I grew up in a household that there were very few arguments and very little conflict. At least, not to my recollection; and maybe perhaps disagreements between my parents were kept behind closed doors. Even in my teenage years, I don’t recall many “knock down, drag out” fights between my parents and myself. We didn’t always agree, but it rarely got ugly.

I was always extremely close to my dad, but my mom, well, my mom always played her life pretty close to the vest. She was distant. I don’t recall many heart to heart talks. I observed friends that had a close relationship with their mom and I was always a bit envious, but sad as well.

One day when I was in my early teens, my Mom and I got into a disagreement. I can’t recall what it was about, but I recall that I felt like I was completely and utterly in the right. I stormed out of the house, slammed the front door, and sat down on the front steps of our house.

As I have said before, I forever sought after my mother’s love and approval; always laying in wait for that magic moment when I felt more than just a bother or an inconvenience to her.

I was fuming; so mad I could barely see straight.

I was right.

She was wrong.

As I sat there, all I could think about was how right I was, and how wrong she was. Righteousness was running through my veins. How dare she not see my point.

I sat there for what seemed like a really long time.

The longer that I sat there, the more I began to realize something. I wanted my mother to come after me. Come find me. I wanted to be important enough that she sought me out to make this right. But she never did.

Who knows what was going on in her head. Dinner needed to be made. Clothes needed to be folded. The floors were dirty. Who knows. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t about our disagreement.

After what felt like hours (I’m sure it wasn’t), with my proverbial tail tucked in between my legs, I went back into the house, carrying on with whatever. But my feelings had been hurt. One more notch in the belt of disappointment with my mom.

There’s really no point, or moral to this story. Just that I hope as a parent,  I hope that I was more in touch with my kids.

And if you are currently a parent of a precious young human being, on occasion, meet them where they go. It could mean everything to them. 

Love,

Cat

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