Today I got to spend time with my family (for those confused by my many families, this is my adopted family). It was really nice. I ate dinner with them and played a game with my mom and sister. I got to eat apples with them and play with strawberries while we talked for hours. It was one of my favorite experiences of the month (the month isn't that far in, but I sure liked it).
When my mom and I lived together we fought, all the time. I stayed away from my family for many reasons. I left every morning either before they were awake, or after they were gone. I came home every night after they were in bed. I did this on purpose to protect myself from being hurt by the fights my mom and I would get in, and also to save the rest of my family from the tension I felt I brought.
Sometimes I look back and try to remember and examine if I think its worse than it really was, but it wasn't. We fought all the time. Over what? I don't even know. If it wasn't her picking the fight, it was me. Religion, lifestyle, clothes, language, choices, friends, avoidance of family... Neither of us felt like we could talk to the other one without our heads being ripped off. Every time we made the slightest progress with the other, one would close off and be too afraid to try to trust the other one. It was so bad that all my friends knew about how bad our relationship was, and even one of my teachers would give me advice about it on a regular basis. My mom and I both had unreasonable, immature times. One of these times, A. had enough of her (let me say a defense for my mom here... I always ran to him when things were hard. He was-is-my rock who I leaned on. So he always heard all the negatives. At that time, there were more negatives to our relationship than positives). He decided that he wouldn't speak with her anymore. He has kept that up for more than a year and a half.
My youngest sister asked me tonight if I was going to come home this summer to live. I told her no, and when she asked why, I told her that it was because I finally was happy with my relationships with my family and that if I moved home I was afraid that we would fight again. When I talked to my mom about that later, we agreed that if I ever needed them, they were there, but that it wasn't the right thing for me to live there again. We agreed that it really wouldn't work for either of us. It was nice that we agreed that our ideas of how our relationship is where similar there, and that neither one was hurt by the other's feelings.