I Hate My Mom

“I hate my mom.”

These four words were all I could hear in my head for the past 6 years. Every year,  Mother’s Day would come around and I would feel completely left out.

DSC00983I had suffered a falling out with the woman who brought me into this world. Like an uprooted flower, I lost the soil I used to call home. Fighting the suicidal urges seemed ridiculously absurd considering how wilted I felt every Mother’s day as those years went by. I thought to myself “What significance could I possibly hold if my own mother isn’t here to see me grow?”. My resentment grew heavy with every passing year seeing comments and greetings saying “Happy Mother’s Day”, “I love my mom!”, or any other heartwarming greeting that acknowledged the roots of their life. I’m proud to say I hated my mom. Don’t get me wrong, those past years felt like 💩. However, that metaphoric manure conditioned a bloom that I would have never seen coming.


I spent the day with my mother this Mother’s Day for the first time in a long time. I would say we still have an odd relationship, but I’m taking our growth with each other day-by-day.

I hope to empathize with those who may not have a working relationship with their own mothers. Looking back, I remember wishing that there was something I could look at that didn’t make me feel so alone. This post is the petal I pluck for the sons and daughter who didn’t have the mother they needed to fully celebrate Mother’s Day yesterday. I hated my mom too, no need to be ashamed of the feeling – it’s a feeling, let it flow through you, perhaps grow you! Growing pains surely hurt especially when you let them move you.

P.S Don’t forget that flowers can bloom and that I also hated my mom too! 🤷🏻‍♀️👯‍♂️🖤👯‍♀️

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