Thursday dressed up in Friday’s clothing makes for a good kind of Thursday. Tomorrow marks the beginning of my vacation. An early start to our Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend, and ultimately, a prompt to remind me of my break with tradition. The loss of giving up Thanksgiving at my mothers (and other holidays too!) has been kind of a big deal (for anyone who knows me, they know I’m fond of traditions).
Last weekend marked a year anniversary of sorts for me. You see, it was this time last year that so much of what was going on in my life coalesced into this one glorious (albeit, scary and hard) truth: I have a toxic person in my life and they go by the name of mother. And it is perfectly acceptable, no matter how difficult, sad, uneasy, exhausting, and altogether lonesome it has been to extricate myself from the relationship.
To some, namely her, it may seem my exclusion is petty. That it stemmed from a small fight pertaining to my needing a car, and her inability to lend me hers. But the lies, the unjustifiable name-calling (is name calling every justifiable?), and the blatant heart-piercing, eardrum reverberating horrific words (not to be confused with name-calling) thrown my way, broke this camel’s back.
32 years of having a mother that both loves and hates me. That confuses love with manipulations and trickery. Holds it over my head, then hides it away for me to search for it through duty and diligence, through apologies, and silent treaties.
Relationships be tricky. This one was one heck of an obstacle course. Removing myself from the dynamic, I believe, has been the best thing I have ever done because I have done what is right for me. Writing about it on the other hand? We shall find out.
And so, breaking from tradition I go the route of a lone wolf, where if the mood should strike, I’ll hunt down my own damn turkey.