It’s always about her.

It has been a long, hard winter.

January and February always bring the doldrums.

This year, it has felt more…stuck. More empty.

I have been beating myself over the “stuck-ness.” Asking, “Why? Why can’t I let this shit go? Why can’t I just move on? Do I like it? Has it all just become my identity?”

It’s something I’ve been asking myself for awhile.

Today, when I was driving home from work, mind moving a thousand miles a minute, I suddenly had a moment of pure clarity.

Once again, I realized…I am still, despite all my work against it, really struggling with the idea that I will never have the mother I want.

As I was driving, I started thinking about my friend, who is like a mother. My therapist, who I wish could be my friend.

My own mother.

I realized, day in and day out, I am still dancing through the denial that my mom will never love me the way a daughter deserves.

I can say it. I can erect boundaries. But I cannot stop feeling the loss.

Grieving, the loss.

I beat myself up, continually, because I look for the things she can’t give me in other people. I want my friend to love me. I want my therapist to be my friend, my confidant, unconditionally accepting me for who I am.

I want people to care about me.

I feel guilt for wanting these things. I feel shame for admitting this, and feel bad about wanting these things.

How in the hell do you fill this hole? How do I learn not to want a mom? Or, better yet…how do I get over the grief of not having a mom like other lucky women have?

I hate it. I hate it all.

It isn’t fair.