Earlier this year, a close friend held my phone in her hand. I’m unsure why she had it, but I remember her announcing, “Your mum is calling.” I replied, “I’ll call her back,” but I never did. As harsh as it sounds, after our reunion, I distanced myself completely. It had been months since I last answered my mother’s calls or texts. The thought of any interaction triggered emotional labour that I was unwilling to do. Funnily enough, I thought this route was completely normal and logical, often dismissing concerns and advice from friends and family who perceived my indifference to be unhealthy. I was frequently advised to talk things through with my mother, to tell her how I feel and get it off my chest. However, I was unyielding. In my mind, I had come to the end of that chapter. My mother wasn’t there when I needed her most, and so it seemed rational to withhold any further involvement in the life I was building. Abandoning the idea of a relationship felt simpler, especially since what we had was far from the mother-daughter dynamic I’d seen in others all my life.
