I'm Glad My Mom Died

If we beat ourselves up after a mistake, we add shame onto the guilt and frustration that we already feel about our mistake. That guilt and frustration can be helpful in moving us forward, but shame...shame keeps us stuck. It's a paralyzing emotion. When we get caught in a shame spiral, we tend to make more of the same kinds of mistakes that caused us shame in the first place.

At the beginning of the decade, the people I was close to seemed like friends for life, people I could never imagine not seeing every day. But life happens. Love happens. Loss happens. Change and growth happen at different paces for different people, and sometimes the paces just don't line up.

The more experience I've got, the more I recognize that the body is hardly a reliable reflection of what's going on inside it. My body has fluctuated frequently and drastically throughout this decade, and no matter how it's fluctuated, no matter whether my body is a kids' size 10 slim or an adult size 6, I've had an issue underneath it.

I have no idea how I'm supposed to be answering to make Mom look good.

I have friends with anorexia, and I can tell they pity me. I know they know because anyone with an eating disorder can tell when anyone else has an eating disorder. It's like a secret code you can't help but pick up on.

I feel like the world is divided into two types of people: people who know loss and people who don't.

I tried to broach the subject gently one night when we were driving home from work, but Mom started screaming and saying she was losing control of the steering wheel and that I was causing her tremendous stress that was putting both of us in danger, so I quickly learned to never bring up the subject again.

It’s one of those rare moments where I feel like I didn’t say too much, or too little. I feel like I represented myself accurately and there’s nothing I would change about the way I said it. I feel proud.

— Boże, daj mi cierpliwość. Tylko się pospiesz.

Sometimes I look at her and I just hate her. And then I hate myself for feeling that. I tell myself i'm ungrateful. I'm worthless without her. She's everything to me. Then I swallow the feeling that I wish I hadn't had, tell her "I love you so much, Nonny Mommy," and I move on, pretending that it never happened. I've pretended for my job for so long, and for my mom for so long, and now, I'm starting to think I'm pretending for myself too.

My name is called quickly, so I go into the room and do the lines. I scream and kick and roll around intensely. I get lost in it. There’s a part of me that almost feels good doing it. Like this has been waiting to come out for a long time. Like I’ve been stuffing this down, shoving it down, and finally here it is. This is how I really feel. Like screaming.

I keep my eyes shut and think about what Mom said. That I’m perfect. I know this is important for her to believe, even though I’m not sure why. I’m not allowed to have any problems.

Regardless, I’m discovering just how powerful of a tool it is to not love someone. Loving someone is vulnerable. It’s sensitive. It’s tender. And I get lost in them. If I love someone, I start to disappear.

Fame has put a wedge between Mom and me that I didn't think was possible. She wanted this. And I wanted her to have it. I wanted her to be happy. But now that I have it, I realize that she is happy and I'm not. Her happiness came at the cost of mine. I feel robbed and exploited.

''A little girl shouldn't have to worry about her entire family,'' Grandpa says to me one afternoon.
''What?'' I ask, not because I didn't hear what he said, but because I'm confused. Of course a little girl should worry about her entire family. That's what little girls do.

I'm allowed to hate someone else's dream, even if it's my reality.

Mom frees her wrists and starts slapping him.
“Go, Mom! You’ve got this!” I cheer her on like I always do as soon as I get past the fear.

...what life would be like if she were still alive...

I’m trying desperately to get their approval, their affection, and I never quite seem to.