Mom: 1; Kris: 1

I'm nearing the end of The Year That Was Discovering All Things About Yourself and Every Other Damn Person Ever in the Whole of Existence (TAFKAP), and I couldn't be more relieved. I am really tired of this process [insert fooling self into thinking journey ends with calendar year here].

Latest development? The Mom.

For those of you who have been here a while, you might recall that Mom and I have a history of what my brainy side refers to as "maladaptive behavior," interactions that prompted my emotional side to scream into a pillow in my bedroom closet for much of my youth. Mom is without a doubt the closest person in my universe, and in many ways the one most similar to me. As a result, we have spent much of my adult life in a struggle for power and attention and, naturally, world domination. You know, as you would in any healthy relationship.

(Psychobabblephobes should probably stop reading here.**) I have struggled a good bit this year with setting appropriate boundaries for myself. Not caving in appropriate situations, appreciating my actions in a bigger context, learning to use what oomph and tenacity I have for good rather than eeee-vil; the list is lengthy.

And Mom was my first trial case.

I'm new! I'm improved! And I really, really love you. But no, I'm not going to take responsibility for the immense bowl of crap that this entire family owns. And if that means me missing holidays and times when every other tribe in the universe is celebrating with food and booze and quiet discomfort, so be it.

And let us not forget the ever popular and extremely difficult:

Yes, I will take on what is my part of this putrid mess, and really think this through. This apology is not just for saving face.

And the I can't believe I did it without screaming . . . I ALWAYS scream at times like these!

I'm listening, Mom.

And I felt better. Even though she still wasn't talking to me.

But now, out of nowhere, Mom is doing her part. The long talk this weekend came on the heels of her reaching out to me, maybe not in the way that I would have wanted, but in the best way that she knows how: through giving meaningful things to me, by calling me by the affectionate nickname that only she - and not another living soul on the planet - ever uses, by phoning to tell me to stay off the roads in a violent storm.

There will never be an apology or an acknowledgement of her role. It just isn't who she is. And that's alright.

And without regret, I'm learning that resolution doesn't have to come on my terms.



**Up next! A post that doesn't delve 4 fathoms into my psyche and my failed relationships with everyone on the planet. Promise. If not for your sanity, for mine.