Unexpected

Mom,

I know in recent years we've tried more to hurt each other less. It's taken a long time to get here. And I cherish that strength as much as I despise the lack of it. I don't want to go backwards. I don't want to reopen the wounds, or refresh the pain. But in life, no roads are as straight and narrow as you'd like them to be, and sometimes you have to take a step back in order to move forward. And it is in that uncertain hope that I'm cracking open this can of bloody worms.

My childhood was hard. I've never said it wasn't. And I've talked to a few people over the years. A brother, a trusted friend, even the occasional therapist. Sometimes it soothed the burn, but overall I never found much peace. No one is perfect. We all know that. But really, I never expected you to be perfect.

I expected you to be fair. Too often as a child I felt short-changed. You held me responsible when my younger siblings misbehaved because I was older and must have set a bad example. You grounded me from participating in something special, thinking I would learn some valuable lesson, when all I learned was that you didn't care about me or my feelings. All you cared about was being right.

It wasn't until much later that I would begin to understand the truth. I wasn't treated the way I was because you didn't care, but because you cared too much. Every time I made a mistake or did something you weren't certain of, you pounced on the opportunity to teach me a lesson. I found it aggressive and unfair. I felt unheard, unseen, and unloved. And I know now that you were filled with the desperate desire for me to grow up on the right path, to be a good person, to learn important lessons early so I didn't have to waste my life making horrible mistakes. You simply had no idea HOW to teach me these things.

We fought for many years, never seeing eye to eye, even after I was grown. We both took things too personally, and cared more about the fact that our feelings had been hurt than what the other person was trying to say. I know I tried for years to communicate, to explain how I felt, to get you to see past your own hurt and anger long enough to just get a glimpse of how alone and broken I felt. It felt pointless for a very long time. Sometimes I prayed that I would stop caring, that I would stop needing you so that the pain would stop. Even after moving out there was enough friction between us that I wished for the strength to never come back. And I thank God every day that I never found it.

I'm thankful for the strength He did send me, even though at the time I believed He too, had abandoned me. Because of that strength, I never gave up. I kept trying. Kept fighting to be heard. Kept striving to connect. Kept coming back to the hurt in the desperate hope that it would one day be healed.

One day something did change. I don't remember the day or what happened. I don't know if it was you that changed or me. Probably both of us. Things have been getting better. And while we are still quite a ways from where I want us to be, we are miles away from where we started.

I've learned a lot as I've grown, age and experience helped me to better understand where our relationship went wrong, but nothing prepared me for the raw, all at once insight I gained from someone I'd never met... My daughter.

When she was born, in a lot of ways, I was born too. I came alive with thoughts and emotions and instincts that didn't truly exist before that moment. Suddenly I understood the fierce need to protect at any cost. I knew I would do anything to teach and guide her so that she wouldn't have to have a single moment of regret. I finally knew what it meant to truly, fully love someone. I was filled with it. It became me. It overcame me. It was outside of me. A fictional character on a favorite show of mine said it best, "I don't know how I'll survive the love I feel for my own daughter." And amid all these wonderful, terrifying things, I understood what my daughter meant to me, what she needed from me, and what I was willing to do for her. And completely unexpectedly, for the first time, I truly started to understand you.

As hard as my childhood was, these new lessons are harder. As it turns out, I'm not a perfect parent either. I've also lost my temper and instantly regretted what followed. I've seen my daughter cry and heard her tell me that she feels like she's "nothing". As much as it hurt as a kid to feel like you didn't care, nothing breaks your heart like hearing this from your child.

The Bible says that what was meant for evil, God can use it for good. I was never meant to hurt my daughter, just as you never meant to hurt me. But we are human, and sometimes hurt happens, even when we try our hardest. The good I take away from this, is truth. Every lesson I learn as a mother, helps me become a better daughter. Every day I better understand you and your role in my childhood. Every choice helps me see more clearly the intentions of your heart and how much you loved me, even when it translated poorly. And every day I'm thankful that you cared enough about who I would become to make mistakes trying to teach me. It takes more love to give a child the instruction they need, especially when it's emotionally easier to let things slide and keep the peace. I don't know about you, but I'd rather slam my hand in a car door than have my kid mad at me.

No one can walk in your shoes, that's the truth. And none of this is easy. But we've made it here. Even after everything that's happened in my life, I don't think I blame you for any of it. Not anymore. That's my secret. I understand now. And I forgive you.

So I'll keep being strong, keep being hopeful, keep learning, and growing. And since I now know that God has not abandoned me, I know that one day, that no-quit strength that runs in my family, will help my daughter forgive me too.