Letter to mother

Dear mother,
So, you went through my stuff and found my birth control. I almost want to congratulate you, since this is the most you've found out about me since I was seven. Which, judging by your reaction, is about your age.

I'm not really angry. I'm too lazy to be angry. I expected you to break your promise sooner or later, because you've broken similar promises in the past. I had hoped that you wouldn't, but like Dr. Phil says, the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior.

I guess I'm sad. I had hoped that you would actually talk to me. No, listen to me. I've done a lot of listening for you. It feels as though I've been your emotional garbage can, that you talk to me in order to get it off of you, rather than dealing with it. What's more, I want you to care about what I think and how I feel, since I've come to the conclusion that caring about thoughts and feelings is the hallmark of real love. I know you won't find that in your bible, so perhaps that doesn't mean anything to you.

I can remember times that you've shrieked at me to "grow up." Now that I am an adult, I find a sort of irony in it. I mean, you're throwing a fit because I'm not behaving like you think I should behave. I wonder what Grandma would think if she saw you like that. I think that you got to point in life where you decided that you didn't need to grow anymore, so you just stopped. Oh, certainly you have grown older, but you have consistently chosen not to learn from what happens.

I know, I know, you've been hurt. I have heard you tell the tale many times, relishing the hurt, the details, the pain. Mother, your pain does not make you special. Pain happens to everyone, and I could point out numerous examples of people who have been through the same traumas that you have, some even worse, and have come out of it to live successful lives, with a better sense of perspective. I imagine many more have taken your route, to blame the world, everyone around them, shove off the responsibility of growth on other people. It is the easy way. The coward's way.

Yes, I think you are an emotional coward. Accepting the past, then letting it go was the hardest thing I've done. But, it's given me an incredible freedom... a detachment from my pain. I can look at what has happened, and see oh, perhaps that's why it happened, and gain understanding. Yes someone did a horrible thing to you. Someone did a horrible thing to you 45 years ago. It's as though you are stuck at that age. Maybe you are, emotionally.

Then, you had kids. You had a responsibility to be supportive and caring and nurturing. But, you weren't; you aren't, just listen to yourself and the disparaging way you talk about most subjects that my siblings and I bring up. Anything uncomfortable gets a one-sentence treatment. The talk about sex went: "Sex is for marriage." The talk about birth control: "Some women just can't say no." There's no information in those statements, no caring, no love.

So, you've found my birth control. Rather than behaving like you care about me, you try to rip me to pieces. I can't tell you how sad it makes me feel when you behave like this. I wish you had some self-awareness, to listen to what you're saying and imagine how you'd feel if you were called a whore by your mother. I will obey you and your rules, in letter if not in spirit.

I think I've cried enough tears over this.

your daughter,
Tactical Grace