When I reached a certain age, probably around 13, I started falling in love with the idea of hating my mom.

It wasn’t a normal adolescent angst-ridden rebellion against a parent. She was hardly in my life at that point, she let me do whatever, say whatever, act however I wanted (she didn’t know how to ‘win’ the divorce, so she went ‘cool mom’ route), so there wasn’t much to rebel against.

She hurt me, and my sister, a lot. She made poor decisions, seemingly impossibly bad decisions. She was manipulative and could be a monster at times. To put it plainly, I wanted her to feel as bad as she had made me feel.

I wanted to make her pay.