I was 15 the night she painted the walls red, and that was the night I decided I would leave. Life with her wasn’t always so hard, but I never knew what version of her would greet me after school or what would be left out for me to quickly hide in the morning before my little brother could see. I was always cleaning up her messes and remembering what she forgot and apologizing for her mistakes. She was a young mother, but she was old enough to know better than to place the burden of her misery on her daughters, and she did it anyway.

My mother hated herself. She hated her appearance, she hated her choices, she hated her life, and she spent it trying to escape through bottles and blown glass. The only things about her life that she didn’t hate were her children. She showered us with affection and praise every morning after and would make teary promises I knew she’d never keep. She loved her children, but not enough to love their mother, or to spare them from the damage she caused. All she could see was her own pain, and I saw it, too.

I entered my adulthood chained to her failure — my future forfeit to her past. She said she tried her best to get better, but now that I’m grown, I know that was just a lie she told herself. I inherited her smile and her denim blue eyes, she taught me how to paint and read and live for the moment, but I also learned how I should treat myself from her example, and I cannot forgive her for it. Maybe someday I will, but my bitter heart still aches too much to find the sympathy, and I’m so tired from cleaning up the mess she made.

I’m the mother now, and I am in control. My son will never know the fear of uncertainty and the helplessness it causes. He will never be burdened by my failures or be forced to solve problems he didn’t create. He will always know what kind of person he will come home to at the end of the day, he will never wake up to foul-smelling messes, and he will never walk into a nightmare like I did the night she signed her name in red.

I’ve said in the past that Mother’s Day is one of the hardest days of the year for me, and it still is, but on my wedding day, my husband’s mother told me that she would be my mom now, and she has kept her word. She loves me and guides me gently and treats me like her own, and I am forever grateful to her. She was out working hard last Saturday so I made dinner for the family to take a little off her mind. This broccoli salad is bright and sweet, like a mom on a good day.

Ingredients:

5 cups broccoli florets

*Peel and shred the broccoli stems as well*

1 cup shredded carrot

1/3 cup raisins

1 cup pineapple chunks

¼ cup unsalted sunflower seeds

¼ cup finely chopped red onion

1/3 cup mayonnaise

Splash of apple cider vinegar

Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Whisk together the mayonnaise and vinegar to make the dressing.

Combine all ingredients in a large bowl and toss to evenly coat.

Taste and season with salt and pepper. You may also want to add a little honey for extra sweetness, but the pineapple and raisins made the salad sweet enough for my liking.

Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving.