Being a Mom

Logic and I occasionally talk about having kids. Sometimes it will come up after we spend time with our family and other times it is when we see a real brat in a restaurant. The first scenario leads us to think that we might want them, the second has the opposite effect. But whenever we have 'the talk' we both agree that we'd be screwed if children really are like their parents. Logic was a difficult child and I was a handful as a teen. Put those together and we'd have one helluva nightmare on our hands.
But with Mother's Day tomorrow, and the recent death of my Grandma, I can't help but admire the women in my life and think there might just be enough of a reward to outweigh the difficulties that come with being a mom.
Take my relationship with my mom, for example. As I previously stated, I was a handful as a teenager. I was mad for having to move to Montana during my Sophomore year of high school, among other things, and I chose to focus all of that anger on my mom. After taking a particularly brutal assault, she suggested that maybe I was taking all of my agression out on her because I knew that no matter what I said, she would still love me. I wouldn't admit it at the time, but she was right. And the next few years of our cohabitation would prove just how strong her love was. I would yell and scream and insult her every chance I got and her love for me never waivered.
Shortly after my 18th birthday I moved out. Amid tears and hurt feelings, my parents were supportive of my decision. And to my surprise, I spent more time at home than I did when I lived there. It was the beginning of a new phase in my relationship with my mom.
Of course, after moving out from the comforts of home, I started to see all the little things that my mom had done without acknowledgement for all those years.
I started to see her in a new light. She was not just my mother anymore, but this amazing woman who made unlimited sacrifices and had an all-encompassing heart.
Living on my own was quite an awakening in many respects but there was one particular factor that changed our relationship completely. That factor was anxiety.
When I started having panic attacks, there was nothing my mom could do to help. For the first time in my life, I had to take care of something on my own. As hard as it was for me, I think it was even harder for my mom. Her faith gave her all the comfort and support she needed and she couldn't relate to my ambivalence for it. She wanted to pray with me and try to resolve my fears through religion. And while I wish it could have been as easy as kneeling down and doing some serious praying, her answers were not mine.
I had to find alternate ways to solve my problems. Prayer was eventually replaced with meditation and instead of church, I found my weekly comfort in yoga. Even though my mom could see that I was finding comfort in these new forms of spirituality, she had a hard time understanding how those answers could be any better than her own. It was scary and exhausting for both of us, but in my search for new resolutions we've learned a lot about each other.
I can't pinpoint when it was that I finally started to appreciate all that my mom has done for me, but I know that I haven't even come close to understanding her love in all its capacity. As I look back on the last few years, all the anxiety and fear has been worth it if for no other reason than to bring us closer.
Ten years after all the fighting and even some hair pulling, I am so proud of the progress we've made. And should I ever decide to be a mom, I know that I'll do just fine. Mine set a pretty great example.