To the mom who fed me, clothed, drove me to all events, and did what she thought was best
To the mom whose response to me coming out to her was, âNot here.â âDonât tell your dad.â Text messages lined with the subliminal message of âYour choices impact me too, so think wiselyâ (as if this was a choice or me just experimenting with my sexuality)
To the mom who married a man who is strong and smart but mean and abusive (though no one would say that because what he does is normal for Christianâs in the south)
To the mom who didnât let me take dance until my senior year of high school but forced me to play tennis and be friends with people who never cared about me
To the mom who when I start to find independence and a path for myself sends me random videos about how Iâm supposed to care for my parents when they get older
Did you really take care of me?
Did you really love and nurture me the best you could?
You made me hate myself, my body, and pushed me to be someone I never should have had to be
You taught me the wrong lessons on codependency and people pleasing
So happy Motherâs Day to me I guess, because now
Iâm teaching myself all of the things you never did
Iâm loving myself the way you never did
Iâm accepting myself the way you never did
Iâm protecting myself the way you never did
Iâm advocating for myself the way you never did
Iâm parenting myself the way you never did, so that if I ever have kids, they will never have to do all the things Iâm doing right now
All while trying to reclaim their childhood and teenage years