Dear Mom,

Dear mom,

This is difficult, but important. It’s obvious we’re not in a good place as far as our relationship goes, but I’m also not going to pretend that’s just in the last year or so since I stopped responding. We were on this path for a long time, nearly as long as I can remember.

I love you. You’re my mother. I will always crave your approval and affection. But, I also feel like it’s not something I can ever really earn or gain. It won’t matter what I do. It won’t matter who I’m with or how much money I make. It won’t matter what work I do to be a better person or give back to family and community. I feel like I will always be a disappointment to you.

Growing up, if I came home with A’s, you would say that you don’t know that child. Who is this well-behaved being they speak of? Parent-teacher conferences were simply off the table, because any teacher who spoke well of me was “blowing smoke up [your] ass.” I still clearly remember my required computer science parent night in 6th grade. You were angry at me and the teacher and the school and everyone the entire time. I hated feeling like this short time to show you my work was such a horrible experience for you. I was ashamed for bothering you and getting my hopes up that you could simply stop in and nod like other parents, since I didn’t set the assignment and was simply trying to get a good grade.

When I came home with anything less than straight A’s, I’d hear about, “aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” If that was supposed to be funny, please know that as a child who never asked to be IQ or ADHD tested repeatedly, it simply hurt and showed me that no matter how I did in school, it would never make you happy.

Am I a slut? Do you think of me as such a slut for something you’re jealous of? I don't like when you say that. In college, I remember splitting a bottle of wine and laughing that you hold grudges longer than anyone I’ve ever met. I meant it as a good-humored jest, and you left to cry upstairs. We don’t find each other funny, but maybe that’s because “jokes” are how we’ve tried to blunt the reality of our disagreements. I genuinely believe in the power of comedy to make discomfort okay, or to speak truth to power in ways that aggression simply can’t. But, with you it seems there’s no other option.

You hate when I sound like “polite Patty.” And you hate when I slip and speak honestly about how I feel. What does that leave me? On my end, it leaves spinning stories in my head about how I’m unlovable, fat, anxious, selfish, too smart, too stupid, lazy, prudish, slutty, pretentious, slovenly, and an alcoholic. That’s how I feel you see me.

I’m not without judgment. I hate how you yell. I love that I’ve lived a life in homes without screaming for the better part of a decade. I get exhausted in how you take every experience of poor service as a personal attack. I struggle to comprehend how dad went from the mother fucker rat bastard to the love of your life who you cry endlessly about losing when you threatened to leave nearly every day for as long as I can remember. After we moved back in with dad, you changed it to threatening to kick everyone else out, but the sentiment remained.

We’ve never communicated well. I don’t understand how nail polish on a dresser was punished by taking all my clothes away, and leaving the nail polish there for the rest of time. You dragged me to the front porch, where the whole neighborhood could see you chop my braid off because I was a CHILD who didn’t brush her hair like she should. Why did it need to be such a public display? I was appalled when you “changed the subject” by telling me that my rapist used to bring you barbecue sauce from Canada. I called to tell you that my divorce settlement would cover most of the cost of leaving my abusive ex. My celebratory mood died with your barbs about it not being enough, the coins, and I was left crying alone in a parking lot, again feeling insufficient. I sat there thinking how my marriage hadn’t been good enough, my wedding hadn’t been good enough, and now even my divorce wasn’t enough.

I will always be grateful for your support, for raising me, for the time and money and heartbreak that I’m sure I cost you. I am a stronger woman for being your daughter. I was tougher sooner, aware of the danger the world holds, and learned how to work hard. I appreciate all of that. I’m grateful for all the times you have bailed me out of difficult situations. But, I’d trade every gift, every dollar to feel like I was enough in your eyes.

From what I hear, you sent many things via text message in the months after I stopped responding. I feel it’s only fair for you to know that for a time, I had blocked your number and I have not seen them. But, receiving your recent note asking “what offense [you] have given” confirms my feelings that hearing those messages would not have made a large difference in where we are now. If, in over a year, you have been unable to dig within yourself and gather some level of how we got here, then I feel I’m not off-base in needing to reset and better set our lacking and nearly nonexistent boundaries.

Moving forward, I would like to open our relationship and communication, but it comes with boundaries I need you to respect. If you cannot respect them, I will remove myself from the situation in whatever way is most appropriate.

I expect you to use appropriate language with those around you. Shock-jocking isn’t endearing to me. I have no tolerance for calling your family and friends vulgar things like asshole, slut, motherfucker, bitch, rat bastard, etc. Similarly, any games about refusing to use appropriate or preferred names will be met with reminders of what the person prefers to be called, and if continued, I will remove myself from the situation to avoid further conflict.

Respect the word “No.” If I do not want to do something like trying on clothing, attending an event, or whatever else may arise, you will be expected to respect my choices.

I know that this may feel like a lot. I love you. I care about and wish for your happiness and well-being, even in the time that we haven’t been speaking. I am grateful for you. I hope we can find a new way of communicating in a more healthy manner.

Love,

Elizabeth