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June 7, 2015

For my Mother.

Lindsay Worek

I am leaving the country in a few weeks and my mom came over the other night to help me pack.

Our relationship has not always been the easiest, but we are thousands of miles away from where we were at one point.

In the past, I held onto so much anger about our often rocky relationship.

I guess she did, too. While she was here, we had never laughed so hard together. She finally expressed to me, her thoughts about me going away for a while. Tears poured out of her eyes as she told me that during all of my wild adventures thus far, she had never been afraid like she is this time.

I laughed a little bit as I asked her why this time.

“Because we are so close now and you are leaving.”

She then began to cry over the mothering mistakes she felt she had made.

Thank God I know now that my mother is just another human doing this journey of life. She always did the best she could. Our arguments and fights have taught me about forgiveness and true healing. Life is too short to hold onto the bullsh*t.

Sometimes, we expect so much from our parents, that we forget they are human too.

Often times, we don’t get to tell our parents all the things we should tell them. I have opened up to my mother more than I ever thought was possible.

I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her—even with all the ups and downs.

All of it was necessary to become who I am and to get to where I am today. So, this one is for her—and all mothers and parents out there that are doing their best.

There are no real mistakes.

Things are the way they are and happen for a reason, always.

I hope this inspires you to show some love and reflect on the human who you are, because of all of your experiences, and feel gratitude for it.

For My Mother.

Mom. Mother. Mommy. Mama.

Many names that I have for you. They are mainly good, but at times they were not.

This is for you.

Thank you so much.

For the time when I was about two-years-old and you told me that I refused to let you dress me anymore, you gave me the freedom to let me dress myself. To let me be myself. So I wore a polka dot dress with socks and pretty shoes—to the zoo.

You always let me express myself.

Thank you.

For the time when I was young and refused to go to school. I used to hate waking up. I fought you. So you took me there in my pajamas. An early lesson in humility. We laugh about it now but I am sure I cried the whole way to the school.

Thank you for telling all of my boyfriends about this moment, just so they would know and be warned of my stubbornness at times.

You tell me that since I discovered my voice, I have been singing ever since. Thank you for being there for all of my concerts, musicals and shows. For always encouraging me to be out there and be bright. You gave me the freedom to choose what I wanted to participate in.

Thank you for doing my hair and my make-up and making me feel pretty and like a movie star for all of my dance recitals. You tell me I was a little diva. You bought me flowers so I felt appreciated and honored.

Thank you for coming to my field hockey games, softball games and basketball games when I was in my “sports” phase. I don’t pride myself on being super athletic, but I did it anyways.

I watched you struggle and survive throughout my childhood. You showed me that life wasn’t easy, but that it was worth living. You showed me it was more important to be happy and spend time together than have a spotless house.

Speaking of, you made me do chores at an early age. It annoyed me at first. But, now I have a love for cleanliness and organization. It also motivated me and taught me that we need to work in order to make money—or in my case—my weekly allowance.

You encouraged me to start working as soon as I could. So I did. I have had a ton of jobs and owe a huge part of my personality to this aspect of my adolescence. I suppose I will always be a hustler, in some capacity. You let me start my own babysitting business in the neighborhood when I was 12.

Remember the time we drove to Brooklyn, just so I could be an extra for a T.V. show? Or when you congratulated me on auditioning for A Christmas CaroI? How about all the times you heard me practicing my violin? Or my oboe? Yes, I played the oboe because I wanted to be different. And you supported that.

I cherish all of our beach trips and when we rented houses on Long Beach Island. My love for the ocean started with you. I know you aren’t surprised that I always gravitate towards the sand and salt water.

There were times that our relationship was strained. Very strained. I drank too much at times and you knew it. It scared you. You did the best that you could. But you let me fall and get up on my own. The time I was too hungover to go to Atlantic City with the family. You left without me. I remained on the bathroom floor. It showed me that my actions had consequences.

I have watched you fall in and out of love. You have watched me do the same. I have cried on your shoulder. You have cried on mine. You have showed me to take no one’s sh*t. Especially from a man. You know that I don’t and that I won’t.

All the times I have moved, you let me. You let me be free like a bird. If you were worried, you were mindful not to show it to me too much.

You just let me be.

Thank you for teaching me how to cook. I think of you every time I throw something together. I am pleasantly surprised by how good it comes out, but I know I get that from you. Except for pancakes.

Thank you for taking us to church at a young age. Although at one point, we stopped going because you said it was important for us to make up our own minds about what we wanted to do religiously—if anything at all.

Thank you for being there at my high school graduation. My college graduation. For supporting me when I applied to graduate school in New York City and then when I left after one semester to pursue yoga. People thought I was nuts, but you told me to follow my heart.

You came to my first yoga class no matter how you felt about it.

You make me laugh and our relationship has blossomed into something beautiful.

You never really forced anything on me. I know at times I was out of control. Hard to control. Unattainable. Undefinable.

I still am.

I am who I am today because of you. And I want to thank you. For empowering me. For loving me and for always doing your best. For putting us first. For being real. For telling me the truth even when it hurts. For calling me Ms. Fabulous, even on the days when I don’t feel fabulous at all.

I hope one day I am able to be a mother like you.

I love you.

~

Relephant read:

For all Mothers–You are Warriors and you are Already Enough.

~

Author: Lindsay Worek

Assistant Editor: JoJo Rowden/ Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: courtesy of the author

 

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