Tomorrow (or, later today) we are hitting the road headed North, to my family's for the holiday. This will be the first time i have spent Yule at my mother's in...years. Numerous years. Like a fifth of my life. i'm only anxious because i'm expecting the fear. For the first time ever, i really have no real apprehension about the holidays at that house. It's only because Sir will be there.
i haven't had what you would call a "normal" family upbringing. my
mother signed me into state's custody my first year of middle school. i
spent the remainder of my school years bouncing through foster homes and
other placements, never really settling anywhere. So really, this whole
"let's get together and be family 'cos CHRISTMAS" is really sort of a
foreign concept to me. Add to that the fact that my mother has the
manipulative skills of an MI6 operative at the top of their game, well,
'scuse me for not getting my warm fuzzies all up in the eggnog, too.
When Sir first met my mother, i must admit i watched Him very
closely. i was terrified she would lull Him into a sense of security,
like she was some kind of harmless. If He had bought the act, i
think...i think we wouldn't be where we are now. He didn't, though. For
once in my life i saw her lose, and i won. i won because He is my safe
place, and my family. It broke a hold she had over me, and all
the...crap...i had carried, vanished, BAM, just like that.
So i have this complete lack of trepidation, now, and for some
reason, it scares me. How much of my identity did i wrap up in the woes
of being my mother's child? It really is the core of the whole of my
Or, it was.
Today i will look forward to what is yet to be written, my story with Him, instead of rereading chapters.