I forgave her before I forgave myself for panicking. But now I see that panic as a small, necessary fire. It burned away the childish assumption that privacy is automatic. It forced me, finally, to start locking the door.
When the door opens, your brain’s "fight or flight" response kicks in. Since you can’t exactly run and you probably shouldn't fight your mom, you freeze. My mother suddenly came into the bath and I pan...
Remember that for most of your early life, your mother saw you in every stage of undress. While your need for privacy has changed, her "mom brain" might occasionally autopilot into "it's just my kid" mode. I forgave her before I forgave myself for panicking
It was not the invasion of privacy that shocked me most, but the sheer absurdity of the moment. One second, I was a teenager sinking into lavender-scented foam, the steam curling around my ears like a protective shell. The next, the door swung open without a knock, and there she stood—toothbrush in hand, as if the bathroom were a public thoroughfare and I merely an inconvenient piece of furniture. It forced me, finally, to start locking the door
Over the next few days, I couldn't help but think about the encounter and how I could have handled it differently. I realized that communication was key. If I had let my mother know that I was taking a bath, she wouldn't have been surprised to see me. And if she had knocked or called out to me before entering, I wouldn't have been caught off guard.