Not my Mother's Daughter

This picture is my closet. No kidding. Ok, so this isn't actually my closet, but my closet is anally organized by colors like this. I often think back on my life and say, why do I do the things I do. My mother was a significant influence on me in a sense that I am scared to death of disarray. However, I do not always put things away as I should. Just ask my husband. It drives him crazy.

These hangers in the closet are meant to represent wire hangers. Just like the ones in the Mommy Dearest the movie. Here is a link to the clip I am talking about. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUkE9qaVgmo. Often, I would joke about my life being similar to this movie in a sense that my mom wanted order, things a certain way, and very manipulative. She would make me clean every Friday before doing anything. I am not complaining about the chores, I am complaining about the high expectations. I would have to have the whole house cleaned before my mom got home, my sister hardly ever helped, and it pissed me off. I would get the white glove treatment, and if it weren't to her satisfaction, 1 of 3 things would happen. 1. I would have to redo the whole thing. 2. I was made to feel incredibly guilty while my mother cleaned again yelling things like, "I work three jobs so you can have nice things and you can't even clean the house right." or 3. Somehow my Friday night plans no longer happened, and my mom would reprimand me by talking, yelling, and manipulating me for hours. You would have thought I would have figured it out how to clean properly. But no, I sure didn't at least to her expectations. I vacuumed in a way to make sure the lines were straight with no footprints, I made sure to always wipe down the handles in the sinks, so there were not any water spots or fingerprints, and I made sure that I dusted every inch so there weren't any streaks. This was exhausting. Maybe that is why I hate to clean my own house. Yet, I hate it dirty. Messy is one thing, dirty is another.

I am not trying to talk evil of my mother, who by the way is dead now and I know she can't defend herself. Not at all. I am simply stating facts. This was my life growing up. And if you continue to read my blogs, there will be a lot of my mother and not so many pleasant things spoken. But I stand firm on the belief that I suffered what I suffered to get to this journey with my Savior. Yes, he is my Savior!!! I am yelling it from the rooftops! HE IS MY SAVIOR.

Now understand I was not the best kid. I warned you in the first blog of my lying. I lied all the time. I am not lying anymore just for clarification. (Insert goofy face emoji.) I lied during my childhood and well into my 30's. I am 42 years old now. I occasionally still lie. But the difference is, I recognize when I do it now, and I try to rectify it too if I can. I am not always strong enough though. Only by God's grace, does he give me that strength.

So here I insert the insight God gave me. My mother was very unhappy. All who knew her knew she was very unhappy. It showed in so many aspects of her life. Her past with her father, loss of her mother, early loss of her sister and best friend, divorce, rape, abuse, and so much more made her who she was. God broke through her wall about the last five years of her life I think. God IS our source of happiness. She did not really have a relationship with God until her last years. The thing is though, she did. And I think my conversion was part of it. My childhood prepared me for forgiveness and repentance. When my mom was dying, I was feeling the tug to let go of my demons. The things that bound me and her. She didn't get to do that. I had to do that for her. (this will be another blog). I am not sure where I want to go with this, but I feel the Holy Spirit writing for me.

I am writing a blog to talked about my story and the role God plays. I converted to Catholicism in 2009. Yep, I am a baby convert. Not even ten years old yet. Through this, my mom and I would have a common ground. She started to see a difference in me, and we could talk. We really would talk about God and our lives. I didn't hold my past against her. Did I still suffer from it? Yes, I did, but I wasn't angry anymore. I felt sorry for her. I wanted her to have happiness. Her conversion came at a price, it did. But God fixed it for her. He gave her peace. Peace in HIS arms. Not this earthly embrace, but the one that only matters. His. He suffered more than any of us. He knew her pain. He knows my pain. He takes our pain and makes it good. Always. And if you don't believe that, I challenge you to make a chart. On one side, put the bad thing that happened. Then on the other side, put a good thing that came out of it. There is always something good that comes. You may be too hurt and blind to see it. But look. Really look. God will show you if you just ask!