Note to reader: I enjoy writing fiction with a twist of reality so many of these daily Bloganuary prompts will take on a fictional slant. My approach? Write for 30 minutes, publish and then edit a few more times to set the “feeling”. That’s how I will roll for this challenge.

As I sit at her kitchen table being accused of yet another mysterious crime I have not committed, I distract myself from her yelling by mentally adding items to the “How did I end up like this?” list I have running in my head.

It means nothing to her that I sacrifice time away from my work and family to drop by daily to cook, clean and do errands for her. Nothing I have ever done was good enough in her eyes and nothing has changed.

With each visit, she still spends her time negatively comparing me to herself (who can do no wrong) or to those who have quietly distanced themselves far and farther away from her pent up anger and frustrations.

The day I realized that she has never had an interest in me was the day I started to mentally make a list of advice I would have told my teenage self, if I could have turned back the hands of time.

If I knew then what I know now, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be sitting here…

The choices we make (or don’t make) are ours so don’t blame anyone else for the ones you make.

Take the time to figure out what your truth is, not someone’s truth or projection of truth onto you.

Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean that they always have your best interest at heart.

Some people need to feed on bitterness to get themselves through their days. Don’t be one of those people.

Never give up your passion to please others.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Aren’t you listening to me?”

The shrill of her voice jars me back to the reality of her kitchen where she is now standing next to me with the lunch plate I prepared for her in hand.

Realizing that I am lost in private thoughts that are not centered on her, she is more than displeased with the fact that I have been ignoring her latest performance.

“I said that this tastes like garbage! No wonder your kids eat out so much.”

Having been a professional chef for most of my working life before I retired, I almost laugh at her statement.

Almost.

A profession I had been reknown for across the city but that I resorted to because she made early and quick work of extinguishing my passion and spirit for what I truly wanted to do with my life.

I barely flinch as the plate hits the wall and shatters into tiny pieces all over the floor.

It all feels so familiar.

Memories from my childhood in this kitchen flash before my eyes. She needs no words because the glare that cuts into me demands that I clean up the mess she has just made.

Just as I did as a teenager, I make the choice to be silent.

But today as an adult, I make the choice to stay seated for a little longer than I normally would.

As I try to raise myself from my chair, I add another item to my mental list:

It is not your responsibility to try to “fix” what is broken in someone, especially if you didn’t break it. Simply concentrate on “fixing” yourself.

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