Between a Mother’s Doubts and the Fear of Losing Love: My Name Is Kristen

“Are you leaving again tonight? Kristen, I don’t like this.” My mother’s voice cracked through the silence of our tiny kitchen, her hands shaking as she clutched her coffee mug. I could see the worry lines deepening on her forehead, a map of every argument, every sleepless night since Dad left us when I was eleven.

I paused, my hand on the doorknob, keys pressed into my palm. “Mom, I’m just meeting Tyler for dinner. I’ll be home before midnight. You don’t have to wait up.”

She stared at me, her eyes a mix of fear and anger. “You said that last week. And you came home at three. I heard you crying in the bathroom.”

I closed my eyes. I knew she’d heard. She always heard everything. “Please, Mom. Just trust me.”

But trust was not something easily given in our home. Not since the day my father packed his bags and left for another woman, another city. We’d moved from Minneapolis to Chicago to escape the memories, but some ghosts followed us, invisible and relentless.

I left anyway, the August air heavy with humidity and the scent of street food. Tyler was waiting for me at the corner, grinning, his hands shoved in his jeans. He looked at me, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “She getting worse?”

I shrugged. “She doesn’t want to let go. Every night is a fight.”

He touched my arm. “You could move in with me. I mean, just crash for a while. You can breathe at my place.”

The promise of escape was intoxicating. But guilt gnawed at me. What would happen to her if I left? She had no friends, no hobbies, just her job at the library and her weekly phone calls to her sister in Ohio. I was her whole world.

We ate tacos at our usual spot, but I barely tasted mine. Tyler reached for my hand. “You’re not responsible for her happiness, Kristen. You know that, right?”

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

***

Two days later, Mom found Tyler’s hoodie draped on my bed. She held it up like a piece of evidence. “Is he sleeping here? Are you lying to me?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. “No, Mom. He just left it here. Please, don’t start.”

She dropped the hoodie and slumped onto my bed. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt like I did. You trust too easily.”

I knelt beside her, my voice trembling. “I’m not you. Tyler’s not Dad.”

She looked away, eyes shining. “Neither was your father. Until he was.”

We sat in silence, the words hanging between us like smoke. I left for work early the next morning, grateful to escape the tension.

At my office, the world was different—busy, loud, and indifferent. But even there, I caught myself checking my phone every hour, worried she’d call in tears or not at all. My boss, Ms. Reynolds, noticed. “You alright, Kristen? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

I forced a smile. “Just family stuff.”

She nodded, her voice softening. “Sometimes you have to put yourself first. Otherwise you burn out.”

That night, Tyler called. “I got us tickets for that concert. Friday night. Please say you’ll come.”

I hesitated. “I— I don’t know. Mom’s been—”

He cut me off, frustration in his voice. “Kristen, you can’t keep living like this. You deserve a life, too.”

I wanted to scream, to cry, to run. Instead, I promised I’d try.

***

Friday came. I told Mom I’d be late. She just nodded, staring blankly at the TV. I felt a pang of guilt, but forced myself out the door. The concert was everything I needed—loud, wild, freeing. Tyler wrapped his arms around me as we danced, and for the first time in months, I felt the weight lift.

But when I came home at two, the apartment was dark. My phone buzzed: eight missed calls from Mom. I tiptoed to her bedroom and found her curled up, shaking.

“Where were you?” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I thought— I thought something happened to you.”

I sat beside her, guilt crushing me. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have called.”

She gripped my hand. “Please don’t leave me.”

I wanted to promise her I never would, but I didn’t. Because I didn’t know if I could keep that promise.

***

The weeks blurred. Tyler grew distant. “I can’t compete with your mom, Kristen. I care about you, but this isn’t healthy.”

I begged him to stay. “I just need time. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

He shook his head. “You need to choose: your life with me, or your life as her caretaker.”

The ultimatum hung in the air, impossible and cruel.

I cried for days. Mom tried to comfort me, but in her arms I only felt trapped. One night, I snapped. “You’re suffocating me! I can’t be your whole world. I need to live my own life.”

She recoiled as if I’d slapped her. For the first time, I saw her not as my mother, but as a woman broken by loss and fear.

We didn’t speak for a week. I spent my nights on Tyler’s couch, but even the freedom felt hollow. I missed her—her warmth, her laughter, the way she made pancakes on Saturday mornings. But I couldn’t go back. Not yet.

One Sunday morning, she called. Her voice was quiet. “I’m sorry, Kristen. I never wanted to hold you back. I just… I don’t know how to be alone.”

I cried. “I don’t either, Mom. But maybe we can learn.”

***

It’s been six months. Tyler and I are still together, but I spend half my time at Mom’s, half with him. We see a counselor—sometimes alone, sometimes together. It’s not perfect. But it’s better.

Some nights, I still wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, afraid I’ll lose them both. But now, I know I’m allowed to want more. I’m allowed to be happy.

Sometimes I wonder: Is it selfish to want my own life? Or is it the bravest thing I can do? What would you do if you were in my shoes?