And there it was. The shttiest letter. A letter that felt heavier than a concrete block tied to your ankles in a swimming pool. A letter in which your children—your flesh and blood—laid out every mistake you ever made as a mother, without mercy. “Mom,” it began, without any softness. No “dear,” no gentle words. Just “mom.” I should have known then—this was not going to be an easy letter. If only it had been about something like, “Mom, remember that time you made that ground beef and banana dish? That was disgusting. Just sht.” Or, “Remember, mom, when you wouldn’t let me go out when I was sixteen? Everyone else could except me. Thanks for ruining my youth.” But no. This went deeper than that. It was like reading a book where I was the villain—the worst mother imaginable. Every sentence felt like a stab, every memory like a fresh wound. Look, I knew I wasn’t perfect—who is? But seeing it all laid out like that, in black and white… that hurt.
At some point, I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. As if the words wrapped themselves around my throat and tightened. “And another thing, mom—you raised us irresponsibly.” How do you even respond to something like that? And was it true? How could I explain that I was just human too—a mother doing the best she could with what she had? A mother who made mistakes, yes, but always with the best intentions. It felt like I was fighting a ghost, a version of myself that existed only as “sht” in Riddledaughter’s eyes. “You leaned on us too much emotionally, mom. All your problems with other people—you placed them on us. It was too much. Way too much.” The letter continued, relentless. “You involved us too much in your own struggles. We had to be your support while we were still children. That’s not fair. That’s sht.” How could I explain it? That I thought of Parental Alienation Syndrome, that situation where a child rejects one parent, often influenced by the other. That I believed Wordfather was the root of so much. “You blamed him for everything. But that’s not how it works. That’s not fair.”
And then about her transgender friend: “I hate seeing what it’s doing to him, and you just casually suggest I’d want that too because of him. No. It makes me sick. Being transgender is not something you ‘become’ because of someone else. The fact that you think that says enough about you. And the fact that you dared to bring breast cancer into it is even more disturbing. And maybe your transphobic words were exactly what pushed me over the edge.” Suddenly, I was transphobic? That was never my intention—not with the breast cancer comparison. It felt like a rainstorm of “f*cks,” like Mark Manson describes. Or like my niece once said: “She’s throwing up all the puke,” after her little brother got sick. You are this, you do that—there was no end to it. Everything was my fault.
And then, at the very end of the letter, the final blow: “Take care ❤.” The door slammed shut in my face. In my mind, I could hear the locks clicking one by one: click, clack, click… each sound sealing the barrier between us. And there I sat, holding the shttiest letter ever written. It was a mirror, showing me my flaws, my shortcomings. But it was also something else. A chance. A chance to reflect, to learn, and maybe—someday—to become again the mother my children needed. Not perfect, but real. Because in the end, despite all the shtty moments, my love was always real. And that, dear world, is what truly matters.
☕️ A cup of comfort
For those who received the letter
You open the envelope or the email
Your heart already hurts
Then the words come
Hard
Raw
They name your shortcomings
They count your mistakes
No softness
No reaching hand
All the blame pours in
Everything you feared
Suddenly it’s real
Black on white
You breathe
But it catches
You read
But you break
They struggle
You do too
You are not a monster
You are human
You tried
Sometimes stumbling
Always loving
What now?
You breathe again
You wait
You feel
You live
Maybe one day a letter will return
Softer
Wiser
Until then
Be gentle with yourself
Know you are not alone
And that love, even when silent, never truly disappears ❤️
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