Blood pressure rises, head throbs in pain, and eyes are seeing red as I make way up the stairs crossing the threshold of my bedroom. I slam the door and throw myself to my bed, angry at the words just spoken between son and self. As I stare at the spinning ceiling fan, I feel heated, angry. Why must we argue incessantly? I’ve come to my room to throw a teenager sized tantrum. God, why did my mother wish this on me?
I lay here remembering when I was 13 going on 30. Oh how unpleasant the memories of my mom and I butting heads routinely. I was always the one to relent. Why can’t I be the one that is right for a change? Oh yeah, I was the teen then and I respected my mom … or maybe feared is a better word. I remember Mom doing the same thing as I’ve done here, except she made sure to let me hear her cries. I remember how bad I felt back then, when she would emerge from her room with swollen, red eyes. My heart would always melt. Mom would always say how much she hoped that I would have children like my brother and me, rebellious and uncaring.
At that time, I swore to myself that I would never do that to my children. I would never make them feel guilty for voicing their opinions. Little did I know at that time, that there is much more at stake then just an opinion, respect must be in the equation.
My son has learned a trick. He grumbles lowly with needling remarks that hurt and belittle. I’m consumed with anger and hatred toward my son, as he needles me with his snide, rebellious, belittlements.
Again, I am reminded that Mom would slap me whenever I did that to her. Perhaps this is why I fear her. I learned not to speak my mind to her. To this day, I still cannot speak my mind to her without first finding the courage to do so. God, these memories are frightful and confusing. I want so much to be a better mother, but now I’m consumed with all these emotions as my son goes on with life as if nothing ever happened. All I want to do is slap the shit out of him… but I am the adult… right?
My eyeballs still burn with anger because of him. I shall not speak to him the rest of the day. He has summoned this beast within me and I must work hard to contain it. Therefore, I must remain quiet, gritting my teeth when I see him. I shall speak only if addressed.
Of course, there is always the alternative. Instead of turning this anger inward, I could just allow this beast to rear its ugly head again with expletives and words of anger. Sometimes I hate being the parent. Guess what Mom; I have a child just like yours. Thanks for the well wishes.
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