color key — yellow: relationships; green: relationship to self. contrast of light and dark correlates with bright and somber tones of voice.
A Letter For Mom
A Letter For Mom
A Letter For Mom
A Letter For Mom
This isn't your fault. It's not your fault. I don't want you to feel like you helped sign me up for that class and facilitated, in some way, me meeting him. I'm sorry I never told you that he was hurting me right in front of you. I'm sorry I never told you how it paralyzed me when he was invited to dinners and outings. I'm sorry I never told you how much it disgusted me to have him watch my sister's piano recital. I'm sorry I never told you that night I got viciously sick out of nowhere was the night he first took over me.
I couldn't put into words what that did to me after it was over. I kept lying to my therapist, my grades were dropping, and getting up at 2:00pm was just an easier option. I was okay with being labeled as lazy. I worked extremely hard to put up a front that came off as predictable and so comically "me."
I'm sorry I never told you that the pain got so bad I started to hurt myself. In our house. While you were there.
I'm sorry that, now, I can't help but think about how angry I am. In a way, I resent you, and it makes me feel so disgusting inside to think that. I did what I could to tell you I was okay. But, during my many feuds with Dad, you almost never took my side. Every time he said something unreasonable and made me feel inferior in every way, you saw his reasoning but not mine. Why was it okay for him to make me feel less than? Why didn't you step in? After dropping my dreams to help everyone after that day in the hospital with Dad, how was it okay for him to make me feel like he did? Would you have taken my nightmare of a "boyrfriend's" side as well? Would it somehow be my fault again?
It's hard to split up the experiences now. Logically, I know that these experiences cannot be compared. Emotionally, I cannot handle the rage I feel when you defend Dad sometimes. I can't help the feeling of betrayal that consumes me at times. It's uncontrollable. And I can't tell you how horrendous it makes me feel. That I'm a terrible daughter to think such a thing about my mother. You've given me everything, but growing up, you weren't a person to me. You were someone I had to respect and listen to blindly. You were someone I could never talk back to or even share certain things with because I was made to feel like I was always wrong because I was a child.
I'm not anymore and yet I still feel this way sometimes. It's why I can't bring this up to you. I can't tell you about what happened to me because I'll feel it was my lack of judgment or my will to go to his house after school. That I made a choice and it was something I should have known because, all of a sudden, now I was an adult. And, in a strange turn of events, I want to shield you from this. Because I know how much it will hurt you. I know how it will linger in the hallow halls of your mind like a ghost whispering in the wind. It will constantly wake you and remind you that you failed to protect me. No matter how hard I would try and tell you otherwise. I want you to feel no pain about this even though I still get haunted by him.
Yes, I have moved on. Yes, I have married. No, it isn't over. Dealt with. Surpassed. I buried it for so long; it's blooming out of season now. I'm using new resources to help nurture what I can but it still circles my neck and taunts me at times. It's quick, now. A couple of seconds. But it's still there. I don't ever want you to know how lingering it is. I don't want you to think it's your fault.
This event in my life wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I wasn't open but I'm also sorry I won't get an apology back. We have a strange relationship but I know you tell everyone about how great I am and how close we are. It enrages me at times. Because I still feel like you can't see me. Yet, I still put up a front. One I've perfected for you and for Dad. One you can predict and be proud of. One you can boast about.
You don't know how I feel when I'm alone and I'm okay with that. I'm not sure I can ever tell you what happened to me. I don't want you to look at me differently or treat me a certain way. I don't want this dynamic I worked tirelessly to build to fall apart in my face. I don't want him to continue to ruin things in my life.
So, I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I feel these things sometimes. I'm sorry my anger silently consumes me while I tell you how great of a mom you are. Because, despite everything, you are. Strange relationship. Confusing, but I do love you. I really do.
I can never tell you this because you would start believing I don't. You're a person, Mom. Just a person. And people mess up all of the time. No one ever failed to point out my mistakes nor bring them up to this day. One day, maybe, we can reflect on our lives together and find closure. Maybe.
I love you, Mom. I'm sorry.