Letter from a frustrated mom:
It's past midnight and I simply cannot sleep. It's impossible not questioning myself why life has to be so cruel sometimes. It's been long nights since the last time I really had a rest. It's been so long that I don't even remember.
I climb to my bed, dead tired, and a few minutes later I'm fully awake as an African predator. Insomnia invades me and I cannot resist anymore. I go back to the living room, leaving the warmth of my blankets behind, and began typing random words. Until I understand. I'm mourning. Justly. But also without reason. I really don't know, but I wish I could. I can be truly blessed but there are days I'm just dead inside.
Worries take possession of me like an invisible demon who wants to rip apart my will. I know what I'm doing. I'm trying to get rid of all this pain the best way I can: writing.
Those words that I type are like blood and tears. And it hurt.
I desperately need to find an answer to all of this. I need to find solutions. That's who I am: a Fixer. A healer. Glue to keep it all in place. But I cannot fix, heal or put myself together.
That's why I cannot sleep. There's nothing in my power to do. I cannot control it all.
And that's the exact moment that I begin to feel so useless.
If I'm being brutally honest here, which I have all intentions to be- I've made plenty of mistakes as a mom.
Sure. I'm not ashamed of telling you this. I don't feel an ounce of shame. There's no available space for it anyway.
There are people out there who will ask: What is really a mom? And it is understandable because they lacked one. Cannot blame them for not knowing better. It's not their fault.
I don't know if it's even worse to punish myself with the question: "Am I mom enough?"
A mom... She's nothing less than a mysterious creature, almost extinct because of the heartbreak caused by her kin.
A mom... the one who helps you walk... who teaches you to read. The person who says I love you when dropping you off at school without receiving some love in return. In exchange, she receives grunts.
She's the one that talks the truth about people, even though that pisses you off. Because she's tired to see you falling for their tricks and getting hurt over and over.
A mom... the one that used to cover for those who failed you, the one who gave the extra mile so you wouldn't feel the absence of others. The one that, having $20 to spare for herself, preferred to buy overpriced coloring pencils just because you really really wanted the silver and copper pencils. She was the one who decided to survive another month with the soles of her shoes broken to be able to buy ice cream for you.
She's the one that serves as an alarm in the mornings, and as a calendar every day of her life. She's that person who always asks you about your day but you choose to ignore her.
If you still wonder what a mom might be,... Don't worry. Moms out there are also questioning themselves what really is a son or a daughter. But on most occasions, moms everywhere are trying to decipher if they are really good moms. Or even acceptable!
Understand a thing. Today I'm not talking about love. A mom that truly loves has no limits, no boundaries, but she still feels. I'm not focusing on my dedication to you today but on my pain. I suffer... a lot. And I deserve to heal and to feel rejoiced as well.
Somehow... somewhere along the pathway, your mom became your object of contempt. Despite avoiding her own mom's mistakes over and over, she commits her own errors anyway. And that is fine because she's not designed to be perfect. Neither do you.
I'm full of sorrow. My heart, my body, and my soul, everything aches with betrayal.
My maternal mistakes have nothing to do with negligence, absence, selfishness, or contempt. Not at all. On the contrary, I am to blame for giving so much. For being so forgiving.
Do you really think your mom is to blame? Are you the entitled kid who thinks that deserves everything? Are you this brat, vain and temperamental little person who discovered the first pubic hair and suddenly became a grown-up? Yes, I did call you a brat. Deal with it. You've called me plenty of horrible names behind my back and still, I remain strong.
These kids... Nothing is a big deal for them. Nothing is an awesome treat. They think they deserve it all.
They are such inconsiderate little persons. We could have traveled 6.5 hours (round-trip) because they were missing a treat. Such a long and tiresome trip just to satisfy one of their cravings. And you know what? That is nothing. For these ungrateful kids, it is just "overwhelming". Not awesomeness. Not happiness. Just an overwhelming sensation. But when their dad (who does nothing for them but is like a fuc*ing deity) talks to them about games and all the things he deprives his own kids of, these kids are over the moon with awe and admiration.
You know, it is my fault. I gift them awesome presents for Christmas and Birthdays. Even for Valentine's day. And I -the mom who sacrifices it all- don't even get a "Happy Valentine's" message. But their dad will always get an electronic card to celebrate every Holiday.
It is probably my fault. They are so mean despite I taught them to be loving. They take their anger out on the wrong person: the mom. I wish I should have done what my parents did when I dared to answer back. My mom would have left my mouth burning for days from the slap with the back of her hand. No regrets. No sadness. No guilty conscience. Just out of her motherly love.
It is probably my fault. I have to constantly remind them to do their chores around the house. It would have been easier to stop doing mines and let them feel hunger and perhaps to find a gallon of old stinky milk in the fridge.
It is my fault. I simply love too much. I discipline them. Stern, but always loving. After a good lesson and withdrawal of privileges, I would always kiss them good night. I would always tuck them in bed.
I am the one to blame. I told them no even when sometimes they deserved it all. I tried to make them earn things, to work for it all. But behind my back, they were everything I didn't teach them to be. Cunning, deceiving, a liar. Always I was their target. Every single time. Why? To have more. To sacrifice less. Because they found in other people the willing weapon to harm me over and over.
It is my fault. I protected these kids from suffering and pain. I was the barrier that didn't allow them to feel how truly unloved they were by some people they trusted. I was that tall mountain that took the blow of the tsunami of irresponsible people who were supposed to love and educate them.
It is my fault. I am the one who suffers in silence all the consequences even when they stab me in my back over and over again. Just because I couldn't believe them capable of hurting me.
I fought their battles and defended them nonstop because I couldn't resist living knowing they were suffering... and I wasn't doing something to help.
I am the one to blame. I never turned my back on them, always sworn to protect them. And probably, should have. I should have said NO more often and do more for myself.
Never a supporter of laziness, I gave them a lot and demanded plenty. I taught them to be special, one of a kind. I never tried to measure them like someone else. Never I dared to compare them. I taught them to be sensible and considerate.
I was too cautious not to put my fears on them. I was too aware of not selling my dreams to them. And so naive I was, that I overlooked their mean intentions. I was too present. With a vigilant eye always awake. I slept little and cooked too much. I invested everything I had, vouching for their future.
My mistake was to love them so much. I deceived myself into trusting them. I didn't commit any of the mom's "normal" mistakes. I didn't want them to become lawyers or writers because that once was my dream. I didn't want them to be lazy and enjoy doing nothing day and night. Never ignored them or left them behind to live my life without the responsibility that they mean.
I made just one tiny mistake. And this one steals my sleep and my peace day and night. I loved them too much and I never realized (until it was too late) I got nothing in return.
Today, I'm not talking about motherly love, as I have given plenty already. I am talking about myself today. I am choosing myself today. I deserve love, respect, understanding, empathy,... all those things I willingly give.
Lots of love,