“I love you!”

“Que Bonita.”

“My sweet little girl”

      “You’re perfect in your own way.”

       Before the age of thirteen my mother was the nicest woman I ever knew. She was so kind to me, and everybody else. And seemed like she always understood me, in times I needed her most. She was the woman I wanted to be. Yet, if only twelve- year- old me knew the monster inside.

      The years go on and the words change.

      “Sit up straight!”

      “Cross your legs! You’re a lady, not a man!”

      “Why can’t you wear heels?! They're not going to kill you!”

      “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

      “You’re the oldest girl, so get used to it.”

      “You’re getting fat”

      “You need to eat. You’re getting skinny.”

   These are the words I’ve heard my mother say to me, from the young age of thirteen. Yet, she says she doesn’t mean it to be degrading towards me, it’s for my best interest. Sit down. Don’t yell. Be a lady. Sit down. Don’t yell. Be a lady. And so I stuck to the rules to keep peace with my mother, because mother knows best.
      At age thirteen, I had gotten a disease. And this disease caused me to starve myself. It was not in fact, a case of anorexia. Yet, to my mother it was because I thought I was getting fat. She thought I was too skinny. And after she found out what was wrong with me. She cared for me and used words that would only uplift me. Yet, that only lasted while I was sick. When I got better I was “Gaining too much weight.” . And mother was right because, she knows best.

At age 14, I was sexually assaulted. By a man I was supposed to trust. I was doing squats in front of him because, he was my coach and he said I needed bigger legs. He grabbed me and put his hand down my shirt and grabbed things that were not meant to be grabbed. It was my fault. I didn't have my legs crossed and I shouldn’t have worn the tank top my mom told me not to wear. Mother knows best.

      At age fifteen, I had fallen in love with a boy who just wanted to play with my heart. All his lovely words brought me off my feet, but, we never dated. Yet, the heart ache was still there when he said “You’re too ugly”. My mom didn’t call me ugly she simply just said, “It’s because, you’re not girly enough.”. And I agreed, cause, surely mother must be right

      At age sixteen, I thought I had found my style. A style I liked. But. my mom said no. That if it wasn’t a nice blouse, she wouldn’t buy it. And so I wore the clothes she wanted me to wear because, she does this because she loves me. I wore the dresses, the blouses and the skirts she wanted me to wear. And I wore those exact clothes as I watched throw away the jeans and t-shirts I grew to love. Mother doesn’t know best.

      At age seventeen, I found a voice. And I used it with brute force.

      “Wear a dress.”

      “I don’t want to. And I won’t.”

      “You will do what I say.”

      “It’s my body. And I’ll do what I want.”

      Mother was shocked I found my voice. And the voice I had was to be used against her.

At age eighteen, I moved out to get away from the leech I called “Mother.”. I had thrown away all dresses, blouses, and skirts. I was ready to be my own person. A person I could be proud of. A person who, would no longer be at war with herself, and my mother.

     At age nineteen, I had met a guy. Mother wouldn’t approve, but, I don’t care because she’s not here to control me. This is the guy who liked me, for my jeans and my shirts, and more importantly not my skirts. He liked me for me, and that’s something my mother never really could do, except me. He tutored me in the art of loving yourself. While, my mother taught me the downfall of finding flaws in yourself.

At age twenty-five, I got married. Mother wasn’t there. She wasn’t invited, after all she would do is criticize the dress, the man I love, and of course me, her own daughter. Saving myself the headache she wasn’t there. After all, “Don’t yell. Be a lady. Sit down.”. And so that’s what I did. I didn’t yell at her to come to my wedding. I was a lady by not making a show. And I sat down and enjoyed myself.

At age thirty-five, I’m now Mother. My three beautiful children, two boys and one beautiful girl. I’ve been careful with the words I used with her. I’ve let go of the words my mother has given me. If only she knew how much the words bound and restrained me, and made me question everything I now know. If only she knew that my baby girl would never know the wrath of her grandmother. If only mother knew that the long line of mother tearing down daughter would end because, if mother knew best, she’d know when to stop.