Chapter 3 - “SHE’S JUST TRYING TO HELP”
My mother had always been difficult.
That was the word I used.
Difficult.
Not controlling.
Not intrusive.
Not cruel.
Difficult sounded manageable.
When Hannah complained that Mom rearranged the pantry, I said:
“She’s just trying to help.”
When Mom started correcting how Sophie dressed, I said:
“She’s old-fashioned.”
When Hannah told me Mom walked into our bedroom without knocking, I said:
“She doesn’t think about boundaries.”
When Mom started cooking dinner before Hannah got home and then criticizing what Hannah had planned, I said:
“At least she’s contributing.”
Every sentence had one thing in common.
I translated my mother’s behavior into something easier for me to tolerate.
Hannah paid the difference.
That realization sat beside me on the drive home.
I said:
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me.
“For what?”
“For explaining her instead of listening to you.”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
That was the moment I knew the apology had landed somewhere real.
Not because it fixed anything.
May you like
Because it named the right failure.
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