Chloe O.
Photography by Mason Schlopy
If you’re reading this, it will get better.
Family should be the most important thing in the world. Your blood; the people you will love unconditionally and support no matter what.
After my parents got divorced, I became my mother's daughter. As a little girl does, I worshiped my mother – she was my hero.
My hero who was so enraged from her divorce, turned her 9 year old daughter against her family. She taught me to hate my father. Her theatrical breakdowns led me to resent and fear the man who broke my mother to this degree.
My brother chose my father, adopting all of our dad's mannerisms and assuming the parental role in my mothers house. He would defend my dad and aggressively condemn my mother’s behavior, as well as mine. My mother could not escape the ‘source of her pain.’ The hatred she felt for my father overshadowed the concept of motherhood and the ability for her to love my brother.
Upon reflection, the types of yelling were different. My mom shrieked in hysterics, desperately searching for words to inflict pain. In manic episodes, she would blurt out phrases that destroyed me, ones that I cannot stop from repeatedly surfacing in my thoughts.
My dad was stern. His stare would paralyze me with fear. His grasp would be tight, with his fingers digging into the bones of my arm. He firmly, and frequently, shamed any behavior he deemed unacceptable. He has a nifty way of making you feel worthless, taking one situation and applying it to your character as a whole.
What followed the screaming was also different. With my mom, she either broke down to me, crying about how her family and my father traumatized her, telling me she's a terrible mother–asking me if she is a terrible mother; or, she would buy me clothes. My dad would force me to hug him and tell me he loves me and worries for me. At that time, I cried with my mother and hated my father.
At school, I would smile. If I smiled, no one would assume I felt so broken. I would suit up and try not to think about what was happening at home. Smiling became harder and entirely fake. I remember losing the ability to breathe for the first time in the bathroom, and then in my guidance counselor’s office. This began to happen more and more. I lived in my head, and it was torture.
When I got older, the adults I grew close to would reassure me that I would be okay once I got to college. I held on to this thought. Once I was removed from my environment I would finally be able to breathe.
Emotionally distancing myself from my mom, I started to befriend my dad, forming my own opinions about him without her words clouding my judgment. I began to trust him and look forward to my time with him. After 3 therapists, he became my rock, helping me manage our family dynamic while pushing me to be better than what I was exposed to. Refraining (mostly) from speaking poorly about my mother, he became my role model as well. He did not want me to hate my mother, but to instead understand her and recognize the flaws in her behavior, to learn from her mistakes.
At some point, I started viewing my parents as people, noticing their flaws and understanding their actions. It can be amazing to finally form a relationship of mutual respect and honest communication, seeing their true personalities and growing to like each other as people, rather than just loving them as family.
It can also be a horrible feeling, where there are no words to describe the hole you feel in your life. The uncontrollable anxiety of turning into the woman who was supposed to be your role model. The sadness of having a mother but not a mom. Overthinking every action, reaction, and interaction, comparing everything you do to what she does, overwhelmed with fear of repeating her mistakes.
College was my escape, the place where I was finally removed from my situation, a place where I can breathe. A place where I am surrounded by people who truly know me and love me, people who I love more than anything.
However, college came with a new challenge. I grew aware of what a mom should be. I saw how much I was missing out on and it was devastating. I didn’t know how to verbalize my feelings without making my friends uncomfortable. I couldn't breathe again. Luckily, the people I am surrounded by are incredible and have been there for me in a way I did not know was possible. I am learning to come to terms with it. I am trying to form a relationship with her on my own terms, but know it's okay if it doesn't work. I am trying to let go of her being a mother and build a friendship. I am trying to not live in my head. It is hard to forgive her but it’s harder to not forgive her. I am happy to report that, while very difficult, I think our relationship is moving in the right direction.
Dwelling on what you don't have is a lot easier than being grateful for what you do. But life is short and forgiveness is possible. Shit happens, life goes on, learn from your mistakes, and there's always a silver lining (even if the silver needs to be polished).
Chloe O., Syracuse University
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