Letters to the woman who made me

[whentherearenine]

This will probably be a thread with more than one letter. I have consistently found myself writing these letters to my mother and I intend to post them here. This first letter was written on November 1, 2022.

To the woman who made me,

Yesterday, you sent me an email. You told me you had respected my request for boundaries but today you just HAD to email me to tell you how much you love me unconditionally. On the surface, this might seem like a nice email. You might seem like an anguished mother pleading with her stubborn and uncaring daughter to please contact her, and the worst part is, there's part of me that wants to believe you. Part of me wants to unblock you on every platform and crawl back to your house like a small child. I'd apologize for causing "drama," and you'd accept my apology without acknowledgement of the hurt you had caused me. You won't apology for all the sleepless nights or for the shame you inflicted on me for never being enough. You won't apologize for telling me that you wished I was as pretty as my sister and you won't apologize for ruining the only place I ever felt safe.

Now, I spend my time looking in the rearview mirror, staring at the backs of green SUVs until I can be certain its not yours. I avoid the city I grew up in and my grandparent's house because the "What Ifs" are enough to make my heart pound in my chest and my hands start to shake and the blood rush to my face. Did you know that just seeing a message from you pop up on my phone is enough to ruin my entire day? Do you even care? Do you care that I spend each and every day counting down the hours at work, because every clock tick closer to 3:30 is a clock tick of freedom, a clock tick where you didn't show up at my work like I've grown certain you will eventually do.

And its almost ironic really, how I'd left the self-imposed prison I had created for myself in your house only to enter another one. I swapped the four walls of my bedroom, plastered with posters from my favorite Broadway shows, with city lines and hyper vigilance. I've swapped my closed bedroom door with the need to be alert at all times, I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure you're not there. All I've ever wanted was freedom and liberation. I wanted to feel without restrictions, to love as much as I wanted to love. I wanted to find comfort in my own home, instead I spent my days locked in my room with my headphones drowning out the sound of your yelling. I would press my ear against the door and listen for the sound of footsteps because I know what it sounds like when you're in a bad mood.

So, I barricaded myself in my own prison and when I left, thats what it was about. I never meant for my own liberation to cause so much pain and I am sorry for that. At the same time, I need you to understand that the house that I grew up in was not love, and I know you think it was, but it wasn't. Love doesn't demean their own children over left out dishes or overflowing trashcans. Love doesn't scream and slam doors in the middle of the night or call someone a selfish b**** over text messages. Love doesn't mock and shame someone's most difficult moments or dismiss their pain in favor of you own. Love doesn't make all of my accomplishments your own or pit siblings against each other. Love doesn't tell someone that they've caused their own harassment, their own abuse. Love doesn't have a favorite child.

Its taken me a long time to recognize this and to understand that I did not grow up loved because love and abuse cannot coexist. I know that now and I did not know that then.

There are so many things I wish to say to you. There is so much pain that I wish you would address, but you won't. You've never apologized for anything. so, right now I want you to know that I'm not falling for your tricks anymore. I refuse to silence myself for you. My silence has never and will not protect me.

Audre Lorde says that you've never a whole person if you remain silent and I believe her. She says: "For we have been socialized to respect fear more than the our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness the weight of that silence will choke us."

I will not let the wait of that silence choke me any longer.

Sincerely,

You oldest daughter, A

[rainydiary]

I read your letter and was grateful to read the Audre Lorde quote.  Thank you for sharing your words.