Sara - Wichita, Kansas
Entered on May 12, 2008
Age Group: Under 18
Themes: hope
  • Podcasts

    Sign up for our free, weekly podcast of featured essays. You can download recent episodes individually, or subscribe to automatically receive each podcast. Learn more.

  • FAQ

    Frequently asked questions about the This I Believe project, educational opportunities and more...

  • Top Essays USB Drive

    This USB drive contains 100 of the top This I Believe audio broadcasts of the last ten years, plus some favorites from Edward R. Murrow's radio series of the 1950s. It's perfect for personal or classroom use! Click here to learn more.

This I Believe.

I believe in believing.

Giving people second, third, even forth chances; believing in those who can not even believe in themselves.

I have grown distant from my mother, which is pretty sad, when she’s just a hallway away. But she is never there; mentally at least. It feels as if I do not even exist unless my small fragile hands the she once adored, bare alcohol; her best friend that has so eagerly taken my place. Sometimes I find myself questioning if I have ever seen her sober, I do not believe I have.

I do recall though that there was once a time that my mother, Jane, and I were so close that I could tell her every little thing about my life, knowing she of all people would understand; now, I catch her reading my diary. It’s not that I do not believe she will understand anymore, it’s just the simple fact that when she is drunk, I realize I’m sharing all my secrets with a woman I’d never met.

I cannot lie, I miss her. I miss the woman I thought was my “mommy” when I only saw her once a year; the mommy who drove over a thousand miles to come see me when I lived with daddy. Not the mother forgetting to pick me up from track meets that she didn’t even bother to attend. I miss the mother who used to take me out for ice cream just to spend time with me; the mother who let me sleep in her bed with her when I got scared. Not this mother, more like the child, who cannot even take the time to talk to me without a few shots in her system.

I should be the one to hate her; I should have turned my head and walked away and not looked back on her existence, but I believe in believing. Believing that this person I see is not her. Believing that I will wake up one morning “Jane” will be “Mommy” again; believing in her ability to change and believing in my ability to believe in her. Believing there is no such thing as addiction, that way I can believe there is hope for her to get better. Believing, because it is the only option I have left, and the only place left to turn. Believing that somewhere, someone is going to read this, and they will start believing too.

This I believe.

I believe in believing.