Being a young mom was fun. Watching my little girl grow, seeing how she needed my every moment’s attention; how one-on-one parenting was best. As Christianity took root in my soul, I pulled away from that knowing to add another soul to my responsibility, to fill a void, to have a playmate and friend for life for our daughter was the ultimate idea. The unmothered child within me wanted a chance to prove she could do it better than I received. I added more and more responsibility, believing I could handle anything with God. Now I’m chewing all that I bit off, and I’m chewing it alone.
Dear Mom,
As a baby I know I was wanted. I watched you and Dad move around our different homes. You’d smile at me when I smiled at you; and boy, I loved it when you looked at me with a smile. Babies like pretty faces and you were beautiful to me.
You and Dad drove us all over the place, discovering new lands as a family. You really tried hard to make our family work and I applaud you for it.
After Dad left us you were in Fight-Flight; in hindsight I know that it’s scary on your own. Making good decisions is really difficult when your heart is aching. In fact, science supports this fact: being in Fight-Flight mode shuts down centers of the brain to open up blood-flow to the legs and heart; the brain loses it’s connection, literally. With two children, plus yourself to care for, and a husband who’s intent on revenge –making good decisions, let alone the best ones, would have been really difficult. And, you were in a country not your own, those around you didn’t seem to have your best interests at heart, but rather their own interests. It must have been a difficult choice to keep going in Canada, with the two of us, troubled kids.
I don’t know what went through your mind when you decided to remove me from Canada; but I can assume survival had a lot to do with it. I’ve been angry at you for kidnapping me, but I see why you chose that route.
I imagine that me saying I was neglected makes you feel terribly uncomfortable. I know you didn’t intentionally neglect me, but babies need to be held and played with a lot more than you were willing to give. Rocker swings aren’t enough, babies need mother’s arms and softness to regulate emotions and body temperatures; our hearts and nervous systems “chat” with each other because at one time, we were one person, mother.
To my own mother; we have few memories, you and I, of playing together. You must have been so sad, Mom.
As a baby, I watched you. I observed, an unknowing child go through injustices, experience betrayal, fall in love, get heartbroken; I wanted to save you, Mom. I wanted to help you, force your dad to love you, make my dad love you, make your verbally abusive, second husband treat you with kindness and respect . Mom, I was your biggest fan and making your face smile was my one goal. It was such a constant challenge I rarely won.
Mom, I was made as your mirror; and you hated your reflection. That is painful acknowledging.
I don’t know what went through your mind when you returned to the very home you ran away from. How you faced your tormentor father and groveled for help. It had to be so humiliating and disappointing. I don’t know how you forged ahead, why you didn’t leave us at Grandma’s, why you kept on going even when it was impossible; I don’t know, but I would wager it had a lot to do with love, protection and survival.
Being alone truly is difficult; having kids while on your own is a recipe for agony. I remember our second, small apartment beside a lake in Illinois. You were staying out of trouble, not drinking, and we hadn’t had a party in forever at our place. I recall you dating a few guys, you said you were going to be picky.
Then, you brought your soon-to-be second husband home for good. When he married you, no matter what you were told, all you could see was what a good daddy role he played in those honeymoon months; playing puppet shows with me.
Mom, he tortured your children beneath your watch. When we came to you, you punished us for his behaviors. Just like the father you scrambled away from and vowed to never place over your children, you placed a tormentor-dad in our midst. I imagine it’s tough to see, seeing as you tried so hard to provide us with a loving home; you also deserved someone to love and be loved by; it must hurt knowing the man you chose to father your children pushed those same children as far from you as possible…
You were intent on finding a replacement Daddy for us. You fell for the lie that you needed a man to support you. And, in your mother-love and wish to protect your child from suffering, you saw me pining away for my dad and my dog.
Your replacement daddy couldn’t and didn’t heal my missing them; he just redirected my grieving when he was playing with me.
The pain always returned when I was alone.
Being rejected was a wound I couldn’t heal from. Being rejected as a child isn’t something one can simply get over.
A child knows nothing of healing and instead shifts blame inward for being dysfunctional and not fitting in. At 48 years old I am still trying to heal this wound.
Perhaps you won’t believe me when I say how difficult it was living in your home, being the scapegoat of each and every disagreement, enduring hour-long torture sessions with your husband while you were in the kitchen, making dinner. After two failed attempts at finding safety from you, I quit.
Your punishments were too severe, as losing your husband to you was the equivalent of dying & you’d fight me just like you’d fight an attacking dog, even though I was simply your child, triggering your traumas, telling you your husband was harming me.
Maybe you’ll recall when I was 13, when I told you in a shaky voice that I’d just pulled a knife to your husband’s back; and you laughed.
It didn’t surprise me to hear you let out a sarcastic exhale when I told you that I tried for 16 years to repair a broken marriage and I’d run out of myself, I was out of anything to give my insatiable, entitled, abusive husband.
How could you admonish me, mother? How could you shame me for behavior you taught me to have?
I was taught by you, mother, to endure abuse, to tolerate domestic violence; I was shown by you and your mother to stand by the man I chose, despite the rude treatment, despite the abuse, shame, and embarrassment he shoveled out. I was shown to persevere through a marriage to the very end, because for some reason that was a badge of honor or proof of a woman’s strength, or martyrdom. Worst of all, it’s because you said your god doesn’t approve…
It still doesn’t make my experiences false, unreal, misremembered or made up; they are in my mind –MY life, and they are, period.
When you tell me what I recall is “wrong” or “not true,” you invalidated my experiences; you invalidate my memory, my recollection of life, itself.
No amount of you trying to rewrite my memories will make them process differently.
My witness is my witness, yours is yours. Your memory may be able to forget the suffering I went through, but it does not make my suffering nonexistent. As a mother, knowing my child is suffering is the absolute most painful thing. I don’t know how you’ve been able to blind your eyes to our pain. My brother pissed the bed and suffered extreme panic attacks; I had serious lower GI problems and nervously gnawed my nails, skin and hair; all obvious signs of serious trauma built up –but it was the 80s and kids “were resilient.”
What’s sad is my brother and I, like you, had to run away. Like your mom, your husband pushed us beyond return. I cannot imagine how painful that must be. I don’t understand how your abusive husband is a fair trade-off; him in exchange for your two oldest children? Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t have made off better.
I can’t convince you of my memories but I can share them with you. I can’t convince you I did my best with my marriage and my children, that is my truth to carry with pride.
I can’t encourage you to leave your abusive marriage, can’t speak anything against your spouse, and he’s thoroughly and completely damaged the relationship between you and me, and you are ok with it. Maybe his jokes about cucumbers in the grocery store were true and you can’t resist. To me, it’s an enigma how a man that foul can win, over two beautiful children. But the truth is, I’ve been in a tug-of-war with replacement daddy over you since I was 9 years old and I’ve lost the will to fight. He wins.
I am brokenhearted some days thinking of you. I am pulled to memories and wishings to tell you what I’ve learned from my kids. Seeing pictures of friends with their moms, I mourn that a relationship like that isn’t possible for us. I watch my daughters and son grow each day and it scares me. Having to release hold of my only son was so challenging! I cherish each day I get to live with them in my life. I ache being separated for long, but love releases it’s hold, not compresses. I’ve learned an awful lot on my own, and one thing’s for sure, love is unconditional. I can’t say I love you and then follow it with conditions; that’s not love.
Our last meeting back in March of 2020 was ghastly, Mom.
My children took one look at your choice of replacement daddy and felt the blood drain from their bodies.
When they heard him open his hairy mouth to say “Slut” to their mother, they became infuriated and visibly afraid for their lives. He’s toxic, they could feel it as he drew closer, and as he fell away it lessened.
There is no love for him in this home, his abuse has reached each of us.
When they heard his mouth once more open and shout across Walmart, “Whore!” for all to hear, I couldn’t stand there and take it anymore, Mom. Would you allow a man to call you such foul things? I wonder what his side of the story is…
I turned and pointed at him, I could think of no better thing than to expose him for what he is, I shouted, “That man right there is a streaker!” Do you blame me? How can you support and align with a man like that?
When you to accosted us with our safe escort to our vehicle, right in the center of Walmart, you grabbed hold of our shopping cart, looked me dead in the eyes, and shrieked instructions at me through clenched teeth –you looked like monsters, the both of you!
My kids and I felt like we’d been on a People Of Walmart and Cops mash-up episode.
To be frank, I did not recognize you.
When I dared to look, I saw into your eyes and it was like looking into a wild animal’s. Where had my mother gone? Up until that moment I held hope that you and I could patch things up, someday. Sadly the you I recall is gone and someone else has come to live there; someone unrecognizable.
It seems Star Trek was right, resistance is futile.
I’ve sent you so many hurtful letters in the past; I didn’t have the vocabulary, patience nor understanding of what was happening in my life to work things out differently. I hadn’t been taught how to argue properly, I hadn’t learned how to recognize, let alone process repeating patterns. I was layered beneath far too many layers of trauma to understand anything.
Hurting people hurt people, and I was definitely hurting.
I needed compassion, understanding, patience, kindness and love from you.
But instead… you allowed my abuser to continue terrorize me and you gave me more and more pain by discounting and minimizing it, making me feel like I’d imagined all of it. You gas lit me, you manipulated me, you sent your replacement daddy to stalk me; none of this is something a loving parent does for their child. This behavior is criminal.
I insist on apologizing for the cruel things I wrote in my past letters; they were immature and reckless and I am sorry. I was hurting a great deal and felt very much on my own. The truth is, you stopped protecting me far too soon, Mom. Instead of love and trust, you just kept me smothered.
Christianity taught me a lot about fear under the disguise of love. I may not believe the Bible as “the Truth,” but I can see a lot of greatness I was able to accomplish because of its truths. Likewise, many other “holy” books have brought similar messages with the same outcome.
And you, Mom, you taught me a lot about love, too. You taught me that a Mother is responsible for her children, and that loving them is important, feeding them whole grains and fresh is best, and keeping them within eye view is paramount. You were a very protective mother, and I understood that as love –but love is deeper than that. I know you did the best you could with the tools you had, and coming from the dysfunctional family you did, I get it.
I just had too many needs still, at age 2 when I was still needing mothering, still needing cuddles, still aching for holds and snuggles –I wasn’t included. I didn’t belong. This was the message I received from your parenting:
I do too much wrong. I don’t belong. I’m garbage. I am not acceptable. I’m not worthy of being cherished. I’m not worthy of being respected. My needs aren’t important. I deserve no boundaries. I am not my own. I cannot be trusted. I do not belong.
I thank you for loving me the way you could.
I thank you for feeding me, Mom.
I thank you for trying so hard, Mom, I can tell it was tough.
I love you, fare well.