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I'm a daughter of a woman that was left alone while pregnant with an inmense fear of losing her first kid, because she already lost one.
My mom tried (and this is something I came to realize while growing) to give me a happy family; something she lost while young and saw how her mom, my grandma, and her siblings struggled. She wanted happiness for me and for her too, to have something whole and not just fragments... but that didn't happen.
My mom got pregnant again with a man she thought he loved her. I was five and a half when my sister came, and not so long after, my little brother. My mom found out this man had other relationship and other kids (like five besides my siblings) my mom was broken and trow him away. She was now alone with three kids into her mom's house.
I remember clearly that my mom used to write a lot. I thought she was writing an story because I remember seeing piles of letters in folders while I was growing up, she was actually grieving and blaming herself for how the things turned out for us and for her, she apologized so many times to us while writing... I found out recently, me about to move out with my boyfriend.
My mom couldn't give me all the things I wanted, I remember the fights because I got angry and mad when my sister was wearing something that belonged to me. T-shirts, shoes, pants... I used to call her names, but the truth is my mom had a hard time in buying us the things we needed, my aunts and uncles helped as my grandma did too and yet sometimes it was just difficult.
The hard part came when I was 17 and I was taken into emergency due to breathing problems, my chest was constricted due to a huge amount of stress (Highschool and I was too into music) and the doctor told my mom I was having suicidal thoughts and she confronted me (And again, I blamed her because I felt left out of her sight while I was growing, I felt all by myself) The rough patch lasted until I was 23-24. During this time I gave my family a hard time, specially to my mom that now can't sleep well during nights because she still feel the anguish in her chest wondering if that night will be my last as I finally succeeded on my suicide. (She checks on me almost on daily basis) I have scars on my body that I now hide. My mom tried her best to be the very thing we three needed... and I wasn't her only problem, when my sister was a kid had to go to therapy because a 4 year old girl was having depression because her father left without any notice. My brother, got kicked in the face and knocked out while practicing soccer and years later developed epilepsy. My mom have now a tired and sad face, like the life she once had left that body and we only see an empty shell.
I can't blame my mom about my own insecurities, I can't point a finger to her and tell her all of myself it's her fault... She tried but unfortunately she failed, but she loves me and I know that because I was able to grow since it wasn't just bound to her duty as a parent. She gave me something else, she gave me endless possibilities and her story, for me to find a path, a different one to walk, a better one.
Parents are human too. Sometimes we blame them for things because we are hurt and it pains us, but it's hard to see and ask what pains them, where they're hurt. No matter what they did, wonder if as much as they tried you guys actually tried to understand them. Understanding is recyprocal, we can't ask for something we don't actually give.
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