Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I received this card today, from my mom. I have this urge to write "mother", but it's too formal. It would be a lie. My mom was "mommy" or "mama" before she was just mom.

    The card expressed that she wished that we had a closer relationship. She told me that she and my brother have a real connection now. I thought about that. My brother is a recovering drug addict living at home with her and my dad. I am...not. I live 300 miles away. Consequently, my mother knows of all or most of his skeletons, and none of mine. Our phone conversations are basic small talk. I'm so defensive, and in case you're wondering why: She raised me to be a conservative, god-fearing churchian. I failed to become that. I didn't even try. I'm liberal, god-questioning, god-doubting, fearlessly exploring all areas of interest.

    But I've realized that as self-aware as I may be, I still have a ways to go. I'm not really being real. I'm not really being strong. I can tell a stranger anything. I can't even tell my own mother, how I really feel or what I truly believe. Kind of pathetic. True strength is not found in sticking one's head up one's ass.

    I suppose I have a lot to think about.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.