A Self-Taught Woman

My daughter turned to me the other day to discuss clothing for some reason or another. Eventually, she pointed out that there was a girl at school who didn't match very well. She said, "I really don't like the way she dresses. It's weird." - Ah, the fifth grade.

Fair enough. I feel this way about adults, too. When you're young, it's weird. When you get older, it's self expression. One day she'll understand the concept of having a "style" I suppose. It took me until I was about 25 years old to figure it out myself. 

"Are you friends with this girl?

"No, I'm not. She's just weird." 

"Well, then you don't know her very well. I know it's hard to not judge her clothing when you don't agree with her. You never really know why she dresses that way. Maybe she likes it. Maybe she doesn't have many clothes. Maybe her parent's don't help her..."

At what point does a parent realize they are attempting to defend their 10 year old inner child? 

Stop. Think. What am I trying to teach her exactly? 

A great deal of my love for these children is because I still know what it feels like to be them. I still yearn for things I never received in my childhood. 

It's important for my readers to know that my Mother was virtually non-existent. I was not always fed. I was not always picked up for school on time (if, at all) and I was not left out clothing before school. I didn't go girl shopping with Mommy or get go through the motions of growing up with a Mother. I am a self-taught (and still not always getting it right) woman. It hasn't been easy. 

She was M.I.A. because she was addicted to the act of self-medication. I wish there was more insight than this, but there is not. Addicted to the white collar drugs, as well, she did love getting them in any way she possibly could. The medications made her mentally, not there. My sister and I were conditioned to think she was a sleepy person. Sleepy while cooking, sleepy enough to forget to pick us up from school, sleepy while driving... Just sleepy. When she wasn't sleepy, she was mean. Unloving, cold and distant. My Father worked often to support us and took on the burden of being a single father before and after her death. 

When I'm around these children, there is a deep seeded understanding that is illuminated. I am a better Mother because I know what a child desires. I still feel what a child may desire every now and again. My husband can attest. It's a character trait for which I am not always proud, but my ability to be a better Mother makes it all worth it.

The kids are no stranger to my story. They know it well. I think it's important for them to know these things. Without this knowledge, they are oblivious to my process. I want them to know why I am the way I am and how I've gotten here. There is a path for all of us and my purpose revolves around learning from that which I did not have as a child. My Mother left my life early, when I was nine years old. It was tragic, shocking and life changing. It happened because that was the plan all along. I do not know if I would have been the strong person I am today if not for her departure. 

All I do know is that this kind of devastating loss was a serious gain for these children and I know I love being a Mother and learning more each and every day about them and myself.