Mutter, Mama, Mum, Madre, Mom, or Mommy are some of the names young kids learn to call the one who gave them life or the one who becomes a mom to you of way of just being what has gone missing, astray, or has been absent.

A mom can be your hero, your inspiration, or the one you aspire to be. Her love is unconditional, she is the warm embrace, the one who pushes you, and the one you confide in. A mom can be your confident, the one who teaches you about life, who sacrifices for you, or the one who is just there for you. A mom is something different for everyone.

A mom can also be absent. She can be manipulative. She can be selfish. She can make her love conditional. She can be hurtful. She can push you away. She can put you down and place messages in your head that aren’t true. She can deplete your heart of hope.

As a mom our words are powerful, they can weaken the heart of a child or they can encourage a child.  Words of a mom, can take root inside the heart of a child. Words can break and heal. Words can destroy and words can admit wrong. But the words of a mother sink deep into the soul of a child because they are words of a mom. A mom, who we think is for us, not the one to push us down.

I am a mom. But what do I know about being a mom, nothing. I have been a mom for some 15 years yet I have been going through each day, week, month, and year never knowing what a mom could truly be. I pray everyday, my past doesn’t reek havoc on my kids relationships. I have things about me that are odd because in my mind I am parentless. I have neither a mom, who wants me without strings attached or dad that I can ever remember.

Strings attached: a strand complete with my every failing, a strand of my need to say what she wants, a strand of stripping everything away that is me, a strand of admitting I am awful daughter, a strand of knowing love comes with conditions, a strand of her power over me, a strand of my incompleteness, and a strand of knowing nothing I do will be good enough for her, a strand of my constant disappointment to her, a strand of blame, and a strand that reminds her of all she didn’t want. These strands wrapped together created a rope. A rope that wraps itself around my body. The rope constricts me, the rope strangles me, the rope attached to a cinder block drowns me. This rope is what I see everyday when I look in the mirror. I see each individual strand that makes the rope one solid, fierce and powerful method of wearing me down.

I dream of the day that I can look in a mirror and not see the rope wrapped around me. I dream of the day that I can be free of the pain of being a disappointment, failure, or a reminder of what wasn’t wanted. I hope for the day I can see myself through different eyes. Maybe one day I can be confident, strong, loved, complete, or accepted. Maybe one day I will be known for who I really am. Maybe one day I will be able to face the reflection in the mirror and not see all that I am not. I can hope for the day when this rope made up of many strands will no longer keep me from being free. But for now I am entwined in this rope.

There are days I wonder if I could just run away from life. Could I just pack up and flee this place. Escape the pain, but thats what I have tried to do all my life. Escape, flee, and run away from it all. I am trapped, confined and restricted to live in this valley. To live in a valley that I haven’t figured out how to crawl out of… a valley. A valley that traps me. A valley that surrounds me with echoing messages that makes my mind spin. One day. One day I won’t have to fight so hard to ignore them. One day I won’t have to protect my heart from the pain. One day I will be free, it may not be today, but one day I will be able to open the door and new echoing messages will fill me and I will finally be free. Today isn’t that day but I can hope for the day…