Shit. I realized tonight after spending less than 3 hours with my mom that…

oh fuck, I don’t want to declare it publicly. It’s true. I’ve got “Mom Stuff.”

sound effect: the downward chord progression that happens after you’ve revealed incriminating information — “dunh dunh dunh….”

Since becoming more self-aware and doing some processing through my inner shit, I”ve known I’ve had “Dad Stuff.” That’s always been blatantly obvious. My need to be Perfect (in order to please him), my lack of faith in myself (because I was never good enough for him)… blah blah blah and I write the blahs not because it’s insignificant but because I’ve been working on all that for YEARS. It’s old news. TickledSpirit’s a perfectionist. WhoopDeeDoo, call the Associated Press.

I’ve spent all this time and energy focused on healing my “Dad Stuff”, and all the while I thought my relationship with my mom was the foil to all that. She was my Goddess Queen Mother Theresa, my confessor(ess?), my solace. I’ve heard that everyone has a fucked up relationship with one parent and a fine relationship with their other parent. So my dad was my fucked up relationship and my mom was my great relationship.

Not that easy. Of course. I do have a great relationship with my mom. No doubt about that. She’s fantastic and we connect in some wonderful ways. AND I realized tonight that I’m carrying “stuff” about her that accumulated for most of my childhood. “Stuff” about the way she is in the world, the way she presents herself to other people, and my embarrassment and anger about that. Yikes. Mostly “yikes” because I never acknowledged it — never even noticed it — until tonight.

busting out the journal, time for some major self-reflection. I’ll share eventually…