matters of the heart
often, when my thoughts run away with me, i wonder where i would be if my relationships had been different. who would i be if only my mother had showed me how she loved me, if she actually loved me at all? i sometimes doubt that she did or does because she has always had a precarious way of showing love. perhaps i could reason that she doesn’t know what love is, or maybe it is only that we love so differently from each other that i fail to recognise the emotion in her. thoughts of my childhood with her linger in the back of my mind washing over me a sorrow i forget exists for long periods of time and a thought pops suddenly into the forefront of my mind (isn’t that how thought most often works?) and the wondering begins. does she only claim to love me out of a motherly obligation? is it because her own mother left her when she was sixteen with her stepfather? is it this abandonment she experienced in her youth that creates such difficulty for her when it comes to showing love to her own children? how strange it seems that the past generations can effect the younger ones so, that the mistakes they made are so easily repeatable. yet, somewhere along the way, someone must break the cycle. i am determined to love, should i have them, my own children and to show it and to share it. not necessarily to speak the words “i love you” for they often seem empty and hollow coming from my own mother, but to show them through actions and in the small things that i do love them, that i always have and always will. i am determined to break the cycle of the past. the cycle of the difficulty of my family showing love for their children. i will learn from their mistakes and i will be better for it.