I realized during therapy that I don’t actually like my mother, and that realization has made me feel worse than almost anything else I’ve uncovered. I love her. If she were sick I’d be there immediately. If she needed money I’d help. I call her, visit, make sure she’s okay.

But if she weren’t my mother, I don’t think I would choose to spend time with her. She is negative about everyone, turns every conversation toward herself, shares private information, makes little comments about my appearance, my spouse, my parenting, then acts wounded if I push back.

For years I called this “just how she is.” Therapy made me notice how tense I am before every visit and how relieved I feel after leaving. I told my therapist I felt horrible even thinking this, because culturally we treat love and liking as the same thing when it comes to family.

They aren’t. I can love someone out of history, obligation, attachment, compassion and still not enjoy their personality. The hard part is that my mother is getting older and lonelier, so the more boundaries I create, the more guilty I feel.

She says things like “one day you’ll miss me when I’m gone” and I know she’s probably right, which makes me panic and overcompensate for a while. Then I spend too much time with her, feel drained, pull away again, and the cycle repeats. I don’t want to punish her for being who she is.

I also don’t want to spend the next twenty years sacrificing my peace to prove that I’m a good child.