My Mother’s Worst Nightmare

A personal essay

It wasn’t the words that stung, it was the eyes—the gaze of utter disappointment of a parent that wants to live through their child. A sharp knife that tells the youngling they are broken, they are wrong, and they need to evolve into what the parent wants them to be. The blade is sharp — it gives nightmares.

Sprinting towards safety while a monster creeps behind you. The creature with tentacles and goo dripping from its chin. It keeps pace with you no matter how fast or far you run.

Parental disappointment that penetrates your soul. Knowing that you didn’t run fast enough, get the highest grade or become the doctor or lawyer they dreamt of. The parent didn’t live their dream and now puts a burden on the little mind they influence. I was a child that felt the monster from an early age.

I am still chased by monsters.

The monsters make life harder but don’t diminish my beauty. I became what I wanted. I am not the product of another’s will or wishes. I am not my mother’s mini-me that does what they are told and bows when ordered.

Family is not a dictatorship.

I was born from a womb, but I am not in debt. The biological tether does not own my life. I had no choice but to be born, but I do have the option to be myself. Authentically unique and not sorry for it.

I am my mother’s worst nightmare. I did not become her dream. I transformed myself into a being of authenticity, not a carbon copy of someone else’s missed opportunities.

I don’t look back. Why should I? The monster will always chase after me, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it catch up. Too bad for the expectations — a butterfly will never turn back into a caterpillar.

Prompt by Ravyne Hawke in Promptly Written Thursday’s Thoughts — “When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings.”― Dean Jackson, The Poetry of Oneness: Illuminating Awareness of the True Self