When did you realize your parents were failing you?

The Best Daughter

I starved and stole to support my mom’s habit. I finally cut her out. Five years later, she’s asking for forgiveness, but it’s my choice now.

When I was 11, my mom trusted me with all her heart because by that age, I had already learned how to do my own laundry, how to cook a meal with only three ingredients, and how to wrap a tight blanket around myself at night so it felt like someone was holding me.

And it’s not like my mom was absent from the home or anything. She just spent all her time locked in her room working on her art.

And as for why her art was never enough to pay the bills, I just figured that she trusted me enough to make budget friendly choices.

So even when I woke up in the middle of the night to gumshots or the 100 degree heat in summer because we had no AC, I felt a sense of deep pride.

And whenever I went to my friends’ houses, I always cooked the entire house dinner. And they’d wake up to the house clean and span. Counters wiped, sofas hoovered, even got the dollar bills that fell in between the cushions.

They’d always say things like, “Wow, your mom must be an incredible woman with how well she raised you.” And I’d respond with a huge beaming smile, “Yes, she is the best.”

No one ever questioned why I was so underweight, why I wasn’t able to sleep in a bed, and instead always opted for the hardwood floor, why I couldn’t even get through a sentence without apologizing. Always just thought I was mature and polite.

So, one day when my mom came out of her room for the first time in days, I lunged towards her. “Mommy, look at my report card.” The teacher said, “I did really good.”

“That’s nice, honey,” she said with a sigh. Her tobacco breath burning my nostrils.

“Can you tell mommy what day it is?” “Wednesday.”

I thought if I could make myself seem cheery enough, then she would finally love me in the way I wanted.

Until suddenly, she started thrashing around the place and punched a hole in the drywall. “Fck, sht dmn fck I thought it was effing Thursday.

I thought the payout was today.” When I walked up to her, she lifted her fist as if she was about to take her anger out on me.

So, I made sure to speak really quickly. Mom, I have 20 bucks.

Immediately, her face softened. Honey, you are the kindest, most mature girl a mother could ever ask for.

But I didn’t have time to savor the moment because as soon as she snatched it from my hand, she walked over to the store to buy art supplies, came home, and went back to working on her art.

Now, you may be wondering where I got the $20 from. Well, there was this rich kid at school who always had lunch money.

He was mean to everyone anyway, spitting on kids that looked poor. I started to keep a mental record of who I could take from and when.

All for those brief moments when mom would emerge, needing another $20, another $40, another fix of her art supplies.

And like all pre-teens breaking the law, I got cocky. And after just 3 months, Ms. Lee caught me.

I already knew what was going down when she called me into her office. I thought she was going to call the police or at least scream at me.

But no, instead she asked me questions, not an interrogation, more like making conversation.

Her. What’s your favorite food? Me: rice with ketchup.

Her. What do you and your mom like to do for fun together? Me. Sometimes the day after she gets her government check and she does art in her room, I sit by the crack in her door and talk about my day.

Her. What time do you go to sleep at? Me. At 2:00 a.m. when my mom goes quiet.

The entire time I had a smile on my face, just happy to talk to an adult that cared about me.

But when I looked up, I saw it. Her eyes filled with tears.

She told me to wait there while she went to go get someone and handed me a Nintendo Switch to keep me occupied.

And two hours later, I heard a knock on the door. It wasn’t just Ms. Lee because it was Ms. Lee with two police officers and a lady in a suit who said she was from family services.

They all had the same look like they were trying to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. Sweetie, we’re going to take a ride to your house.

The lady said, “We need to check on your mom.” I began hyperventilating.

“No, she’s working on her art. She needs quiet.” I yelled with full confidence, but they were already walking me to the car.

When we got there, my mom didn’t answer the door. The police said they needed to do a wellness check.

I begged them not to break her concentration, but they opened the door anyway because my mom always insisted on keeping it unlocked.

I was the one to knock on my mom’s door. Mom, there are people here.

When she didn’t respond, I begged them to leave her alone, but they wouldn’t. And within seconds, the policeman had opened the door himself.

What I saw made my jaw drop so hard, I thought my face was about to split. No article, no easel, no paint supplies, just my mom sitting in the middle of the room with a metal spoon and powder.

Black mold covered the walls. You couldn’t even see the floor past the flood of cigarette butts.

I was ready to beg the lady to take me away. The social worker lady put her hand on my shoulder. I flinched hard.

She told me her name was Victoria and that everything was going to be okay.

The police officers went into the room while I stood frozen in the hallway. My mom started screaming at them to get out.

She threw things. I heard glass breaking.

Victoria pulled me back towards the living room and told me to sit on our broken couch. I couldn’t stop shaking.

The police came out after what felt like forever. They had my mom in handcuffs. She was crying and yelling my name.

I wanted to run to her, but Victoria held me back. My mom kept saying she was sorry and that she loved me. Then they took her away in the police car.

I watched from the window as the lights disappeared down our street. Victoria sat next to me and explained that I would need to stay somewhere else for a while.

She asked if I had any family nearby. I told her about my aunt Sarah who lived two towns over.

We hadn’t talked to her in years because my mom said she was mean and judgmental. Victoria made some phone calls.

I packed a garbage bag with my clothes. I didn’t have much. Three shirts, two pairs of pants, some underwear.

Victoria helped me gather my school stuff. She found my report card on the floor where my mom had dropped it.

All A’s except for one B in math. She told me I should be proud of myself.

We drove for about an hour to get to Aunt Sarah’s house. It was huge compared to our apartment. Two stories with a real yard and everything.

Aunt Sarah opened the door before we even knocked. She looked just like my mom, but healthier. Her hair was clean and she wore normal clothes.

She hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Victoria explained the situation while I sat on a real couch with actual cushions. Aunt Sarah kept wiping her eyes.

She said she had been trying to get custody of me for years, but my mom wouldn’t let her near us. I didn’t know that.