Sometimes, despite saying them, her voice still slipped in. But I didn’t give up. I repeated them more. Made new ones. Built a fortress of solitude out of words brick by brick. Eventually, mantras became a kind of safe haven for me, and they started to hold.
The first time a guy grabbed my ass, I was seventeen. When I heard my mother’s voice for the first time in months, telling me it was my fault, I cried. It felt like landing on a snake instead of a ladder and sliding back to the start, undoing everything I’d achieved.
You shouldn’t have smiled at him like that, Lucia.
You knew what you were doing.
You started this.
From that day on, her voice only seemed to come back when it was about men or when my guard was down. So, I stayed away from men altogether.
I still do.
No dating. No hookups. No guy friends. I’ve made sure to never put myself in situations where my mother can find a way to attack me.
Most days, the mantras are enough.
But if I get too comfortable and forget to say them, she finds a way in. When that happens, I have to work harder or let her have her fun until she gets bored.
Still, things have been manageable.
I exhale, looking up at Roberta.
“It’s been three years since I last heard her voice. The only time since then was last month, during the incident with Wess. Other than that, I’m doing well.”
Roberta’s eyes glow with understanding. She’s been here for me from the start. Those eyes have watched me at my weakest, and now, it seems she’s watching me at my strongest.
The way a proud mother would.
“You’ve worked incredibly hard to understand where your fear of dating and being around men comes from, and you didn’t let what happened with Wess recently undo the progress you’ve made.”
A single thought slips through, one I don’t voice.
Will there ever be a day when I won’t need the mantras—when my mother’s piercing voice finally falls silent on its own, without my words holding her back?
I hope so.
Roberta’s nurturing voice pulls me back.
“You grew up in a toxic environment, internalizing everything your mother said and did. Eventually, you decided you never wanted to be her. To hurt people the way she hurt your father when she cheated on him. But you are not your mother, Erin. Remember that.”
“I’m not my mother,” I repeat.
“Putting distance between yourself and others shows how much you care. That self-awareness is what makes you different from her. You don’t need to stay away from all men to avoid becoming her. And you don’t need a perfect relationship to prove you’re not. This is all about what feels right for you when you’re ready to take those steps.”
I soak in her words.
“Maybe start with a conversation,” Roberta continues. “Build a friendship. See what it means to have a stable, healthy connection, even if it’s just platonic. If that grows into more, that doesn’t mean you need to be afraid of becoming her. Trust yourself. And if your fears ever start to feel too heavy again, you know where to find me.”
Gratitude swirls inside of me. “Thanks, Roberta. For everything.” I stand from the chair I’ve sat in every two weeks since I was twelve—and for what might be the very last time.
I walk over to the door and wrap a hand around the handle. I pull it open and step into the hallway.
No more lavender fragrance. No more gentle reminders from Roberta to breathe.
It’s only me.
As I step outside into the cool air, I wait for a clear path to cross the street as cars hum past. I always wonder what kind of drivers they are—quiet thinkers, radio listeners, or playlist lovers. Are they escaping our small town for a few hours or heading off to a job they love…or hate?
