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Dear Mom,

Cat Stevens played through my headphones as I walked the streets of Heredia. I felt tough today, hard, a toothpick hanging from my mouth. All I could think about was him. I suppose I thought about the pain too. I didn’t want to look at the men that watched as I passed by.

It was August, do you remember? That phone call? It had been a secret up until that point, and the loneliness was driving me to a dark place. One suicidal thought was all it took for me to understand that it had gone too far. And I wasn’t going to go out that way.

We listened to Cat Stevens together when I was kid. You introduced me to him, and the Beatles, and Bette Midler and Al Green. I can’t believe how lucky I got to be gifted a mom with a music taste like yours. I remember the expansive feeling I got when hearing the full chorus come in on Tea for the Tillerman: “happy day!,” they sing in unison. It meant something to me that it was one of your favorites and it became one of mine.

After leaving work that Tuesday morning, unable to stop the crying, I waited to hear back from Ola to be sure they could cover my workload for the amount of time I’d be back home in the Midwest. I was in the hallway of my apartment when I called you. When I think back, the dial tone seemed so long and loud. Everything about that day felt different. “Mom? I’m going to come home.”

There’s something about certain secrets which feel as though they need to be kept secret more than others. This was one of those. I knew that I would be seen differently if I told my friends, the people I worked with. And I knew the coming out of that secret would significantly affect another person besides me. I imagined the looks and energy that I would receive. I felt that I needed to be ashamed and I needed to hide. So I did. Eventually though, after that dark night, and dark thought, I knew I needed to be seen. And by someone who knows the purity of my heart… knows that I would never intentionally hurt someone. So I headed home.

In Spanish there are two words that I’ve heard used for our word home: One is casa and it signifies the structure, the tactile boards and nails and paint that are put together to create the place that you live. It keeps you safe from physical things, external.

The other is hogar which is more of an idea. It can exist anywhere at anytime. You can’t see it or touch it but you can feel it. For me, it carries a sense of comfort and familiarity and unconditional love.

With you, I have both casa and hogar. And no words could ever come close to the feeling of gratitude I have for that. For you.

At home, in both senses, I was able to relax for the first time in months. I was allowed to be sad. I was allowed to sleep. I was allowed to be inconsistent. And eventually, when I was ready, I was allowed to tell the truth. On both sides of it, I was the same person to you, your daughter, and that alone, was a beautiful gift, but there was another: the opportunity to begin to heal and come back out into the sunshine.

That was my rock bottom moment. And now, even though I still have days that are challenging, I know, deeply, that I’m okay. I’m strong. I’m fully supported and I’m never going to hide again.

That song, the one that was playing earlier on my walk was Hard Headed Woman and in it, Yusef sings,

“I’m looking for a hard headed woman

One who’ll take me for myself

And if I find that hard headed woman

I won’t need nobody else, no no no.”

That hard headed woman, that strong and reliable force is you. And now, it’s me too. I love you. Thank you for sharing your music, your guidance and your love… “happy day!”

Your daughter.