I Was My Own Parent

Dear Mom,

There are a lot of things left unsaid when a child is made to become their own parent. These are some of those things I’ve been longing to tell you.

In many ways, I raised myself. I think that even before the divorce, before the rift that tore our family apart, I already felt responsible. Largely, that’s not your fault. I grew up too fast. I think that growing up in the Age of the Internet probably had a lot to do with it, or the fact that I felt like I had a manchild for a father for the majority of my childhood.

Being around people on the Internet makes you learn a lot of things the hard way. You had warned me about creeps online, but of course I didn’t listen. I was young, and very dumb. But I dealt with all of it alone. I didn’t want to burden you, with all your stress and anxiety, with any more of my problems. I thought I was protecting you; I fancied myself an adult, someone who could take care of themselves and didn’t need to bother you with any of it.

I wasn’t.

I didn’t learn that until years later, though. I refused to believe it, to think that I needed to ask anyone for help. I should’ve reached out to you, but I felt like I was trapped behind a glass wall, too scared to act. Scared that if I told you the truth about it all, I’d lose the good things I’d found online along with the bad and everything would crumble around me. So I let myself be blackmailed instead, and launched myself into a whole world of suffering that I didn’t even need to endure. If only I’d just said something to you.

But you were there for me, too. Even when you didn’t realize it was only the tip of the iceberg that you were seeing, so many of my struggles masked under the murky surface of the water. I knew that if I had ever really needed to, I could tell you anything and you would help me.

There were many times that you couldn’t protect me from Dad’s anger, or the rage of a fist flying through my bedroom door. The screaming, the throwing of objects, the crushing terror that I felt as he loomed over me. But what you did do for me was send him away. He would leave, sometimes for minutes but usually for hours. Drive away until the anger could finally dissipate. Because you told him I didn’t deserve to be yelled at like that. And when he finally pushed you to your breaking point, you told him that it was over. You finally needed a divorce, after he had hurt you so many times before. The other woman was the last straw that you needed to break his back and get him out of your life, freeing yourself from him.

You were still timid, suppressed by him, but you were able to call him out when he went too far.

These things happened to my brother, too.

When you found out that he had been caught vaping at school, Dad got the call first. Beat you home. Made a real jerk out of himself. When you got there, it was already too late. I just remember the tears and the yelling, trying to come down to see what was going on but being banished back upstairs. The dent that still sits on the ceiling in the living room. The scuff on the wall, the broken Xbox controller, the stool laying next to the spilled cup of water where Dad had launched them both across the floor.

I felt a sense of relief when Dad moved out. He took a lot with him; furniture, memories, emotions. I felt like a bear cautiously emerging from hibernation, because I was finally able to leave the safety of my bedroom and roam freely in my own home like never before. I didn’t fear criticism. I wasn’t afraid of being yelled at or harassed anymore. It was so liberating. I knew you were dealing with way more emotionally than I was, since you’d actually been married to him and had to suffer the heartbreak of that, but I felt like a huge weight had been lifted.

I felt guilty. You aren’t supposed to be happy when your parents get divorced, but I was.

It was something I had seen coming for a very long time. I knew that you two weren’t a good match, it was like fire and ice. You’re so serious, he’s so silly. I always told you that it was more like having another brother than ever having a father figure. He was a hypocrite, never practiced what he preached. It annoyed me almost as much as it annoyed you. But that’s why I felt like I raised myself. I never said that to you, in fear of hurting your fragile feelings, but it’s a thought I had often when I was growing up. Because of all the fighting between you and Dad, or myself and Dad, the only person I ever really had was myself. I couldn’t exactly lean on my brother, four years younger than me, for emotional support or advice. I could’ve talked to you, but you had already been hurt enough and knowing everything I went through would’ve only broken your heart further.

It was always so lonely. I was bullied in school, but you knew that. I never had many friends growing up, but I had the Internet. I guess that’s how I got to where I am today, so maybe I don’t regret it. I think I would’ve had a lot less trauma if I just opened up to you, though, and that’s entirely my fault. You and Dad always thought I was isolating myself and shutting everyone out, but I was just trying to protect myself. Somehow I knew that I would turn out okay eventually.

My problem was, that despite you being there for me when it counted, I still felt like I didn’t have parents. You provided for me, sure. And of course, I come from a place of privilege. I had a roof over my head, I had food, I had good grades in school; what more could a middle class American kid ask for, right? But Dad always held those basic things over my head. As if I had asked to be born. Like I was taking from you guys when you were the ones who decided to have kids together. He was an overgrown child, and you were as fragile and timid as one. I was much closer to you, but I was afraid that making you shoulder my burdens on top of your own would finally break what you had left of yourself.

Ultimately, I think that it came down to the fact that Dad was careless and he broke you beyond the point of repair. And after he shattered you into a million pieces, he left me to clean it all up. While I obviously felt awful for you about what happened, I was barely 18 at the time. Freshman in college. Couldn’t even take care of myself yet, let alone you and my brother. Dad got out with a clean break, still dating the woman he cheated on you with. He was an immature and highly irresponsible manchild who preached about maturity and responsibility to his kids before they were even old enough to understand what those words meant. Like seriously, he once called me back and yelled at me for accidentally hanging up the phone on him when I was little. Wow.

Between him and the Internet, I was mentally an adult by the time I was 15 or 16. Despite that, I didn’t have enough life experience yet to know how unkind the world could be (even if I thought I’d seen it all already, “Thanks, Internet”). The trauma and emotional turmoil that I went through during my childhood, both on my own and at the hands of Dad, were enough for my therapist to tell me I most certainly have PTSD. I had a few heart-to-heart conversations with him about it after he moved out, when I was finally brave enough to talk to him without crying. He didn’t really understand, I think, but he said that he did. He apologized. We’re on much better terms now.

Things are still rough, but that was four years ago. We’ve all mostly healed from it now, but there’s still work left to do. I definitely blossomed and came out of my shell after he left, which I’m thankful for. You’re also doing a lot better, and now that you’re seeing a therapist and getting the help you need, I think you’re finally closer to where you want to be.

The thing that I always really wanted to tell you was that I’m very proud of you, Mom. You put up with Dad for a lot longer than you ever should’ve to protect your kids and keep the family together, and for that you’re definitely stronger and braver than I ever thought you were. As an adult, I realize that you are so much more than the quiet, timid, fragile little person that I saw when I was growing up. I love you, and I hope we both continue doing better together as we go through the rest of our lives side by side.

With all the love one person can fathomably give another,

Your Daughter