Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me

This blog isn’t to blame my mother for everything bad that has happened to me. In fact, I stopped writing for a whole year because I just didn’t feel ‘right’ about talking about my mom the way I was. But here’s the truth, she didn’t make anything that happened to me any easier.

Using “things I wish my mother taught me” is an easy jumping off point for me to write about my experiences. Trust me, there are things I wish my father taught me, my grandmother taught me most of the things I learned at a young age but she sure struggles with her untreated mental illnesses as well. There are also things I wish my older sister taught me. Not that it’s her fault for being awkward in school and maybe not the best older sister role model, as I’ve taken most of that role on throughout my life.

I remember being in the house and I was always the last one awake… it was something about the quiet stillness in the house— my mom and sister quietly asleep, I’m in my room just drawing my heart out. I have always thought it was a sleep disorder from a very young age but now looking back at it, maybe it was me protecting them while they slept. Who knows… it could be both. And now that I’m in my 30’s I still experience the sleep disorder.

Once when I was around eight years old and living in Wisconsin with my mom and sister, I was up really really late, probably 3-4 a.m. and I was drawing— with pencil and paper— a passion of mine. And I saw a spider crawl fast across the wall and I knew right then and there that I was screwed and couldn’t sleep in my room after that. The things that go bump in the night, right? This happened on multiple occasions with spiders or centipedes. I would see one late at night and I was on my own— it was the couch for me that night if I couldn’t find the bug to kill it before putting my head on the pillow.

When we moved to Wisconsin seemed to be around the time my mom started heavily drinking. It was really bad when I was in 2nd and 3rd grade. But stayed pretty consistent up until my early 20’s. I feel like my mom missed out on my entire childhood and teen hood because of her inability to just ‘live’ life. It’s really hard writing these things because they do make me emotional and make me want to cry. But I need to stay strong to tell my story.