I didn't do it.
For the first time in history (or at least as long as I have had a mobile phone; BT Cellnet Trium anybody?)
I didn't send the traditional "Happy Mother's Day," text message.
I fought the compulsion to do so all day yesterday, every time I clicked on my social media profiles, there was an abundance of happy families and lovely mother/daughter posts that made my silly little girl heart pang; but I fought it off.
Rule number one of 2018 for me was - LESS self-flagellating (why does that sound rude?)
It began with NYE, I didn't send the midnight text, which in turn means I didn't receive the "Fuck off" and a happy new year to you too Francesca response.
It's a strange thing; it seems me not texting my mother on what we deem significant occasions leaves me protected on the one level - ie. not opening up the world of hate and barrage of abuse I usually receive back; but also, as sad as it is, these torrents of text message tellings off are the only interaction I actually have with her these days so in reality, theres a big part of me thats missing the communication.
Christ on a cracker, its a sad day when you yearn for the "I don't want to know you," text message because it means she actually acknowledged your existence for all of 5 seconds.
I sat in wonder yesterday, where was she, what was she doing, was my brother wining and dining her in a restaurant so fancy, I couldn't afford to play the game even if I were part of it.
Was she having a nice day? Did she get a nice gift? Did she feel loved, appreciated?
I scoff as I type - yeah, because thats what Mrs Barker yearns for on Mothers Day and Christmas Day and birthdays - love. If you could see my raised eyebrow, that many of you know all too well, you'd understand my scepticism.
Last year I sent a card to her place of work, because I don't actually know where my parents live anymore.
I imagine it was intercepted by the bulldog who guards the pass who has come to recognise my handwriting over the past 20 years, many a welcome birthday card back then, and now its as if the devil had signed it himself.
It's more than likely, my cards of birthdays, mothers days and Christmases have added to the recycle bin than they have the mantelpiece.
The issue with these Hallmark occasions is that they remind me of one thing.
My mother will grow older, greyer and grumpier and she will die, and there is nothing I can do about it.
It's a traumatic thought for any child, but then I have the pleasure of adding on :-
If she did, would I even be told?
Would I get to go to the funeral?
Would I want to?
Would I be shunned and assumed the cause?
The stress, the toxicity, the ruin I brought upon the house of Barker?
Not that I overthink or anything but its one of the perks of my mental health issue - absolute anxiety of things I have no control over but somehow think I could, or should.
Sarah tends to tip toe around me on days like yesterday, she's worried it might be the thing that tips me from "I'm fine," a la Ross Gellar, to being really not fine.
Really not fine in a can't get out of bed, can't have a shower kind of way.
And when it got to midnight and I was still sat up in bed awake, I wondered whether I had missed the boat and should send a late text to say Happy Mothers Day, I felt this sudden rush of, oh my god its too late, and then minutes passed, I looked around my bedroom, at a sleeping girlfriend and a snoring cat and I didn't need to.
Is it possible I have reached a place in time where I no longer need to reach out?
That I truly have come to the point where I'm ok to not have a mother to text?
In reality, I never did, so what difference does it make now?
She will have got up yesterday to an adoring son no doubt, who told her all the right things and took her all the right places, and she will have had a nice day.
Another nice day. Where I don't exist and she enjoys life that way.
And I suppose the point is, I enjoy life my way.
I choose my path, I choose my love, my Sarah, our house, our life, my mistakes, my choices.
I choose my family, my sister, who's an adorable mother.
Let me tell you a story......
When I was about 14, I had some money saved (hilarious concept for any who knows me!)
I went shopping in Wigan town centre with my brother, we were in JJB and he saw some rugby boots he really liked - they were in the sale.
Now, the reason we had gone into Wigan was to buy a mothers day gift, so buying something off topic wasn't the plan.
However, they were nice boots, they were a good price, they were in his size and anyone who knows me knows I would have bought that boy anything - so needless to say, the mothers day gift fell by the way-side and I bought my brother some red and gold rugby boots instead.
With about £7 left, I wondered what I could buy her, and on-offer in the window of Thorntons was a big chocolate monkey with a sign that said they would ice it with a message for free, I had just the right amount of money, I thought hey, she loves chocolate, I'll put a cute message on, she will get a nice little gift and Jay's got some boots - this is a successful day where everyone gets something.
So fat teenager waddles into Thorntons buys said chocolate monkey, gets Happy Mothers Day Love Fran written on the monkey, it's lovely and wrapped up, I've got her a card. Sorted.
Mothers Day comes, she opens it up and her face falls. Not impressed.
She wants to know what I spent my saved up money on - so I tell her the story of the rugby boots and how they were too good to leave and that I saw the monkey and thought she would like that too.
Her response? "Well I hope you enjoy getting nothing of what you want on your birthday this year and 'maybe' I'll get you a chocolate monkey,"
- The story of the chocolate monkey was retold and replayed to all our family friends and I never understood why I was being judged as a bad daughter, or why they laughed along with her at the thought of buying something so ridiculous?
The thought of that fucking chocolate monkey is the reason I didn't text her yesterday.
Because on my 15th birthday, I did get a chocolate monkey, and a reminder of the shitty mothers day gift I had given her.
So what have I learned 15 years later?
1) fat girls like chocolate no matter what the age - so I loved the chocolate monkey and so should she.
2) its probably the only chocolate I got to eat that year without being judged for being an overweight disappointment
3) when I am a mother, if my child brings me a stone from the garden as a gift, it will be the most beautiful thing on planet earth; or better yet, if I have a child who loves me on mothers day, I'll have everything I could possibly want.
**Sarah, there better be a chocolate monkey in the mix somewhere**
You can try to change every part of who you are, and maybe you can succeed.
But if the people you are trying to please are just as changeable, you will never ever be good enough.
Thats on them.
Never on you.
I am enough.
Always have been, I just didn't realise it.
