My mother tried to befriend me a few hours after her comment, as she always does after she says something to upset me. I told her off.
I said that she couldn’t have it both ways, that she couldn’t put me down then act like we’re friends. That she couldn’t be both my enemy and my friend. I said that she was a drama queen; that it was all about her feelings, not mine. I said that she took me for granted. I said that there were no children in our house, we were all adults and that I should be treated as such.
I don’t know if she really heard what I was saying, but it was good to actually speak my mind for once.
I bought a few newspapers from the corner shop this afternoon and have been looking at rental accommodation. I’d love to have a one bedroom flat, or at least a self-contained studio. I don’t know if I’d be comfortable in a room in a shared house, but I have to keep my options open.
I’m really apprehensive. Though I’ve wanted to move out for years, I wanted to do it when I had a good, stable income and could get a mortgage on a decent place. Now it feels like I’m repeating the mistake I made 6 years ago, except that I don’t have a boyfriend encouraging me to move in with him this time around.
Perhaps that is the difference. This is something I’m doing alone, for no one else’s sake or benefit. Maybe this is the life change that I need to propel myself forward, once and for all. If it all goes to hell, so be it.