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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Moving back home can suck!

In 2004 I was being evicted and had no money. My mother invited me to live back at home and I accepted. I assumed my parents had spoken to each other and decided to take theChild and I in. Oh Lord why are you allowing this to happen to me is what I was thinking.

I knew I was in a bad place financially but the last thing I wanted to do was go home or lean on my parents. I would have asked a friend. If I had, had to ask my parents to give us shelter I would have viewed the situation differently...

It was traumatic to lose my independence. My stuff went into storage that which I could not fit back at the house. I went into a mini depression that no one (except maybe theChild) seemed to recognize.

I do not think my parents had any idea how raw I felt. Miserable, hurt embarrassed, hopeless angry.....

I had been jobless all year from January through November. Right when I moved in a child hood friend who lived in the neighborhood hired me to baby sit. She paid me and loaned me an extra car her and her husband were not using. I was to use it to pick up and drop off the children plus my own errands.

Could this have been anything but the blessing of God in the place of my assignment for the moment? I did not think so.

My daughter (negatively) reacted to my mini depression as she felt me pulling away from my life. My mother reacted by trying to take over and do things she felt I was failing to do.

Error!!! What I needed was to be supported in and through my mothering, my way! Taking over under minds authority.

My daughter rejected that. I felt caught in a vice/tug o war. My Mother, My Daughter, Myself became the poignant mantra. Even without any drama there were just the issues of a grandmother, young woman and young girl all living in the same space.

The drama came with me being messy and creative where my mother is a total neat freak. Oh we both love each other and we are both saved. I just stopped thinking she liked me while I was growing up. Returning home felt like returning to that very head space I had fled.

I prayed regularly “Lord get me out of here!”

My mother nagged me. She said on more than one occasion that I was wasting my life. I tried to ignore her, stand up to her and just avoid being a bother by staying in my room.

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