Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.

Fortunately, I am surrounded by people who have had a positive impact on my life. I only wish that, as my blog grows, I will be able to dedicate at least one post to each one of them. But, as cliché at it may seem, the first person I taught of when seeing this prompt was my mother.

There is no person in my life I have fought with more, I have yelled at more or I have blamed more than my mother. She has been the recipient of my worst words, the witness of my worst decisions and the endurer of my worst moods. I have selfishly used her as a garbage can for all the filth in my life. For that I am sorry and I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.

On the other hand, there is no person in my life who has done more for me than my mother. She made me dresses and cakes for my birthdays, she took me to Disneyland when I was eight years old, she bought me everything I ever wanted and she showed me how to find a solution to every situation.

As a kid, I remember being sort of afraid of her. Being herself raised by a very strict father, she was quite strict with me too. Having the opposite example of my father and maternal grandmother, who spoiled me and who fulfilled all my wishes, my mother’s more severe tone was like a cold shower. We have different love languages. As she wasn’t used to being praised or excessively complimented, she didn’t know how to do that.

As a teenager, I did what every teenager does. I rebelled, I yelled and I fought with her. Nothing too dramatic like running away from home or being found in a ditch unconscious, just your usual, run-of-the-mill teenage behavior. It seemed cool not to get along with your mother, it seemed fun to gossip with my friends about how absurd and annoying our parents were. So we did.

As a college student, I forbade my mother to ever call me, unless it was an emergency. That’s because in the first months of uni she called me once when I didn’t have my phone with me and she got very agitated when I didn’t answer, so she started calling my roommates. Maybe because I was ashamed, maybe because I didn’t want to scare her, maybe just to mark my independence, I came up with this interdiction. So, for nine years, as long as we weren’t in the same city, I was the only one who called.

Sometimes once a week, other times more often and during the exam sessions, daily. But she always answered. And she always listened. During my first ever exam session, I called her in the middle of the night just to cry and tell her that I couldn’t sleep from the stress. I called or sent a message after each exam. So, you can say, I kinda selfishly used her.

After I moved back home, it got intense. As my physical condition got worse and worse, she checked in more often. As I wasn’t used to this closeness, I felt entrapped, rather than feeling taken care of. I felt controlled, rather than understanding that this was her way of showing her love. Even though I told her that I hated her, that I wanted to be anywhere but there with her, that I don’t want to see her and almost kicked her out of the house, she stayed. She never cried in front of me, even when she had to bring a wheelchair so she can take me to the doctor’s office.

I am alive today because of her. She never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself. She never stopped loving me, even when I did. She is the bravest and strongest woman I know. The fact that today I am able to walk is because of her. The fact that today I am here, alive and writing these words is because of her. She picked me up from the hell I put myself in, she dusted me off and she gave me wings. If that isn’t a testament of mother’s love, I don’t know what is…