My mother and I were sitting on the porch and after bickering all day. I was laughing with some of her friends who had come over.
She looked straight at me and said, "I wish I had been more open to the option of abortion 15 years ago."
It was my 15th birthday.
I've always admired my mom. She married my dad, moved to the US from Mexico, and got her citizenship via naturalization. She worked hard to learn English, and worked even harder to provide for four us after a bitter divorce.
At one point she was working three jobs, and she still always showed us the positive even though we were really poor at the time. She often faced a lot of racism in our small town because of her (and our) heritage.
One day, I asked her how she does it. A Hispanic woman in a small, Midwestern community making ends meet with a smile on her face, not letting the haters bring her down. She looked at me, smiled and said, "If I'm in a new place, I squish and squeeze until I fit in."
That's always stuck with me. She made a place for herself and worked hard for it. I'm lucky if I'll ever grow to be half the woman she is.
My pregnancy was not easy, and afterwards we followed the doctor's orders to abstain from sex for six weeks after I delivered. We waited like eager teenagers, and once I was cleared by the doctor, we could hardly wait to get our hands on each other.
The sex was painful. I tried to get through it, but couldn't, and finally I had to call it quits. "Stop," I said.
"Not until I'm finished."
I hear it every time now, in the back of my mind. A growl of need I couldn't meet, but had to anyway.
"Not until I'm finished."
My parents both came from pretty rough backgrounds and were raised by Depression Era parents. They were both the oldest of large families, so they had a lot of responsibilities.
When I was 11, my mom said to me, "I raised my own siblings, and then your brother. I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore."
My parents still don't understand why I stopped telling them about awards nights and other school events, or why I dropped out of doing things. It was because I didn't think anyone cared.
"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."
My mother said this to my sister and me at the ripe old ages of nine and ten, during a "heartfelt" conversation. Those words have stuck with me for over 30 years.
From that moment on, I never believed it when anyone told me I was cute, pretty, beautiful or gorgeous. I believed that all those people were obviously lying, because my mother said differently.
My mom apologizes to this day, and she insists that her words came out wrong. And I believe her, because she is often removing her foot from her mouth after unintentionally saying something harmful. I've tried to let it go, but those words are so deeply engrained in me that I fear they can't be erased.
I've purposely tried to tell my children how handsome and beautiful they are, but I think that my negative outlook of myself has rubbed off on them. Neither one of them see their beauty. I HATE that.
I went camping with my family a few years ago. My sister brought her new boyfriend, who kept picking on my four-year-old son. When my sister went for a walk with her boyfriend, my parents asked us what we all thought of him. I said that I didn't like him because he was mean to my kid.
My father looked me square in the face and said, "Well that's not a reason to not like him! You can't protect your son all his life. You're raising a pussy."
My son was FOUR! I will never forget that.
When I finally got up the courage to confess to my mother that my former stepbrother (from her second marriage) had molested me, she looked me dead in the face and asked, "Why did you let yourself be alone with him?!"
I cannot forgive her. I've tried, but I just can't. I hate her. I hate everything about her.
When she met my one-year-old son for the first time and he cried every time she tried to hold him, I couldn't help but smile.
My now-husband and I became pregnant with our son when I was 20 and he was 22. We were young and it wasn't ideal, but we loved each other, had been together for a year, and were already prepared to raise a family; it just happened a little earlier than we'd thought.
My husband called his mother to tell her the news, and I sat very close to him, trying to hear her reaction. I never expected what came next:
"How could she do that to you?" she asked. "Doesn't she know you can't afford it?" I stood up, but I could still hear her. "You do know that when she leaves you, you're going to have to pay her, right?"
I don't even know what my husband said because I remember being so shocked and hurt that I walked out of the room and sat outside.
My son is 8 now, and my husband and I have been together for a little over 10 years, married for 5, and bought our first home 2 years ago. We are still very much in love, and we are incredible parents.
In that whole time, my mother in law has said countless stupid and mean things to me. But this comment has always stuck with me and always will.
My style has always been a bit alternative. Even after having my daughter at 18, I kept my look. Pink and black hair, a tattoo (planned to get more), piercings (also planning for more), the works. I had a dream of becoming an alternative model, which I thought was the epitome of beautiful. When I was 19, I had a set plan. I was going to polish myself up a bit and send in some shots.
My husband at the time told me I was crazy, and that, "No one's going to want to look at your half naked, post baby body. No one will find that attractive. I find it attractive because I love you."
That hurt me so bad, I cried myself to sleep that night.
I eventually divorced that ass, and now, eight years later, I've never been happier.
My daughter was born premature. Extremely premature. She weighed 1lb, 3oz, and was not supposed to survive. On top of that, I almost didn't survive either. I was hospitalized for months, I had an emergency C section, and I faced losing my daughter every day after that for months until she was stable enough.
And I went through it all without a comforting hand beside me.
Throughout it all, I was being abused by my (now ex) husband.
One day, while waiting for our daughter to be released from surgery, I confronted him. Why was he so cruel to me? Why did I deserve the pain?
He looked me in the eyes and told me this one thing: "You're not the girl I fell in love with. You're not the same. You were so sweet and happy. And now you're bitter and hateful. The world darkened you, and you're not the same."
That was why I deserved his abuse, which was the very thing that made me bitter.
That was why I deserved being left alone to go through this ordeal, which was the very thing that darkened me.
It's been five years, and I now have depression and anxiety. I have a hard time with my relationships. I never know if I can trust the man I'm with, for numerous reasons.
I'm the girl who apologizes for existing.
He was right. I'm not the same.
Has anyone ever made a fleeting comment about you that immediately became tattooed onto the front of your brain for all of eternity, impacting your self-perception and self-worth? Whether it was an offhand comment made by someone you love and respect or a fleeting declaration by someone you barely know, we share the moments that stick.
