"It hurts," she whispers.
"I know." I put my arm around her and stare up at the white ceiling. "I know it does. But it gets better. My life might not be everything we once thought it would be, but I've grown so much since I was you. I actually listen now, instead of pretending to. I change my views if they don't match up with the facts, instead of stubbornly clinging to them because I want to."
"You're not argumentative and stubborn anymore?" Victoria asks. She almost sounds betrayed.
I laugh, "Oh no, I'm plenty argumentative and stubborn. There are still plenty of people that don't appreciate that. But I'm learning to be more okay with it, even if it is tempered. I can tell when people want me to stop and I do, most of the time. I still push people to think of things differently, but I'm also conscious of their feelings, which is a nice touch, yeah?"
"Yeah," she sighs, "I wish I could do that. I just plow right over them."
"You'll get it. And I'm much better about that now. The plowing, I mean. I try to be less pushy. More understanding."
"But. . . You're a mom now. You've had a baby. . ."
"Two."
"WHAT?!"
"Twins."
She’s staring at me, but I just let myself smile. "I'm going to die," she whispers.
"No you won't. And honestly, I'm still trying to figure out who I am as a mom as well as a person. Because, believe it or not, I'm still you. I've just. . .grown up a bit."
"A bit." She smiles.
"Hey, I may or may not have more to go. Don't you judge me."
"Oh no, never." She laughs and looks off into space for a moment. "Do you still hate yourself?" she whispers.
"Sometimes." I bite my lip and close my eyes. "But I'm really, really trying not to. I have a daughter now. I do not want her to look at me and ever hear me say a negative thing about myself. I don't want her to think that women are inherently self-loathing. I also have a son. I want him to know that women are strong and clever, even if they don't look good all the time. I don't want them to fall into my bad habits. I'm really, really trying to find love for myself. I don’t want to hate anyone.”
“Not anyone?” she says. “I hate a lot of people. Like mass murderers. Or door-to-door salesmen.”
"Yeah, well you probably shouldn't hate people."
"I also hate mustard, though that’s probably les of an issue."
"I also hate mustard. And pickles. So, I guess I still have some work to do." I let myself grin a little. "We're strong," I tell her. "When you start hitting low, and I mean really, really low, you're the one that picks yourself up. Nobody else could do it. But you fight like hell, pushing yourself until you reach the light again. And you're kind too. You find friends, really great friends in college that help you and you help them. You also keep most of your friends from high school, even if you don't see them all the time. And it's hard, sometimes it's really, really hard, but you make it through, every time. So, I think I'm going to make it as well. I have a pretty good track record."
pEONY mAGAZINE 23