"A Hard Teacher"

I feel it's time to return to the beautiful book Naming the World and the exercises included. Therefore, I opened up to a random page and found an exercise that dared me to write about the most shameful experience I've had, to shame myself while allowing myself to be redeemed in the end. To be honest, and at the risk of using cliches, this challenge hit pretty close to home, for I've been encountering a significant problem as of late. Before I write, I just want to make a little disclaimer that I know that my life is a very charmed one. I am not unaware of the opportunities I have that many others do not. I do not say this to be arrogant, but I do say this to clarify that no matter what I state, I know that I am so very lucky and blessed. I wouldn't wish my life to be anything other than what it is. However, I am a flawed character and will admit that in the name of writing. Here goes.

From the moment of my conception, my mother and I were inseparable. Mom said I was her "angel child," for I never gave her any problems during her pregnancy or during my childhood years. We did everything together, from dishes to laundry to visiting her friends. If I wasn't in her arms, I was writing notes asking her to cuddle or making her obscure gifts just to see her smile. I went out of my way everyday to tell my siblings to start on their work so that they wouldn't upset my mother. For anyone who knows me, this isn't a secret. I needed my mom. I told her everything, and she would confide in me as well. Our dependence, though unheard of for some families, was the most wonderful aspect of our lives. Coffee, recounting the day's events, and cleaning were the joys of our lives, and we relished in our need dearly.
Unfortunately, things change. I met someone, my dad needed his wife more, and the process of growing up took hold of us both. This separation, this choice of living our own lives, wasn't established with ease. Last year I found myself juggling A.P. classes, being in relationship, defining who I was, and spending family time. With infant nephews running around the house every weekend, other sisters returning from college or their lives with their beaus, and grandparents requiring vast amounts of attention, I was forced to realize that the friendship or routine that my mom and I once had must be toned down.
We stayed like this, missing each other and still conversing, but not on the scale we were used to. Then I began to separate a little more. As I made an effort to become a part of my relationship, I realized that in college it will only be me and my partner; I had to try to learn her, to give her the attention that a successful relationship required. At the risk of sounding incredibly juvenile, when one is in love - to the extent that he or she has been introduced, it becomes increasingly harder to be away from the cherished one. I became more busy with work, more weighed down by the stress of choosing colleges, driver's training, paying for graduation and college, paying for dances and all that came with it, maintaining my position as one of the top five in my class, and spending enough time with my five siblings. I became my own person, and that was not always a good thing. I resented myself for letting my chores be neglected, letting my cat be neglected, and more importantly, letting the most important family tie be neglected.
I needed Mom; I still need Mom. However, I didn't grant her time enough. Finally, it happened. As she was stirring the mix for lemon poppy seed muffins, she stated something that I had always feared. Another disclaimer: in no way do I mean this to degrade my mom, for she was right on all accounts and said it to help me rather than hurt me. The cruelest realization I have ever prevailed upon came in the form of her admittance that she no longer likes who I am, that I am no longer Dina, that I am not happy any more and it becomes more obvious in my eyes with each passing day. She claimed that I was losing myself, and that this new Sadina was not something that she could be okay with.
Naturally, this news was not taken lightly. I couldn't believe what she was saying to me. I tried to doubt her, tried to convince myself that she was merely stressed and couldn't possibly mean what she said. Alas, no reason could be made. I couldn't lie to myself, though I wanted to very much.
I had let my mother down.
And that was it. That was all I needed. It was this statement, and nothing more that I will always remember. I had been the "perfect daughter," the one who went above and beyond to ensure my mother's happiness. I had  been that girl in the family who everyone went to for their problems, everyone confided in just to get something off their chests. Yet no one came to me anymore. The disappointed and betrayed look in my mother's eyes still stains my memory, tainting my pride to a notable extent.
Perhaps I have spent too much time for myself. Yet how does one change their entire person? I supposed that  since I had done it once, I could do it again. It is to my disadvantage, though, that all attempts I make at reconciliation are not seen as I hoped they would be. No matter what I do now, the past mistakes are still there, screaming at us to remind us of their presence. I am not one who admits my faults easily. But the knowledge that I have let my best friend, my hero, my mother down...well that is too great a fault. I am deeply ashamed of my neglect, and though I would never really admit this to her, I truly cannot emphasize enough how I measure myself through her eyes. Is this a fault as well? I don't know. She seems to know me so well, it's hard to call her on a flaw of perception of such a character as me.
I know it's not too late though. I love who I am. I know that I can show her that I'm still Dina, still the person she needs me to be. I know that with enough time and perseverance, I will prove to her that she can still rely on me, that I am still there for her unconditionally.

Again, I do not mean to say this to reflect any negative image upon my mother, nor do I write this to evoke any form of sympathy for me. I merely write this as a true account of my most shameful experience. With this resolution comes fear that someone will read this and misinterpret what it was I meant to say. Nevertheless, I had to write this for me and for my mom. I am Sadina. I can do this because I have my mother's strength, gentleness, and determination to better myself. I can do this because I am her daughter.