Mother daughter relationships are incomprehensible under the best of circumstances. They are intricate, delicate and fragile like a spider web. There are no hard and fast rules about whether mothers will have a stronger relationship with their sons or daughters. I’ve watched the pendulum swing both ways. WIth the division of genes, there is a chance a child of either sex will have enough of your traits to make a significant relationship impossible.

As a teenager, I thought I came from a dysfunctional family. Dysfunctional families have been around since the dawn parental partnerships, but the phrase “dysfunctional” began to pick up steam during the late eighties. I wore “dysfunctional” with all the pride of a discharged sailor sporting an anchor tattoo on his triceps.

Before I started high school, my mom entered treatment for alcohol and prescription drug abuse. Getting treatment, was still a tabu in southeast. All those lectures my father launched into about saving face and not embarrassing the family, and look who embarrassed the family. By then, my siblings were in college or holding down jobs and I was the last fledgling in the nest.

Mom completed her treatment and came home to a teenager who didn’t respect her anymore. Her six week absence, put her in the position re-earning my trust and re-establishing herself as an authority figure. A daunting task at best, but further complicated by my hormone haze and a forced school change.

While that event changed the balance of power, it never really changed the nature of our relationship. I had an unexplainable distrust of her before she sought treatment and it was tightly maintained once she returned home. She atoned for her mistake, and I’m proud of her for maintaining her sobriety but I doubt that I will ever feel close to her.

Post voting age, I realized my family didn’t embody the designer dysfunctional label. My parents addressed the problems that classified us as broken, thus repairing the cracks in our foundation. It’s interesting that I misinterpreted problem solving as a public humiliation. If had continued such thoughts, I would become the sweet heart of denial. Further proof hormonal haze and excessive masturbating affects you ability to see things clearly.

Today, I have a respectful, though distant relationship with my mother. I admire her strength and character. I recognize we share many of the same characteristics. She IS the crazy old cat woman, and I am destined to become one. I try to be there for her and pitch in when she needs a hand and can’t admit it. I abhor her stubbornness, because it closely resembles my own.

I used to regret we do not share one of THOSE relationships. I am largely to blame because I never felt warm, comforting safety in her arms. I never wanted to confide in her, lest she would pass judgement. There are plenty of times I endure her affection and restrain myself from pulling away. I can’t explain the why only that it just is. I am not interested in forcing our relationship to be one of THOSE relationships, because I don’t believe in forcing relationships. Forcing is not synonymous with nurturing. So like a pair of positively charged magnets we repel each other, because we are too much alike.

Today there is no regret, only acceptance. I accept that we need different things, different influences, and different comforts. As long as her needs are met, I will not waste time worrying if they are met by me or one of my siblings.