Honesty is ugly sometimes

Sitting at the table in the living room typing this post and watching Black Girls Rock on BET…this is hard y’all. Intensely sensitive but this is what’s on my heart today so I’m being honest about the ugly in my life.

We live in the same house. We eat the same food and love the same child. We never talk though. I mean, outside of what has to be said about my son and their daily needs. No, this is not a post about my partner and I. This one is about my mother and I. Things have not always been this way. I remember being in high school, getting in the car and talking a mile a minute about what happened at school that day. When I no longer lived at home we’d talk every single day. We used to be so close and then. I don’t know what happened. I would call but she’d only call me if she needed a ride to work or some money, or to run some errands. It didn’t take long for resentment to set in but I’d still do whatever she needed. Then, I got pregnant and she’d call all the time. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I tried to be sure and involve her in some of the fun stuff. I took her with me to do one of my registries and to do a little shopping for the baby. I hoped it’d break the ice and get us talking again. It didn’t. It was almost like being a cousin I’ve never met or that I’ve seen only once or twice.

This is hard. And to be honest I haven’t talked with my mom about it. I don’t want to. I feel like I’ve been robbed of a relationship with my mother. And to add to that my dad too. See, I’ve been spending months and countless hours researching my family history. I know my 3rd generation grandfather and his wife Anna Norrington lived in Morgan county Georgia. His name was Felix Norrington. Felix was a boot and shoe maker and could not read or write. I love my family. I want to know them all by name. Sounds like a contradiction. I want to know my family history but am not willing to work on relationships with the family that here with me, literally.

Thanks for reading.

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