(Not gonna lie. This has been saved in 'drafts' for a very long time. I got to "crippled and extremely damaged" and had to sit with it for a few months and grieve. I hope that I am ready to press 'publish'. Here goes.)
Dear Mom,
I want to believe that you did your best in raising me and loving me.
I want to...
It's just that - your best left me crippled and extremely damaged.
That damaged child became a damaged mother who, in turn, damaged my own children. Some days I feel too broken to attempt to heal the brokenness that is evident in my babies. Some days I feel unable to parent my children in any way other than how I was parented. And the cycle spins itself into continual useless continuation. For no other reason than that it is all we know.
But I know that there is still time. For my children. For me. For you. For us.
So, I press on. I fight. I cry. I heal. I try. I fail. I see hope. I accept. I acknowledge. I rejoice at progress, no matter how small. I mourn. I grieve. I feel helpless. I feel hopeless. I avoid. I hide. I remain disconnected. I feel guilt. I get depressed. I am angry. I am sad. I feel fear. I choose happiness. I embrace. I trust. I am... a mess.
I am fighting an invisible war. Within myself. It is not my war. It is not my fight. And yet.
I desperately want to show my children their value and open a sacred place for them in my heart, but I was never shown my own value and never offered a sacred place in anyone's heart. So, I struggle. To undo a lifetime of wrong so that I can do right for my babes.
I do not hate, though. I see, I understand that I am where you have been. I can offer you forgiveness, Mom. Because I desperately need to be forgiven by my children. I desperately need to forgive myself.
And now, as the tears flow, I find a bit more peace. I make the slightest motion forward. I carefully reconstruct myself. And there is hope for all of us.
I love you, Mom.
Signed,
Your broken, learning to be whole, child
