What are the three most important life lessons that you learned from your mother?

As discussed previously, my mom just isn't very good at doing things on any sort of normal human level. Thinking about the life lessons she's taught me brings to mind plentiful scenarios in which she did precisely the opposite of what any person with reasoning ability and a pinch of empathy would do. This brings me to the most important life lesson I've learned from my mom:

1. Even bad examples are worth learning from.
   
   There were times when we'd go without when it was just Mom and I in that house. She worked hard and did her best, but her priorities were all wrong.  She worked two jobs and I was a latchkey kid. Frequently, she'd pick me up from school, dash through a drive-thru with a Dollar Menu, and drop me off at home, with no time to spare before she needed to be at her other job, usually temp work for adult education, such as GED and program placement testing. I'd get home, do as much homework as I could keep my focus on, which admittedly wasn't much, call friends, and sit outside with a book and a cigarette to watch the sun set. Living "alone" as a pre-teen sounds pretty glamorous, but there were definite issues. Mom had stopped grocery shopping a long time ago. This posed problems when She didn't have time to run through Taco Bell for my dinner. Throughout the week, I'd steal pocket change from her, $2 here or $5 there, so that I could walk to the local convenience store for dinner. There was an outside chance I'd be invited to dinner at a friend's house once in awhile and those opportunities were taken with deep gratitude, but mostly, I was on my own.
   
   Money became tighter as time went on. One summer, we went entirely without electricity, because Mom had spent all of her paychecks on a new wardrobe for work. It goes without saying that Arizona summers are hot, but sitting through one without air conditioning was dreadful. I'd sleep in my underwear on sheets that I'd soak in the bathroom sink. The evaporation kept me cool enough to sleep through the night, but just barely. I'd stay after school as long as possible or linger around other air conditioned places as long as they'd let me, before going home and entering the oven I called home.
   
   I know she did her best and I am grateful to have had a roof over my head and clothes on my back, but I was fully aware that I was not being given the chance at childhood that my friends took for granted. While I longed for a different life, I was dedicated and determined to keep my mom above the sinkhole she was creating for herself and it was when I realized that I was doing her job for her, that I also realized that she had given me all I needed to be a strong, independent woman--I just had to avoid her bad example.
   
2. Love hurts.
   
   Taking care of my mom was a difficult balance. I had to go through the motions of adolescence, finish school, act like a normal enough child to retain a few friends for sanity's sake, keep Mom's schedule for her, find productive outlets for myself and make room in my mom's schedule for them, keep mom together enough emotionally to get her through each day, and then keep as much of my self-respect intact as possible, while I took the blame for absolutely everything that went wrong in and outside of our home. I was a perpetual whipping boy (girl?) for everything that distressed or disrupted my mother in any way. Each day I'd get yelled at because she was running late and I hadn't helped her to get ready sooner. Each night I'd get yelled at because she was stressed out and I was the nearest victim. It seemed that every moment in between was filled with more blame and more hurt, over and over and over again, every single day.
   
   We had good moments, of course, but they came few and far between. We'd go to the dollar movies or to the park and have a good day of it. The relief was always welcome, but it never lasted long. She was so wrapped up in her own world, I'm certain she never noticed how much I'd aged in the few years she and I lived alone. But I was responsible for her. I had to take care of her no matter what, because if I didn't, who would? And I loved her so much, she was still my mom, after all, but while she had me to take care of her, I only had what was leftover at the end of the day to take care of myself and I was soul weary and heart thin. It still hurts to think about the years I lost to that arrangement, but I'm not sure I would change anything if I could go back and do it again. I was there when she needed me most and that is all that matters.
   
3. It's okay to love someone from a distance.
   
   We were never good at the whole mother/daughter thing. Our roles became blurred and we almost constantly battled for power. I learned that I couldn't live with Mom, or even stay in the same room with her, for any amount of time if I valued my sanity and my self-respect. However, she had given me a lot. I was a determined young woman. I had unusual confidence and was well-spoken. I could handle stressful situations, even talk to people in positions of power (e.g. debt collectors, administrative offices, etc.) with relative ease. I knew how to keep myself fed and I was street savvy. I was an active learner of all life had to offer. I owe all of these traits to my mom, for without her I would not have had to learn these things.
   
   So yes, I love my mom, very much in fact, and I have much to be thankful to her for, but that didn't help the guilt I felt when I could no longer take care of her. I had reached a point when I needed to take care of myself and leave her to her own devices. I couldn't take her blame anymore and I couldn't keep getting upset every time she messed up. I had to leave her to take care of herself, because I needed to be me.
   
   The distance from her always had strings attached. I'd always get phone calls from her, begging for help with this or accompany her for that. When I didn't give her what she wanted, she'd always lash out. If she knew where I lived, I'd get unannounced visits. She was always lonely or depressed or desperate about one thing or another. I tried to be passive, but it slowly soured to passive aggressive. I harbored some resentment for the privilege I felt was owed to me. Later though, I came into some situations that I couldn't handle on my own and it was then that she really shined. She kept faith in me and helped me in every way she could. She, of course, made it the most painful and humiliating process possible, but she honestly tried to be the mother I needed her to be and there isn't enough gold on Earth to repay that kindness from her.
   
   I'm nearly 3,500 miles away from her now, but looking back I can see that we both made mistakes. The distance has actually rebuilt our relationship in a way I didn't expect and I have far more tolerance and patience now for her than I ever did before. We can pretend when we talk on the phone that we are just mother and daughter now. We can keep things cordial, even if it means we don't ever have anything more than light conversation. I can love her without reservation for my own well-being, because there's not much she can do to hurt me from so far away and my shoulders are that much lighter, not having to carry her burden.