My mom has been overseas since I was 11

Other girls got to gossip and do their nails with their moms, I got the occasional postcard and email

When I was in fourth grade, the next seven years of my life were at the mercy of a judge’s decision – a judge who questioned if I was “coached” on what to say in court, belittling my opinion as an 11-year-old. Where I would live, either with my mom overseas, which I wanted, or with my father in the states, was to be determined by someone who had known me for less than a month.

This stranger was given the privilege to decide if I could join my mom, who was leaving for her embassy job that would post her in multiple different countries over the next few years, or remain with my dad. My divorced parents had not been able to decide on their own since both wanted me to be with them. Sometimes I think it would’ve be easier if one didn’t want me.

The ruling came back – I would be forced to live at my father’s house while my mom went off to another time zone. My first thought was that it was a mistake; the judge had made the wrong choice.

My mom proceeded to spend three years in Prague, Czech Republic, three more in Budapest, Hungary and finally two in Hanoi, Vietnam. I would see my Mom seven weeks out of the year depending on where she was stationed. – when she was in Vietnam it didn’t make sense to take a two day flight when I only had a week break.

Since then I’ve learned how to summarize my week into a 10 minute conversation, be an efficient packer and navigate airports with ease. My life changed after that ruling, not just in regards to my travel skills, but in other unexpected ways.

The 45 weeks without my mom offered their own challenges. Sometimes I wouldn’t have time to speak to her for multiple days, leaving me with a sense of guilt, as if I only provided the dredges of my time to her. It was difficult to keep a relationship with her the way other girls did with their moms. They got their hair and nails done; I got the occasional postcard and email. They gossiped about what their moms did to drive them crazy. My mom and I didn’t have time to get mad at each other. Sometimes that proved an issue. I learned that occasionally fighting is healthy, otherwise the relationship turns superficial. The tough things need to be said in order to move on to other more positive issues.

When I would see her those seven short weeks in a year, it was always a vacation. We would explore the world, inventing a new relationship compared to that of a nuclear family. There were no rules or structure apart from what the journey required.

My father became the “mean” parent; it was easier that way to give them roles. He had the job of raising me, to be strict, possibly more so since my mom was allowed to be all fun. I don’t blame her for not disciplining me, she only had so much time to start with.

The problem with those weeks of seeing her was playing catch up of who I had become the last 45. The older I got the harder it became. At first, I resisted this and would resort back to who I was, the girl from almost a year ago. I created this unhealthy habit to change who I was to fit into each parent’s mold of the perfect daughter. Eventually after a few years I couldn’t endure these two different roles anymore and was true to who I was regardless of the setting. Everything was a bit easier after that.

Growing up over seven years of rarely seeing my mom also affected little things you wouldn’t recognize. Painting my finger nails made me uncomfortable for the longest time since in my mind it had turned into this entity of something girls did with their moms and I never had had that. Those little things would pop up at unexpected moments, like being able to braid hair, or getting along with girls who enjoyed the stereotypical girl activities which I had alienated myself from.

Although it changed little habits, this ruling influenced me in a more profound way. I didn’t always have the option to go cry to my mom after a rough day or when there was drama between friends. It made me rely on myself as an individual more. I realized I could handle anything on my own – I had been since I was 11.

Wanting one thing, to live with my mom, but getting the other was one hell of a lesson. I didn’t want it to work out for a while since I knew that if it did I was wrong in what I had so fervently believed. I had to accept my own flaws and live not only with my father, but also with myself.

Looking back on it, I don’t even remember the judge’s name. I do remember thinking that my life had been ruined, when really it was just altered. I remember wanting one parent to give up on me so that the choice would’ve been easier, but now I realize I couldn’t have been luckier to have so much love in my life. Whatever the judge decided I would’ve made the best of it, whether ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ was ruled. I will always make the best of whatever gets hurled at me since I know I can.

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