Her Bad Daughter.

She cried and asked me if I was happy seconds after I vowed myself to The Husband.
She held my leg as I pushed and transitioned from a Daughter to a Mother.
She forced tissues into my hands as I gasped for air and sobbed in the middle of the Emergency Room when I had no where else to turn for help.
She stops me in my tracks to tell me what a good Mother I am.
She has told me how proud she is of me and my forward movement.
She nodded her head and vehemently agreed that my motto for the year to "just say no" when I can't handle anything else on my plate was a strong and wise decision considering what I've repeatedly piled onto my "responsibility plate" has been too much.

I am overwhelmed.
I am exhausted.
I am at the end of my rope.
I am her bad daughter.

Once again, I am the child who is throwing everything she can get her hands on at her Mother just to make it stop.
Once again, I am the child who just wants validation and to be trusted with her decisions.
Once again, I am standing in the rain moving furniture wondering what the fuck and how did I get myself into this situation and hearing the voice in the back of my head telling me that this isn't my fault and to slink back into the shadows and hope it all just takes care of itself.
Once again, I am shielding the blow of her words after letting my guard down.
Once again, I am following her commands, but only because I really don't have any other choice without disappointing my children. I am very close to teaching them a lesson in love and what we will and won't do for acceptance.
Once again, I am her bad daughter.

I am lucky to even have a Mother. Even luckier to be married to a Man who gifted me with two totally different Mothers. I am lucky to have my Mother. I just don't like feeling like a masochist.