went along the lines of how I had made a terrible career choice (myself wanting to pursue creative writing rather than business or something which would somewhat ensure some kind of success in this life), and how I had influenced my brother’s decision for applying to the IA as well. She talked to both of us together (in a place where we had no escape from her crude words). She blamed me over and over again, saying that I had somehow wrecked my brothers future with the “influence” I had on him.

I asked her why she thought his future was the only one that would be wrecked by the decision to join this new program, whereas mine would not be. She replied with the actual dumbest thing I have ever had the (bad) luck to hear, “because he is a guy, you are a girl. If you fail in this life, you’ll still have your husband to care for you, you don’t even have to actually work. He,” she said with a finger pointing straight at him, “does.”. “He will have a family to maintain. He’s a guy,” she restated once again as if that were to help me understand her logic.

I cannot put into words the feeling that that brought to me. Disgust. Glum. Hurt. But more than anything, disappointment. And I hated how that made me feel.

But I finally realized something, or actually no, this I had realized months ago, but tonight it became so much clearer. The moment after she said that, she didn’t make me want this any less, but rather I felt pushed to write more and prove her wrong. And as soon as I got back up from her devastating words, the only thing I wanted to do — and this time it was not moping or drowning my feelings in food — was write, write to understand, write to vent and write to lift the weight of her words off of my chest.

Thanks to her, her actions and her words I finally understood and comprehended that this was what I wanted to do for as long as I could. Writing was the only thing that was helping me with this sink or swim situation and I loved it. I truly did.

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