Having a mother who wrestled, and sometimes lost, against mental illness impacted my childhood. Who am I kidding. It influences my adult life. Yet I am aware of a shift since I was the teen who was confused. Back then, I wanted her to be well, but not for her sake. For mine. I was tired of the forced hospital stays, and instability at home. 

 

But at some point in college I looked into her wild eyes, and realized that this was hard for her, too. Maybe even worse than it was for me. Let me reassure you that I was not suddenly Mother Teresa. The thought was fleeting. Soon I was back entrenched in the woes of having left school to support my exhausted father. 

 

But I remember it, as if a curtain was pulled back on my egocentricity. 

 

Life has offered me a conveyor belt of fresh opportunities to swivel between these vantage points. Trying to momsplain a toddler out of a pending tantrum was sometimes for my sake, and at others, for hers. Having a meltdown in the grocery store is hard work, and when I was able to anticipate my child's needs for food and sleep we could occasionally avoid it.

 

Not always. 

 

The two options show up when someone I love is sick. Or struggling. Do I want them to regain health so that I can stop worrying, or for their relief? If I am honest, there is a mix. 

 

Which is, I guess, the reason I need to keep addressing it. But one thing I am certain of, is that my mom's empathy for me is unalloyed.