Always

"Forgive your mother for the many, many times she was not the mother you wanted her to be. Forgive her for the times she did not do things the way you needed them done. Forgive your mother for demanding things from you that she could not provide for you or for herself.

Forgive your mother because the truth is, she did the best she could whether you would like to believe it or not. You may have been harboring judgments or negative opinions about your mother and the way she did or did not mother you.

Just for today, forgive yourself for judging your mother. Once you do, there will be nothing left to forgive her for."

- Iyanla Vanzant

I remember being very small, and looking at her-- gazing at her in sheer admiration. She was a beauty queen. With dark, almond eyes that would light up in the presence of others. Her smile was contagious-- bright and inviting. I remember gawking at her as I marveled the end-result before she'd leave--Every time, She was absolutely stunning. Polished to perfection.

My father was the senior pastor of a small church, located in Montgomery County, Maryland. A quiet middle-class suburb right outside Washington, D.C. Public events were weekly rituals -- Weddings, Funerals, Banquets, Conventions--I remember.

"Lauren, go get your clothes on!" she would shoe me out of her quarters as I groaned my way out, "Come on, Lauren! We don't have time!" Her voice would obnoxiously raise in pitch as she emphasized 'on' and 'time'. I rolled my eyes sullenly, Why can't I ever be around her when I want to be?, I sulked. I didn't want to put on some stupid Lord & Taylor dress! The wire linings prodded me as the unforgiving petticoats raked across my prepubescent skin-- [Needless to say, Millions of girls world-wide rejoiced once this Godawful 'poofy' style went out].

"Hurry! So I can do your hair! Don't make me tell you again," she cut her eyes sharply as her tone lowered, continuing to enunciate through clenched teeth. She had an uncanny ability of making people around her feel as if they were 'in the way'-- At the time, 'what' we were 'in the way of' was always a mystery as she was always the last one ready,making the entire family late [I halfway** retract this statement. As a parent, I've come to realize that shit does in fact get 'real' at times. After a while it's like, 'Shit, at least we showed up at ALL'].

She quickly turned her attention towards the closet as I pouted my way out. The brass-filled theme for Entertainment Tonight echoed in the background as I neared the entryway to my room. My mother was a pop culture junkie. It's as if Whitney Houston was a religion, and JFK Jr. was my estranged stepfather [when he died, it was as if a real-live Hamilton had passed away].

I could hear my mother's muffled singing, as hangers clinked on an ardent search for the pièce de résistance. From her front door, the closet was actually located behind a wall, making it completely inconspicuous to passersby-- I used this to my advantage. So often, I would wait until my mother disappeared to the hidden lair, then sneak back to her door. I listened anxiously, knowing that if I was caught disobeying orders, it would be my ass. For that very reason, I spent half of my attention reveling in my mother's off-pitch attempt at Shania Twain, while the other half kept watch for my tattle-tail older sister. I remember how much I wished my mom would cut me some slack and let me 'be around' while she got dressed or performed everyday tasks. The only times I recall being permitted to hang out with my mom, was while she napped. She would change the TV to Nikelodeon, and I would zone out to Rocko's Modern Life until my eyes burned from lack of blinking. When she awoke, I was greeted by a round of loud, drawn out snorts [My mother's allergies have been atrocious for as long as I can remember. These snorts in particular were caused by sinuses--because apparently it was sinus season all year round]. Once finished destroying her entire nasal passage, she would sigh from her bed. I would tense up in anticipation, usually followed by a "Go watch that in the other room," as she flipped the channel back to Lifetime.

My mother was constantly sick or tired [classic manic depressive symptoms], and there were to be no questions about it. In fact there was NO: pollen, No animal hair, [so, No animals]No grass, No dust, No fresh fruit OR vegetables, No open blinds, Nothing loud while she was sleep, Nothing loud while she was awake, No backtalk and No explanation as to 'why'. I constantly compared her to mother-daughter relationships on TV, as they all seemed happy; Laughing and engaging--it was annoyingly picturesque. But I wanted it. I wanted it.

As I grew older, my mother's time in isolation grew more, and more prevalent. Days for her were spent tucked away in bed with drawn curtains/blinds. I stopped putting any emphasis on a relationship with my mother, and accepted her television shows as my new siblings. Her daily lineup was between Melrose Place, Beverly Hills 90210, Dallas,or ER [don't even think about entering the room while ER is on].

By this time, it was no longer what I wanted, but more so, What on Earth could she want now? My once vibrant mother had become 'selective' as to who and when she'd disperse positive energy-- Needless to say, my dad, my sister, and I were not the selected few. Family gatherings and social events became giant facades,in which we'd mask ourselves as a happy family. Moments later, once in the car, she couldn't bare anything/anyone around.

"Before we go in there, you girls be on your BEST behavior. Smile at everyone, Look people in the eye while they're talking to you, and use your manners. Lauren, that means washing your hands after you use the bathroom."Always. These 10-second pep talks became more and more routine, as she realized there were more, and more layers of her personal life that she wished to conceal.

As the door flung open, all four of us jumped into action; It was showtime. Smiles, smiles, everything is fine. We love each so much.

My mother invested a great deal of time pruning my sister and I into five-star juvenile aristocrats.

"They're so well-behaved!" guests exclaimed to my mother, all the while marveling at our top notch performance.

"Thank you," we sang in unison through clenched teeth. We knew this act was complete bullshit, and my sister and I were expected to keep the illusion afloat.My mother was the first in line to take credit for anything having to do with me or my sister's successes.

"Oh, they're so beautiful!" passerbys would coo, as my sister and I pranced daintily like pomeranians.

"Thank you!" She snatched, smiling all the while.

What the fuck, I thought to myself [although it probably wasn't 'fuck', because there was No cursing either].

She takes all the credit for things she doesn't even do herself. She acts like we're so perfect but, she's the worst part of our whole family! A sense of resentment grew with every fake smile endured for the sake of my mother's image. I couldn't wait to get out of that house.

By the age of fourteen,I had written her off completely as a lying hypocrite.

When I grow up, I want to be as far away from her as possible. I hate her, and I will never be like her, I vowed [But the Lord had other plans, which I'm learning still--fuckin' wild].

In my mind, my father was the only parent I had. I confided my frustrations towards her, to him.

"Welp, that's your mom," he would add at the end of our long heart to hearts. I rolled my eyes at the thought of it-- I had never even seen my parents kiss; I hated my family's dynamic and wished to be born to other parents. My mother was the sole authoritarian, and as the years passed, her tolerance levels became non-existent, no one was safe from the wrath my mom was capable of unleashing. Her mood swings were so sudden, it was as if good moods were to be cherished, on account that we weren't ever sure when the next time she would be in good spirits again. I had grown accustomed to walking on eggshells. Don't bother Mommy, was the underlying code. You're bothering Mommy, is what I received.

There was a piece of me that never stopped yearning for my mother's affection, but by now my mind had accumulated a catalog of defense mechanisms, further detaching myself from any emotion whatsoever.

When my parents filed for divorce, it was a huge relief for the entire family. No more fights, no more random nag fests, no more 2-week long 'punishments' for no reason. It was my decision as a minor, to live with my father as I placed any hopes of a healthy relationship, on the back burner. I don't have a mom--fuck it. I went on, spiraling out of control, convincing myself that any toxic behavior was justifiable. I began mentally and emotionally 'raising' myself, inadvertently straying further away from stability and overall clarity. Months, went by without a single call to my mother-- I wasn't aware of the level of pain I was experiencing. As time went by, I drifted further away from my mother. I befriended a string of terrible people, and had zero [girl,none]standards when it came to dating. As long as they're around, I thought to myself, As long as I'm not alone-- I'm okay.

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I remained in a state of perpetual denial until recently [big surprise]. It was a regular day like any other, I am prescribed to antidepressants, and needed to get a refill. Like any other time I went to refill my meds, I had to go through Parkland Medical Center [It's a state hospital located in Dallas,TX. In layman's terms, it's our city's way of saying 'Fuck you' to anyone on state healthcare--go figure]. While waiting to be seen, there was a tech that, for whatever reason, I felt inclined to share personal information with. I told her of my quest towards an 'ultimate zen', infinite love and happiness. She began to share her story about resentment she'd gained towards a close family member as well.

"It wasn't the easiest thing," She started, "But-- it's the necessary thing you need in order to get on with your life. Once we accept the flaws of an individual for what they are, and not what we'd like them to be, only then can we find peace within ourselves and the courage to forgive."

I went on to tell her about my newfound connection to the universe, and how it had been speaking so loudly towards the manifestation of joy and peace.

She looked deeply into my eyes--she could feel my weary heart; I was searching. I was tired of searching.

"You have so much life in you, I feel it. Your mother might not have been the mother you wanted her to be, but accept that. For your daughter's sake. You cannot be a strong mother, with broken parts of your life-- Mend this. You need to.Your life needs you to."

It was the first time in my 25 years, that I had received the message. An epiphany so profound, I'm willing to sacrifice my pride and set my ego aside in the name of love. For years, the idea of forgiving my mother was so far fetched. It was as if I had been screening a telephone call my entire life.

I guess that day, I finally decided to pick up.

Today, I choose forgiveness.

Today, I choose love.

I'm freeing myself

Today.

Mommy, I love you. I've never stopped.

You'll always be a beauty queen to me, and I your little girl...

Always