Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

“Okay, fine. This one is different, though. He even has a dead mom,” Caleb adds far too excitedly. “Oh, bonus!” I say, matching his energy. “I love when their mom is dead. It makes things so much easier around the holidays.”

I became more of a friend and confidant than a daughter. There was never enough space in the conversation for two sets of problems, and hers always seemed more important.

Regardless, I always knew I was loved. Even if I wanted the love from my mother delivered differently.

I, like most women my age, have learned to hate myself just enough to appease others.

Sometimes…things are just good things.