On mothers

I'm currently waiting for my mother's plane to land, for her first visit to Toronto since my separation. While I did go home in August for a week-long visit, I think at that point she was still hoping my ex and I would find a way to work it out.

So this will be the first time she's seen me as a single girl since, well, I was 15 and first started dating. My first kiss turned into my first boyfriend, then my first long-distance relationship and finally, after two years, my first breakup. Less than a week later, I went on my first date with my now-ex, and six-and-a-half years, three cities, countless addresses, a bunny rabbit and wedding later, that's all gone and I'm still working on that whole living alone and dating thing. Not that my mother knows that I'm dating.

You see, the whole time my mother has known me as an adult, I was part of the same twosome. And, in many ways, I think she's having an even harder time coping with the changes in my life than I ever did - partly, perhaps, because it took her by surprise while I knew, deep down, for quite some time that it was coming. Our conversations for most of my adulthood have revolved not so much around the details of my relationship but the routines of that shared daily life and my identity of part of that couple.

And, on the other side of things, I've only ever really interacted with my mother as part of a stable relationship. Not only do I not know how to navigate these unfamiliar waters for myself (though, I like to think, I'm getting better at it) but I don't know how to interact with her with my changed life. Do I tell her that I've re-entered the dating game? We've never had the kind of relationship where I told her about the emotional ups and downs of my love life, and I'm not sure if this period in my life is really a good, or wise, place to start. But, I also can't keep fielding questions about my ex, my former in-laws and fears for my loneliness and a future in which I die alone and get eaten by cats ... (OK, she's never actually mentioned the dying alone and getting eaten by cats thing, but seriously, she might as well).

So, this trip is a chance to show her that I'm OK - in fact, much better than the last time she visited Toronto - and, if I'm brave enough, to actually share a bit of my new life with her.

I find it scary. Way more terrifying than my half-marathon or tattoo or getting my own place or selling my house. More frightening than those weeks of breaking the news of my marital failure on a daily basis.

Knowing that I don't always make all the right choices and that she doesn't approve of my hemlines is one thing when she's miles away, but it's different when I have to see it on her face.

Plus, I already feel like such a disappointment to her for my divorce. Like I let her down in the worst possible way, having made a promise I just couldn't keep. The constant feeling of having failed my mother translates into a frantic apartment cleaning and conservative wardrobe revamping in preparation for her visit, a level of panic that causes me to hide who I really am - and, in turn, makes me totally miserable.

I'm sure no one wants to feel like a disappointment or an embarrassment to their parents. But it's a little late for that, no? This visit, I'm trying to be brave enough to recognize that there's no turning back on that decision - it being the best thing I've done for myself in years - and that now my worst sin is not letting her see my real life. That the distance between who I am for the roughly 360 days of the year when I don't see her and the five that I do may be even more disappointing to her than my failed marriage.

The one disappointment I can't change. There's no point crying over spilled milk. But the other, I can work on, and just pray that I'm strong enough to show and defend who I really am and that maybe, even if she doesn't approve, she'll still be happy to see it.