Gaslit By My Mom

When I came home for break, my mom, Evonne Ziegler, took me to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a big Thanksgiving dinner.

As soon as we got there, she asked me what I wanted to eat. I picked up a pack of salmon and dropped it into the cart, but she immediately took it back out.

"Salmon has radiation contamination now. You can't eat that."

I glanced at the rotisserie chicken instead, but I was still turned down.

"Chicken is full of growth hormones. They grow them in a week now. You'll get sick eating that."

Apparently, everything was off-limits, so I lost interest and stopped talking. I figured I'd just let her buy whatever she wanted.

But that upset her too. "I specifically brought you to the store. If you want something, just say it. Now you're just being silent. How am I supposed to know what you like?"

Not wanting to ruin the mood, I casually pointed at some peaches nearby. "I like peaches. Let's get some."

"We already have peaches at home. Don't buy any. You won't even eat them."

On the drive back, Mom suddenly sighed.

"You're so hard to please. We basically came out here for nothing."

The moment I heard that, I suddenly thought this whole thing was pointless.

I stared coldly at the road ahead, gripped the steering wheel, and made a sudden U-turn back to the grocery store.

My mom, Evonne Ziegler, frowned at me when she saw that. "Did you take the wrong exit? This isn't the way home."

"It's not wrong. You said the trip was pointless, didn't you? Then I'll go back and buy all the stuff we looked at so it won't be a wasted trip."

After saying that, I took several deep breaths to calm myself down. If I lost my temper and started speeding, that would be dangerous for everyone on the road.

Mom had always known exactly how to push my buttons.

When I was little, my teacher selected me to join the cheer squad for a performance during the school field day.

The day before the performance, my teacher specifically reminded everyone to wear white leather shoes and white socks.

All my shoes were black, so after school I asked Mom to take me shopping for a pair of white shoes.

After we got to the store, the sales assistant immediately brought out a pair of white leather shoes for me to try on after hearing what I needed.

I thought the shoes were decent. The size was just right, and they ticked all the boxes, but Mom stood where she was and started frowning at me.

My heart sank. I thought maybe she felt they were too expensive, so I quietly took them off and started looking through the clearance section instead.

"Try these instead. White shoes get dirty too easily. Black is better."

After Mom saw me take off the shoes, she picked up a pair of black leather shoes and placed them in front of me.

"Our teacher said everyone has to wear white," I explained.

"White stains too easily. You'll ruin them in minutes. Just listen to me and get the black shoes. Black looks good too." It was like she hadn't heard a word I said. She kept insisting on getting me to try the black shoes.

"My teacher said they have to be white! If I wear black, I won't be allowed onstage!" I raised my voice.

"What do you mean? Why must it be white? I think you're making that up. Black or white, it's all the same. Get the black ones."

I nearly choked on my frustration.

The sales assistant quickly stepped in after sensing the tension. "These may be white, but they're pretty stain-resistant. If they get dirty, you can just wipe them with a wet cloth. It's very convenient."

While speaking, she began demonstrating it for us.

Mom looked at the shoes for several long seconds without speaking. I quietly backed away and found a discounted pair of white leather shoes in the clearance section. It only cost 30 bucks. I told her those would work too.

She still wasn't satisfied. Instead, she grabbed a pair of white sneakers from another shelf. "You run around at school all day. Leather shoes aren't safe. Sneakers are better. Kids your age are still growing, so you should wear sneakers that provide more support."

That was the moment I completely gave up. I understood then that there was no chance I was leaving with white leather shoes.

Even the sales assistant looked at me with sympathy. I was numb with embarrassment. I refused to even look at the sneakers.

"Forget it. I don't want any shoes. Let's just go."

"You're impossible. I came all this way just to buy you shoes, but you don't want them now. There's no pleasing you," Mom snapped before turning around and walking out of the store.

The next day, since I didn't have white leather shoes, my teacher removed me from the cheer squad.

Things like this happened constantly throughout my twenty-something years of life.