“I hung up and we haven’t spoken since.” I groan into my palms. “The worst part is that I really do miss my mom. A lot. I was hoping we could have one conversation that didn’t have to do with my diabetes.”
Sharon moves to the edge of her chair. “I can tell that you miss her and in her own way, that may be how she is trying to show that she misses you, loves you, and wants to protect you. What she might not understand is that just because the intention is good, doesn’t mean the actions are affecting you in a positive way. What matters is the outcome and how it makes you feel. Have things always been this way between you?”
“No. Everything changed after my dad passed away five years ago.” I avert my eyes. “But it wasn’t until my diagnosis that this started happening.”
Sharon nods. “Tell me about life for you and your parents when you were young.”
A brief smile touches my lips, the memories clear as day. “I was the kid who never went to sleepovers because I couldn’t stand to be away from them for too long. We saw every new movie, tried every restaurant in town, and stayed up late dancing to records that they listened to as kids. It was the three of us against the world.” My lips fall along with my heart. “When he passed, I had two people-sized holes in my chest. Even though Mama was only up the hall, it seemed harder to get to her, and he was literally gone from this world.”
I watched as bills piled up, groceries dwindled, and the house went from my calm to my chaos. From that moment, taking care of my mom became my number one priority. My only eye of the storm was soccer and knocking things off my to-do list day after day. I only felt like I could breathe when I was working.
I look up at Sharon, ready to share something I’ve never said out loud.
“Evenwhen she came back, I didn’t trust her to take care of me. And even though I barely trust myself most days, I don’t think I’ve trusted anyone to take care of me since.”
Trusting someone means letting them in, which leads to mess ups, which leads to apologies, and I hate apologies. People mess up, sure, but I’m the one who ends up hurting the most when they do. I’d rather be alone than to feel that kind of pain ever again.
After a long pause, Sharon speaks. “If you don’t mind me asking, what changed after your diagnosis? It sounds like things escalated quickly.”
The next words get tangled in my throat. I swallow the hard lump and push through. “My dad died from type 2 diabetes complications, which is why she—”
I’m cut off by my own sobs. Sharon moves to sit on the small table in front of me and takes my hand. I can’t hear her with all the blood in my ears, so I keep talking.
“Doctors called him non-compliant for years, which was bogus. He didn’t have the means or help he needed to learn. By the time he found a team who supported him, his kidneys were already failing. I was thirteen when he started dialysis. All the anxiety my mom held onto for my dad was passed to me when I got my type 1 diabetes diagnosis. She spends every moment worrying I’ll be taken away from her too.”
My voice breaks, thinking of my mom. Stranded in my childhood home. Distanced from me because we struggle to communicate. Being forced to deal with her own fears all alone.
“It’s not fair that she already lost the love of her life. She doesn’t want to lose me too.”
When I’m done talking, I look up expecting to see that fragile, pitiful look I’m used to when people hear the full story. Sharon doesn’t look at me that way, and I’m thankful.
“I’m incredibly sorry for your loss, Mallory. You went through so much at a time in your life when you were learning about yourself and who you wanted to become.” She hands over another tissue. “Have you talked to your mom about how her words and actions make you feel?”
“We have it out every now and then, but I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have. I just want us to be able to talk normally. Like we used to.”
“I have something we should look at.” Sharon leans over to open a drawer and pulls out a stack of papers. “Have you heard of setting boundaries?”
“On social media, yeah. Were these from your last session?”
“Nope.” The stapled stack of paper falls heavily into my lap. “I had a feeling we would get onto this topic today.”
I roll my eyes, thankful the crying part of this session is over. “Witch.”
“Counselor,” she winks, patting my knee. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes. Let’s get started.”
“Malllllll,” Jaxon screams as if we are a football field apart rather than five feet. “Kick it harder! I can take it!”
I pull my leg back and kick the soccer ball a smidgen harder than before. He dives to the left, stopping it before it rolls into the net with a grunt just like I do.
“That’s my boy! You’re going to be an Olympic goalie with stops like that.”
Jaxon grins, pushing his tongue through the gap in his teeth. The Tooth Fairy is not too happy about accidentally slipping a fifty-dollar bill under his pillow, instead of the five-dollar bill she meant to put there.
Behind the goal, Julie sits in the grass. Unlike her twin brother, soccer isn’t her favorite sport. She prefers gymnastics, which explains why she’s in a middle split instead of playing with us.
“Quit showing off, Jules!” I call out. “You’re making me jealous.”
She looks up from my phone and rolls steel gray eyes. My tiny twins share the same gorgeous color. Julie’s eyes are calm and quiet, whereas Jaxon’s are like a Category 5 hurricane.
