7:00 AM Anxiety

My mom came to me in my dreams last night—rudely yanking me out of my peaceful slumber after working 10+ hours yesterday. I don’t remember what we were arguing about, only that I woke up in the middle of storming out after a fight.

I do not miss her.
I rarely think about her.

When I do think about her, I think about how disconnected from reality she is, and how I was always made to feel inadequate because I didn’t speak her language.

The simplest example: when she was driving, she’d ask for “the temperature” when she actually meant the speed limit; then mock me for not understanding, while praising the family members who translated her. But sometimes she did want the temperature, and I thought she meant the speed limit—so again, I was wrong, because this time she really did mean what she said.

Now take this one example and stretch it across my entire life.

I was always trying to decode what she really meant. And I was always failing—because I could never figure it out.

I was conditioned not to take anyone at face value. No one actually means what they say, right?

The temperature is the temperature.
The speed limit is the speed limit.

I am not a failure for not being able to translate her insanity.