{"id":357638,"date":"2026-07-10T12:14:05","date_gmt":"2026-07-10T12:14:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/peraltafinancing.com\/uncategorized\/when-the-trigger-is-your-mother-beautiful-voyager\/"},"modified":"2026-07-10T12:14:05","modified_gmt":"2026-07-10T12:14:05","slug":"when-the-trigger-is-your-mother-beautiful-voyager","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=357638","title":{"rendered":"When the Trigger Is Your Mother \u2014 Beautiful Voyager"},"content":{"rendered":"


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<\/p>\n

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\u201cWe broke up,\u201d I spout.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

A tense silence. My eyes cling to the lettuce cups. Seconds take an eternity to pass. Anxious for her reply, I peek up. Her eyes twinkle with welling tears. She was my best friend growing up, and though we\u2019ve had it rough since puberty, my aching loneliness craves her support, so I push on. \u201cI, mom\u2014I\u2014I like\u2026guys\u2026I\u2014I thought it was a phase, as Dad told me, or something, but it\u2019s not going away and\u2014and\u2026yeah, we broke up.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

The window for a quick positive response closes. The approaching waiter retreats. Steps away before speaking. He knows a breakup when he sees one. \u201cDo you have AIDS?\u201d she says with a sudden urgency.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d Not that question. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Her ignorance flings her so far from where I need her to be, yanking my hope away so fast that it leaves me breathless.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about grandkids?\u201d she panics.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

I claw at anger to stay afloat. \u201cWhat? I don\u2019t know. It can still happen, I guess.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

This was a terrible idea.<\/em><\/p>\n

She scoops a lettuce wrap, tears falling down her face as she piles the chicken on top. \u201cWell, of course, we love you and accept you\u2026but just, you know, not the lifestyle,\u201d she says, crunching into a bite.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cLifestyle\u201d is the Mormon codeword for sex with other men, even though if asked, they\u2019d say \u201clifestyle\u201d means all the partying \u201cthey\u201d do.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

I sink into the booth, disgusted with the families of mall shoppers around me shoveling mounds of fried rice into their mouths. We cut into our dynamite shrimp in silence.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

It\u2019s clear, my mother won\u2019t turn on the Mormons. Should\u2019ve kept my mouth shut.<\/em><\/p>\n

My mother asks for the check. Escape.<\/em><\/p>\n

*******<\/em><\/p>\n

I was nineteen when I came out to my mother; forced to tell her after a failed suicide attempt. I hadn\u2019t known it would be the beginning of my end.\u00a0<\/p>\n

My story was horrific: after being a closeted, gay Mormon in the 90s, I found relief as a tweaker. I drove a car under an eighteen-wheeler and walked away, was arrested for possession and distribution then pushed through the Washington D.C. judicial system, became an informant for the federal government, watched friends OD, and evaded threats to my life\u2026basically, all the \u201cthat would never happen to me\u201d consequences times ten.\u00a0<\/p>\n

But I walked away, alive, having never \u201cratted\u201d and with my case dismissed. I don\u2019t know how other than I was one lucky SOB. Thankfully, since then, recovery has stuck.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

But it meant I had to deal with life on life\u2019s terms.\u00a0<\/p>\n

In 2008, the journey with my mother took a significant hit after the Mormons funded the California vote in favor of Prop 8 to ban gay marriage. Even in sobriety, despite those early recovery years feeling closer to her than I ever had, I was still clinging to the hope that she would one day renounce her beliefs.\u00a0<\/p>\n

But that was a pipe dream.<\/p>\n

The years that followed were met with more disappointments. And the more my esteem grew in recovery, the more painful the disappointments became.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I had to accept that she would never change.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I had to protect and save my little boy self.<\/p>\n

I needed to let go of the mother I expected her to be and let her be the mother she was, which wasn\u2019t enough.<\/p>\n

So I made the impossible choice to never speak to her again.\u00a0<\/p>\n

To grieve her as if I lost her.<\/p>\n

And I thought getting sober off methamphetamines would be the hardest thing I\u2019d ever have to do…<\/p>\n

But there is a happy ending.\u00a0<\/p>\n

When my now husband met my mother for the first time, it was one of the first few interactions I had with her after years apart. She was unavoidable at life-marking events in my siblings’ lives, and gradually, the waters were tested until I felt confidently free from emotional reactions toward her (aka being triggered). But, I was very wrong. She made an innocent comment that set me off.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Later, in our hotel room, my fianc\u00e9 casually remarked, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just forgive her?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive her? Do you have any idea what she\u2019s done to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, but, like you said, you\u2019re not that person anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

I scoffed – as if forgiveness were that easy.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cShe should be asking for my forgiveness!\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed. \u201cDon\u2019t laugh at me!\u201d I snapped.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, but you did all that work to stay away, yet you still hold resentment. What was the point?\u201d<\/p>\n

I scoffed again. My mouth dropped. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was healed. Was I still <\/em>expecting her to change?<\/p>\n

Damn.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I needed a new approach.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when I realized forgiveness is an active verb.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n