My Mom was not a perfect mother. I loved her anyway.

My mom threatened to kill us both once. I’d gotten a bad grade in Chemistry in the first quarter of my junior year of high school. The first person I’d ever deeply cared for had broken up with me, and I couldn’t focus on school. When my grades came out, my mom was livid. She was also going through her own struggles. Her marriage to my stepfather was rocky. His oldest son had been in and out of trouble with the law and drugs and was menacing us. My stepdad was in a messy custody battle with his ex-wife over his youngest son, and he and my mom were constantly fighting about it all.

I remember my mom sitting me down on the porch, showing me my grade, and screaming, “What the hell is going on?” I replied, tears in my eyes, “_____ broke up with me. I’m so depressed, Mom. I don’t know what to do.”

She looked me straight in the face, anger flashing in her eyes, and said, “You think you’re depressed? Get in the car.”

I did as I was told. I got into the Suburban, buckling my seatbelt out of habit. She reached over, unbuckled it, and said, “Don’t. We’re going to do this right. We’re going to the highway.” She screeched out of the driveway, shifted into drive, and sped down the street toward the circle at the end of the block.

I realized what was happening. I had to think fast. We had only a few seconds before the first stop sign. As she slowed down to stop, I reached over and threw the car into park. It jolted to a stop. I grabbed the keys, opened my door, and ran down the street back toward home, in tears and shock.

My mom ran after me. I screamed, “What the hell were you doing? That’s crazy, Mom! Why? Why would you do that?”

She grabbed me in a hug, and we both cried. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. She apologized, saying she was hurting too. I apologized for my grades and for feeling so low. Apologies aside, I never forgot that moment.

After we calmed down, I went back to the car, still awkwardly parked at the stop sign near the circle in our manicured neighborhood. As I returned, it struck me: my mom was not stable. She wouldn’t always be able to be there for me. She was deeply flawed, too.

That day, I learned I had to take care of myself. I couldn’t trust that my mom always would or could, even though we’d been through so much together. Even though we loved each other. Even though we’d already endured my dad’s suicide together. I also learned that not all feelings get honored, even by loved ones. I cared deeply for _____; she was the first person who’d made me feel truly loved. When it didn’t work out, I was devastated. But instead of comfort, I’d opened a Pandora’s box of my mom’s own pain, reminding me that some burdens I’d have to bear on my own.

Remembering this moment has always been difficult. It was the moment I realized my mom was a flawed person, too, and that I could only rely on her so much, even though we loved each other.