I thought I was a great kid, that grew up into a responsible woman. But my Mom never told me she was proud of me. And yet I yearned for that for some reason.
I didn't do drugs, went to college, never got in trouble, had a great job, and yet I never knew if she was happy about me or not. Or proud of me, even.
One day home for a weekend visit, I got upset about something and snapped at my Dad about how I never got any feedback from my Mom.
Don't get me wrong, I knew how much she loved me and she told me all the time, but I never knew otherwise how she felt about me.
When I snapped at my Dad, he looked at me real funny. "Your Mom tells people all the time she's proud of you. Brags to everyone about you. How you finished college, have your own apartment, have a great job, etc."
I looked at him through tears and confusion. "WHAT? REALLY?"
I ran to my Mom in the other room and hugged her tightly. She was confused, and asked me, "what, Melinda?"
I replied crying in her chest, relieved, "You ARE proud me!"
She loosened my grip on her body and pushed me away from her so she could look directly into my eyes, "well, of course I'm proud of you. Look at you and all you've already accomplished!"
And I confided with hurtness, "but you never told /me/. I had no idea."
She grabbed me and hugged me back tightly. She felt bad I had been hurt and confused.
After that crucial point in both of our lives, she was more complimentary to me. Further, every card I received from her that day forward had the word "proud" in it. :)
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