My Sweet Child

My sweet child just ran into my bedroom. Her episode of My Little Ponies came to an end and she came in to let me know she wanted to watch another show and to put her hand on my face and ask if I was happy. My two-year-old has intuition up the wazzu. She'd seen me crying earlier this afternoon (okay - if I'm honest -snotty, blubbery, cough/hack crying) so she wanted to check on me. I love her little heart. I told her that you can be sad and happy at the same time. My heart feels heavy, but she brings me joy. I smiled. Then, that was enough for her. I'm crying because I feel lost. I reached out to someone I hoped (desperately hoped) would mentor me and was told it wasn't possible for them. I wasn't surprised at their response, but I was surprised at mine. Tears? Anguish? When what I knew was a long-shot didn't work out? I think there is something deeper going on here. I've taken a time out recently. A time-out from a severely draining, manipulative and abusive relationship. I restricted my mother's access to my Facebook and I changed my phone number. When I was in contact (almost daily) with my mom - I could sort of pretend things were normal. Before I had my daughter I even prided myself with how safe I could keep our conversations. We had topics that were not up for discussion: my Dad and Katie primarily. I felt confident that if we stayed between those parameters we could have the mother/daughter relationship I longed for. Then my Grandma fell and my mother unraveled at the seems. Then Tre lost his job and my world shifted on its access. My mom became paranoid about every Facebook interaction I had with her sister (who she'd gotten into a blazing fight with). Eventually I had to either be on her "side" or I was siding with her sister (no Switzerland in my mother's viewpoint). I didn't believe either side to be fully in the right and I wasn't going to compromise that belief. But it wasn't until my mother called me a vindictive bitch after I restricted her access to my Facebook account that I decided I needed a real time-out. Five months later and I don't miss the conversation that tiptoed around land mines. I don't miss having what I share with her thrown back in my face the moment she loses her temper. I don't miss the game of pretend that I was taking part in. I do miss having a mother. This longing goes so much deeper than the past five months. I've never had a mother. I do not consider (any longer) the fact that I shared a house (and a womb) with that woman "mothering." I don't want to come across as cold-hearted, but that is the risk I take in saying that. My heart aches with a longing unfulfilled. I wept this afternoon because my request for a mentor was really a "will you be my mother?" attempt. I need an adoptive mother. A spiritual mother. Someone who will help me be the mother, writer, friend and spouse I long to be. Where are the good, strong Christian women, Lord? I am sick with longing.