Dearest Mom

Dear Mom,

I wholeheartedly hope you're doing better. I understand we haven't been as close as we were before I moved back home in 2020. I thought seeing you after the year of well-wishing and promises for a better tomorrow over the phone would spark a fire of connection and family. I'm sorry for lashing out and living in the woods instead of being with you but there's something I need to tell you that I've wanted to tell you during all of those years of being no contact.

Before I open up, I want you to close your eyes and envision me as a human being. Not your "mini-me", not your baby, not your child. A human being just like you. For years, I had to live my life around making you comfortable. Your mental illness isn't your fault but it wasn't my job to be your caretaker my whole life. Having that burden from such a young age and not being able to come to you when I was in trouble or unsure of situations has made it very hard for me to have a connection with you now. If I would be in trouble, you would instantly put me in more trouble. After all, you thought I should be a tiny bird in the cage that was my room because you needed me to take care of the house and to make sure no one came to the door. Yet you would drop me off somewhere any chance you would get when I needed love. I was your protector, I was your mother, so please listen to me while I explain why I haven't been able to be there anymore and what I need to get off of my chest.

Those years that I was traveling, I wasn't safe. Once I turned into an adult with boundaries, you threw me away and had the whole rest of the family I had left follow suit. I remember telling you I'd be safer on the streets than with all of you and honestly, I wasn't wrong. You thought you'd kept me safe by not allowing me to have friends, not allowing going outside, playing in the dirt, not allowing me to be a child. Little did you know, I started growing up anyway. Doing those things you told me not to. I remember the day you caught me sneaking back to the house on garbage day and the truck was down the street but that didn't stop you from making me take off all of my clothes before I entered the apartment. The neighbor was watching and I've never forgiven you for that. I kept doing the things you told me not to do while I was on my travels. I've even gotten into the cars of strangers until the time I learned my lesson to not actually do that anymore. You were right about that one.

This letter isn't to remind you of the things you've done to me. I know you like to pretend like it was different now that I've gotten better, but I forgive you. What I want to tell you is all of the things I wasn't able to say when you asked. I guess my mind is still wired to make sure you're comfortable, not to upset you and cause a tantrum. I know my traveling was exciting for you to hear when we stopped being no contact but it was really scary for me and I've never been able to run to mommy about it until now.

Mom, I was left with nothing. I had to do a lot of things to even eat. I've had to recover from addictions on my own because I had gotten them from just trying to survive around the wrong people. I've eaten more food out of the garbage than I'll ever be able to admit to anyone. I showered in truck stop bathrooms when I could find the money to afford it. I did make it to some jobs that offered to house me, but the things that had happened to me in that housing have traumatized me more than the men you used to make me live with until I wasn't welcome because of your perspective of what was happening.

All of those things don't even seem that bad, now that I'm putting pencil to paper, but I know that would make you believe I'm more tarnished than you already do. That's why I'm writing this letter to you. I want you to know that I forgive you and I hope you forgive me for telling you only some of what I've had to go through to learn how to live a life. I want you to know that you are also a human being, no matter how much you dehumanize everyone else, including yourself. I'm not mad at you anymore. I just couldn't stand to see you every day when I came back. I couldn't stand to pretend like everything was normal while you tried to recount the past that you wanted us to have. Regardless, I love you. I haven't told you that in such a long time, but I do love you. I pray that you get the help you deserve every day and that you can see life more lovingly.

Love,

Your tarnished daughter.