My Mom Doesn’t Get Me

But she pays attention.

Photo from Unsplash.

Are you there, God? It’s me, a misunderstood teenager.

Or at least, this is what I would’ve said several years ago. I had what one might consider an exceptionally lengthy spell of growing pains. Put a little less nicely, let’s just call a duck a duck and say that I was probably a nightmare of a teenager. Unfortunately, this didn’t stop at the ripe old age of 19, but continued into my early twenties (until about 22). Vestiges of my teenage rebellion may, in fact, still live permanently with me.

For the longest time, I felt like my mom and I were leading a doomed relationship and that it was folly to even pretend. She didn’t seem to like the person I was turning out to be, and I wasn’t supposed to like my parents anyway right? I didn’t think this would ever change because at 20, everything seems slow and permanent.

After I got back from studying abroad in Spain and being able to do whatever I wanted, it was hard to go back to living in a home with bedtimes and kid siblings and people who needed sleep. For years, I had been the night own of the family, staying up til at least 2am, but sometimes as late as 4am doing homework, writing, or watching tv. I tried my best to be quiet, even drinking the leftover coffee from the day cold so I wouldn’t wake anyone up with the microwave. The real problem…