The Void of a Kept Secret

The Void of a Kept Secret.

By: Aileen Fernandez

Dear mother,

I never told you this before, but I cannot be honest with you. I know that you and I speak and share things, however I feel like they are things that do not relate to me as your daughter. What I mean by this is that you do not seem interested in the person I am becoming and is hard for me to share what is really on my mind or how I feel about certain topics. Every time we meet you always ask, “how are you?” my answer is always “I am okay.” You have never gone past these surface questions. You have never gone further, and you don’t seem to really care as long as you have a optimistic, satisfactory answer. When I was young, I was afraid to be honest with you or ask for certain things because I knew that you were working two jobs to keep a roof over heads. I felt like asking you to spend some time with me would be too much since you seem tired, you seemed to have barely any time to spare for me. I know that my brothers and I were a handful, but I always wish we could spend more time together. One of my favorite memories is when we went to the AMC theater in Lincoln Square to watch the Angelina Jolie film, Taking Lives. This was one of the few times we did something that we could both share and enjoy together.

Fast forward and we had a falling-out because I could no longer share a roof with you. I was mostly the maid, and we would constantly argue because I was never good enough for you. You favored the boys, who didn’t have anything to do in the house, nothing to contribute while I was expected to do it all. There was no appreciation, no assistance, nothing. Though my stepfather was home I was the one taking care of my youngest brother and the house. I felt like the help, like an outsider. Once I left, our relationship became extremely sour and even though I try to repair it, I just cannot. Being half honest has just become my truth. It seems like no matter what I do I cannot measure up. You always have this countenance of disappointment whenever I share something, so I prefer not say anything at all. I know that right now I am not financially stable; I am not married, and my career choices are all over the place. I started out with a plan when I was in high school, but everything fell apart when I began college and had to switch majors because the more, I thought and researched about archeology the dream of becoming one began to fade. Then when I took the course for it my views with their scientific views clashed, not to mention that the course was simultaneously interesting and boring. Psychology became my new major. I could understand it and was more interested in pursuing it, but I am too afraid to chase it further because a higher degree is expensive, and I just feel, for lack of better words, stuck. Sometimes I want to share these things with you, but I feel like I can’t because the cycle of not sharing my hopes and dreams is too hard too break. And I do not want to feel like a disappointment or a failure, even though I constantly verbalized myself as such because in some twisted way I want it to motivate me, unfortunately it mentally destroys me.

As your oldest child and only daughter, I feel like there is some type of role that I have to fulfill, but I do not know what that role is. I cannot pursue or find happiness. I am by far the most pessimistic person I’ve met. I always feel like I don’t measure up even though I have accomplished some big goals in life. What I am really trying to say, is that I do not know if you really know me. When I move on from this life, I don’t know if you’ll remember our happiest moments; my likes and dislikes; my struggles and joys. The big little things that make me who I am. Like how I laugh at silly dad jokes. How much I love mythology and history. What my favorite food is besides Dominican food. I know I am a complicated person. But even you have a hard time sharing what’s really on your mind. You think that knowing about the lives of movie stars can fill up those empty spaces in our conversations that really need to be addressed.

When people hurt me or are mean to me, or disrespect me, I dissect every memory we have together because I need to understand if that person was always like that or if there was something I missed—like a case from CSI, but more stressful—I have a hard time forgiving people. Is not that I do not want to forgive them is that my mind cannot conceive how someone can be so callous overnight, or maybe they always were, but I refused to see it because I thought they would never hurt me—naïve, I know--I wanted to tell you about my break-up with J but I just shut down because I did not want you know that I failed at keeping a “relationship.” Or how the first relationship that I thought meant something to me really crushed me. All those dreams he said he had for us became a reality with someone else. It is a hard pill to swallow when you are not enough. When you have to question was is wrong with you? How can I fix it? Why was I not enough? Not that the men I dated were great in any way, but don’t say sweet nothings and then move on with someone else. Not being able to share my moments with you has left a void that is filled with secrets that I don’t share because at this point is my coping mechanism and how I deal with things. The only time they spill is when I become extremely angry and can no longer control the hurt which is causing within me.

Writing this letter has become cathartic because I can really say what’s on my mind without the incessant fear that you will think that what I say is stupid. My biggest dilemma between us is that I need for you to understand that I am not a little girl. When I discuss things or have an opinion is because I am an adult with a mind of her own. You and I have many differences and similarities, but we have to work through our shared hurt, so that we can truly appreciate each other as mother and daughter. Lastly, build a relationship before it is too late, and we can only treat each other as strangers who once knew each other.

Sincerely,

Your daughter