Weight of Words Katerina Mazur

Very often, people can hit with a word

more than with a fist, but what are the consequences of reckless actions?

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the storm raging inside Maya. Curled on the couch, the floral pattern a blurry mess through tear-filled eyes, she replayed the scene over and over. Her mother, back hunched slightly, hands dipped in soapy water at the sink, her usually bright brown eyes dull.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! The word echoed in Maya's head, each repetition a fresh stab of guilt. It had started innocently enough, a discussion about the upcoming college interview. Maya, a bundle of nervous energy, had expressed her anxieties. Her mother, ever the cheerleader, had offered support, her voice laced with that familiar warmth.

"Honey, you'll be great," she'd said, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You've worked so hard, and you're brilliant."

But Maya, her insecurities bubbling over, had lashed out. "Brilliant? You wouldn't know brilliance if it slapped you in the face! You barely even finished high school."

The words hung heavy in the air, the smile on her mother's face faltering, replaced by a flicker of hurt, a tremor in her usually steady hands. Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Then, a single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. It was that one tear that broke the dam within Maya.

Shame, hot and prickly, flooded her. How could she have been so cruel? Her mother, who had sacrificed so much to put her through school, who had worked double shifts, who had always put Maya's dreams before her own. The woman who had spent countless nights helping with homework, even when her eyelids drooped with exhaustion. The woman who had cheered at every soccer game, every school play, even the ones where Maya tripped on stage and forgot her lines. Shame burned hot in her cheeks, a constant reminder of her childish outburst. She felt like a hypocrite, the recipient of all those sacrifices now wielding a weapon forged from her insecurities. The love and support her mother had showered her with felt like a mockery now, a testament to Maya's own ungratefulness.

That single tear spoke volumes of the disappointment Maya had inflicted. It spoke of years of love and support taken for granted, of a mother's dreams intertwined with her daughter's. The guilt gnawed at Maya's insides, a relentless monster feeding on her remorse.

She longed to rewind, to erase the words, to replace them with "I love you," or "Thank you for everything." But the moment was gone, shattered by her harshness. Now, the rain outside seemed to mock her, a cleansing she wasn't worthy of.

Heaving a shaky breath, Maya rose and walked towards the kitchen. Her mother stood by the sink, her back still, shoulders slumped. Maya didn't know if she could face her yet, but she had to try. With a voice thick with regret, she mumbled, "Mom, I..." The words wouldn't come. But as she reached out, her mother turned, and in her eyes, Maya saw not just hurt, but a flicker of understanding, a silent plea for a bridge to be rebuilt. It was a start, a fragile thread, and Maya knew it would take time to mend what she had broken. But with a choked sob, she stepped forward, hoping her actions could eventually speak louder than her cruel words. This time, her actions would speak louder than words, a testament to the love and respect she felt, a silent apology whispered in a thousand acts of kindness.