Mother’s Day

To my biological mother;

I decided to write this letter to you because, despite the wondrous amount of healing and growth that I’ve managed to accomplish in the eight years since I told you I didn’t want to see you again, there are still things I have to say. Because I really don’t ever want to see you again - there’s little I want more than to live the rest of my life without you in it - I’m writing here. Perhaps this will get back to you; likely it won’t. Either way matters not a bit to me because this isn’t about you, anyway.

The woman I’ve become is far more than you ever led me to expect she could be. I am in a strong, healthy, respectful, and loving marriage with a truly amazing man who treats me and our daughters with a kind of joyful passion that I’m certain you wouldn’t understand, and that makes me sad for you. I trust my husband unconditionally - with me and with our children - and I know that trust is well-founded.

My life and my home are filled with genuine friends who do know the “real me” and love me for what they see. Your predictions that I would find myself alone and friendless because that’s what I truly deserved were completely wrong and, judging from what I remember of your life, seemed to be more projection than prediction. I am not selfish, conceited, arrogant, or greedy; I do not use people for my own ends. I am not two-faced. I do not lie. My friends and I share common interests, goals, and passions, and I have proven, on many occasions, that there is very little that I would not suffer for the sake of a true friend. I get back what I give, and if I ever start to hear your voice in my head telling me that I’m unworthy of human companionship, I only need to look at the caliber of people who call me friend to know how terribly mistaken you were about me.

I am a fantastic mother. My children know, without any hesitation whatsoever, that I love them. They don’t have to beg for my attention. They don’t worry that I’m going to stop loving them if they displease me. I actually talk to my girls - they know they can come to me with any question or problem and I will treat them with dignity and respect; I will listen to them and help them make their own decisions. Do we have a perfect relationship, my girls and I? Of course not; but it is a relationship. I don’t blame them for “holding me back” because they don’t, and I don’t tell them that they are bad people when they make childish mistakes because they are children. I chose to invite these glorious people into my life, and they chose me as their mother. I owe them the very best I can give them, and I expect them to take that with a childish greediness. Life is a learning curve, and I’m happy to help them through the rough patches because that’s what I agreed to.

Where did I learn to be the person that I am? I’m sorry to say that it wasn’t from you, but I won’t tell you that you didn’t teach me anything, either. I learned almost all of what is good about me from Claudia. I learned to be kind and thoughtful from her. She showed me how good parents treat their children. She told me that I was real and valuable and worthy of the love of good people. She taught me how to be articulate and careful with my words, and how to argue respectfully and fairly. She gave me a good example to follow, and I’ve tried as best I can to live up to her care for me in everything I do.

From you, I learned what kind of person I don’t want to be. I learned, from watching you interact with your mother, that it was a far better thing to cut you out of my life than to let you continue to dictate the terms of our abusive relationship in front of my children. I didn’t want them to hear from you how terrible a man my husband is, like I heard about my father from your mother. I didn’t want them to see me cry in the car on the way home from visiting you. I didn’t want them to see me allow myself to be disrespected and dishonored by someone who is supposed to love me unconditionally, so I don’t see you. As a mother, this was perhaps the best decision I’ve yet made in the raising of my daughters, and I don’t regret it for a moment.

I learned from you to trust my children. I don’t automatically assume, as you did, that what they’re telling me is a lie. If, God/dess forbid, they come to me with accusations about someone abusing them, I will not make them sit next to that person on a couch and retell the story. I will not assume that the accused is blameless and walk away from the scene as if nothing had happened. That happened to you and you learned nothing. You let it happen to me, and I learned everything.

This isn’t a typical Mother’s Day tribute but, in the end, maybe it is. I don’t hate you; I’ve moved well beyond that. As a matter of fact, I’ve grown to the point where I literally feel nothing at the mention of your name. I do honor the lessons you taught me, though. I believe that we do choose our parents, and that I chose you so that I could become the one to break the chain. The work that I’ve done as a result of your teaching has led me to be a strong, loving, and confident woman and, God/dess willing, the grandmother of generations of healthy and happy people. The fear and hate and self-loathing and abuse ends with me; I choose to send out love and compassion and joy.

Happy Mother’s Day.