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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

To Live Life, You Move On

Lisa Simmons Special To Opinion

Last year, my life changed. I had finally come to a place of freedom and confidence in myself. I’d broken free from youthful games and was on the road toward my dreams.

Then Christmas came around. I had bought a ticket to go home to Boston for two weeks. As the time approached, I began to get a little hesitant. I wasn’t too sure I was strong enough to go back into the battlefield. A few of my friends suggested not going or shortening the trip, but I felt this incredible obligation to my mother. I was not prepared for what was about to happen, however.

The standard my family lives by is almost nonexistent. The control, the bitterness, the indecencies, the back-stabbing, the disrespect, the vulgarity were so hurtful and intolerable. I didn’t know how to respond or protect myself.

One day, I took my sister out for her birthday. I told my mother we would be back around 3 p.m. We had a great time. I bought her a dress, treated her to lunch and, about 2:30, took her to get her hair done. I called Mother to say we might not be home until around 4. When we got home, my mother glared at me and told me we had to talk. I knew I was in big trouble. My heart began to palpitate and I began to shudder. As my mother yelled accusations and obscenities, a violent anger rose up inside me. Past resentments flooded my mind. Do I deserve to be treated like this? How I am supposed to honor her?

“Stop yelling at me - PLEASE!” The words came out before I could stop them. For a split moment, I saw a look of desperation in her eyes and then, just as quickly, it seethed over with vehemence. From that point on, she yelled curses and condemnation. All I could do was run.

I didn’t know where I was going but I had to get away. I felt like a child again, desperate to find an escape.

For the rest of my trip, I lost all joy. When I arrived back in Spokane, I just wanted to hide. Something inside me had died, and I didn’t know how to explain it. Something was stolen from me. I could easily blame my mother: “She pushed me over the edge.” I could easily blame God: “He doesn’t care about me.” I could blame life: “It sucks.” But this does not bring freedom in any way.

Life brings disappointments and pain. It is time for me to pick my head up again and keep running toward my dreams. The only way you fail is if you don’t get up and keep going.

MEMO: Your Turn is a feature of the Wednesday and Saturday Opinion pages. To submit a Your Turn column for consideration, contact Rebecca Nappi at 459-5496 or Doug Floyd at 459-5466 or write Your Turn, The Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210-1615.

Your Turn is a feature of the Wednesday and Saturday Opinion pages. To submit a Your Turn column for consideration, contact Rebecca Nappi at 459-5496 or Doug Floyd at 459-5466 or write Your Turn, The Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210-1615.