Puzzling

Dear Mom,

Many times I sit and try to think of times when we were happy. Times that we smiled and laughed with each other. Sometimes, sadly, nothing comes to me of positive origin, clouded by the forces of negativity. Every now and then, though, a ray of light will shine through reminding me that we weren't always enemies.

When I was young, you used to love doing jigsaw puzzles. And you never got them small. You dealt with mostly 3500 piece puzzles, which seemed so large to me back then.

You would sit in the kitchen alone, staring at fragments, placing them here or there. The box's top would sit upright so that you could view the picture you were trying to recreate with all the broken up portions. You would start first with the edges and fill in the middle begininng with the most vivid sections.

Mostly, you sat by yourself, contemplating the hundreds of pieces that lay on the kitchen table waiting to be placed in the picture. Other times you actually didn't mind my sister and I getting in on the action, allowing us to put together the rest of a drawbridge or the flowers in a small garden.

We all would laugh and talk about whatever. You would praise us if we got a piece right and let us know if we put the wrong piece in the wrong place. When we weren't helping you, you just sat and stared, for hours at a time it seemed like. Do you remember?

A few weeks ago I decided I wanted something to let my mind wander. I remembered this time in my life and decided to get a puzzle. Now, I sit and stare. It's actually quite relaxing to tell you the truth. The first puzzle kind of let me down because the company forgot to send the upper left corner. It was unfinished, even when I finished it.

I had to get another one to put the first to shame. So, I just finished Fern Grotto Wedding.

Isn't it pretty.

Now, anytime I feel down about something that has to do with you, I sit in front of a puzzle and stare, slowly putting the pieces together. I figure doing these puzzles will help me begin to get rid of some of my negative emotions. It's a really helpful tool so far.

By the way, I've added a page where you can keep up with the puzzles I finish. Have a look.

Until then,

Your daughter


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The Beginning of the End

Dear mom,

My last letter got a little deep and harsh. I did not mean for it to come off so rude or antagonistic. It would also seem that I jumped the gun.Maybe if I explained where things went wrong on my end, you can begin to understand my feelings. And just maybe, you will one day share where things started going south with me.

But first I must explain my self-esteem issues. They began with my eye injury. Growing up I disliked being made to go outside with my eye patch. Even if it was only for an hour or so, it caused so much name calling. It was really hard to deal with and since my eye has been messed up since I was 1, there you have it. The older I got the more I was teased. Between 7 and 11 was the hardest, you would never just let me stay in with that thing on; almost making me believe you did it purposely. You knew the kids were cruel.

There were tons of things kids would make fun of me about; my awkward shape, my untamed hair, the cheap clothes, and of course the eye (glasses and eye patches). This was the start of believing I was ugly and therefore unworthy. At first you would occasionally tell me not to worry about it. And I tried, honestly. It was embarrassing as a child, yet as an adult I know all of these things were not to punish me. You did the best you could with me growing up.

Now that you have a better understanding of how I felt about myself at the time, I can explain where the first hit to our relationship happened for me.

Do you remember the day one of the older neighbor boys touched me inappropriately?

Playing outside the house one day with friends an older boy took it upon himself to take my innocence, so to speak. We were all playing one of our made up games. There was the secret teller (the older boy) and the people would individually go to his realm (behind one of the many bushes out front) and bring back a secret for the rest of the group to guess (me and the other girls on the block). You know the typical stuff we made up to pass the time.

When it was my turn to go “get the secret” behind the bush, the older boy told me if I did not let him “touch me” he would make up a bunch of stuff and tell people he did it anyway. If I went in the house, he would still tell everybody. If I stayed outside and let him do it, it would be our little secret. I was about 11 and he was like 14. I did not know what to do, so I did nothing. I said nothing.

He turned me around, pulled his penis out and began to grind on my butt while rubbing my small but developing breast. I just stood there. Stuck, paralyzed by not wanting everyone to know. When I went back to the group I did not have a secret. I made something up. The game went on a little while. About 3 or 4 turns to the “secret teller’s realm” and being fondled. I was afraid to say anything to my friends or go in the house.

One of the girls finally realized that when it was my turn I took a very long time. She caught the older boy in the act. He ran off and I was so happy someone stopped what was going on. I wish I had not been so weak and stopped what was happening on my own. I could have stopped playing, but I was so scared he would make my life with the other kids worse.

Nevertheless, the girl suggested that I tell you and dad. I did NOT want to. This would not be good news. So instead she told my older sister, who then told you and dad. I just stood there watching your infamous eyebrow raise when you heard I was touched by the boy. While you stared me down as we stood in your bedroom, the girls had run down to the boy’s house and told his mother. They came back with a message that this grown woman wanted to talk to me. You didn't come.

My sister and I went down to that woman’s house. We sat there as she told me she could not believe what I was telling her because it was her son. She knew I was a nice girl but she was not going to go against her boy. I said I understood, but at the time I really never got it. My sister walked off and left me. I came back in the house because you put me on punishment for stirring up stuff. My friends found it hard to understand what I did wrong, but I felt like the whole thing was my fault.

Was that not a situation you should have been right there next to me on? You should have been in that woman’s house with me in my defense. You should have told her I did not need to make anything like this up. There was even a witness. You, as an adult and my mother, should have been there for me. You never talked to me about it. This is actually the first time I’m telling you the story in detail, I was too nervous to say everything without feeling sick back then.

This is when it started. The day I began to despise you. It was also the day I realized a bad way to be accepted. It feels good to actually get this out in the open. I hope you are learning more about me and what I think of our retched relationship. There is so much more I need to tell you. I hope you will start to share with me one day.

Until then,

Your daughter

Marriages Go Through Rough Patches

Dear mom,

One thing I've always respected was your marriage with dad. That has changed now that I'm older but I know I was one of the "lucky ones". Blessed to have both my parents, married for 33 years. Two-parent homes are supposed to be awesome, right?

When you "suggested" that I get married I felt it was the best way to make you happy and be a real family - father, mother, child - like you and dad. Of course I already had a child, was 18, and would have rather gone to Berklee College of Music. I wanted to do right by you because I felt I messed up. Besides you told me that going off to school would leave my daughter without her mother. Yet once I got married you thought it best that I live with my husband and my daughter stay with you. (That's another subject for another letter)

The day I walked down the aisle I didn't think it was what I should be doing, but I had to go with the plan. The wedding that I had nothing to do with except picking the colors and the song. The wedding that I was over an hour late for. The "special" day when the ring got stuck on my ex- husband's finger and we had to go to the emergency room.

My marriage was a disaster from the start.

You kept telling me marriages go through things and what went on in my marriage was between him and me. My pathetic need to gain your approval agreed with you without putting up much of a fight. All it led to was being in a mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive relationship for 8 years. The first 2 to 3 years weren't totally bad, but after that it was an utter nightmare. I would come to you with the busted lips and bloody noses.

Your first question would be, "What did you do to him?" Do you remember? Can you see where my tooth tore through my lip. I still have the scar to prove it. When you close your eyes can you see how I cried to you all those times? I needed your help and I needed more than you telling me that 'things would get better but I had to stick in there'.

It took me a very destructive marriage to put into perspective what you could be hiding in your marriage. You always did tell me, "Keep your business to yourself". Did your marriage have rough patches? Have you gone through "things". 33 years is a long time. It took me less time to get out of my cell of a marriage, ironically that was something that seemed to piss you off.

Wouldn't you, as a mother, want me to have a healthy relationship without violence? Wouldn't you want to take me out of that situation? I don't know about you, but I wish a man would lay a hand on any of my daughters. The fact that you still have a relationship with that monster irks me tremendously.

My ex-husband and I are not you and dad, and I honestly do not wish to be like you two. And I also do not wish to be with my ex-husband. Nor do I agree with or accept your on-going relationship with a man who is, even to this day, mentally messing with me.

Your actions are so childish and I honestly don't get it. There is no logic for why you do the things you do to me. Sometimes I wonder if you told me about the rough patches because you wanted me to be punished. That seems very probable.

You will never confirm nor deny the things you were responsible for and had a hand in. It's okay though. Being in such a harmful situation let me know what I would want once I got out of it. I have a more definitive perspective on what I need in a husband. I already know what NOT to do.

Would be glad to give you a list.

Until then,

Your daughter

Tired

Dear mom,

These years have been rough. Only Allah knows what you've been through, he also knows what I've been through. None of us can hide from Him. However, you always come off as if you will not be held accountable. Or is it that you feel that certain things cancel out other things?

Our tornado-style relationship has gotten to a point that I decided I was done. Finished. Kaput. I no longer want anything else to do with the rage broiling inside of us. It became physically impossible for me to give a damn.

Mom, I'm tired.

Many times I've told you I wasn't arguing. So many times I asked you what your issue was with me. Countless moments wondering what was on your mind. Guaranteed moments of misunderstanding and frustration. I'm over it.

This is healing I can only do with you and since you can't quite cooperate longer than 5 minutes I started without you. You never allow me to tell you what I've been feeling and I need to get it out calmly.

I'm so tired of not getting along. Tired of your constant need to control my life. Tired of your opinions that have no leverage in my way of thinking. So damn tired of the high pedestal that you want me to reach, even though I've fallen short numerous times. And definitely tired of that disgusted look you give me when you think I'm not looking.

Aren't you ready to cleanse and build in the time we have left in this world? Neither of us know when our time is coming. I'm already tired, so when I close my eyes for the last time I want to go knowing that I gave every possible intention to honor my mother.

Until then,

Your daughter

Super Ugly

Dear mom,

Growing up, anytime I would do something wrong you said it was "Acting ugly". Almost all the time I heard that I was being ugly or ugly acting. If I said anything "disrespectful", I was being "ugly". The word was also used by so many hateful people in my life about the way I looked - my awkward shape and unmanageable hair. So my actions and my looks became synonymous with each other. I felt and believed I was ugly.

When you are told something enough, it is programmed inside your mind. It reveals itself even when it is unnecessary to come out. Being "ugly" made me hate myself and in turn do things to myself that caused more damage. I was living up to a lie - that I was in fact ugly and unworthy of "pretty" things.

You watched my recklessness, all the while subtly coaching me to hate myself. My problem was, and still is, that I always was who I was. Even when I was trying to be someone else I managed to still show my real feelings and qualities. I used to hate, hate, hate myself and every time I tried to give myself a chance, something else happened to make me hate myself even more.

How does it make you feel knowing that my self hatred started with you? I never thought I was worthy of your love. I always thought I was too ugly. Too flawed. Too broken. Too much of a problem to handle. At least that is how it was portrayed to me.

You'll tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. You'll even tell me I'm kidding myself and imagined the whole thing. Tell me something. Who on earth wants to imagine and create a life with as much chaos and turmoil as mine? Who in their right mind would pretend to go through so many negative and hurtful things? Truth be told, if I could go back there would be so many things I would have avoided. However, you can't change the past and I'm thankful for that.

It took me almost my whole life up until this point to think and believe, with a slither of doubt, that I was actual quite beautiful - in my actions and my appearance. Not because people have told me so but because that's how I feel about me. It took a while to get there, but I did. No help from you of course, but you know what, it's quite all right.

Ugly Duckling syndrome is a hard case to deal with especially if it's deeply rooted in one's subconscious. And while I know now that I am indeed a swan, my beauty was inside me the whole time just awaiting my recognition and no one else's opinion would matter.

Can you imagine the type of growth I've made?

Until then,

Your daughter

Control

Dear mom,

When I started writing these letters I thought I was ready to tell the story. I thought I was prepared to finally let everything go. I thought I was at the point where I could move on with my life, with or without your blessing, I thought I had finally taken control.

I was so wrong.

Time lapsed between letters and there are only five to account for. A truly measly number for the amount of turmoil that has gone on. What's worse is I honestly wanted to just get it all off my chest. It's hard, however, to do that when you have a mother like you.

You have had such a mental control over me. Even though we are never really around each other anymore, your views live on. Your voice lives on - inside my head. "Don't you air your dirty laundry. Don't you tell anyone how you really feel," is what I hear. Sometimes it whispers and sometimes it screams.

I've pretended for years that you didn't have control over me. I fought it and quite frankly, I lost. Even if I won the battle, I lost the war. All you ever needed me to do was flinch and you knew you had me right where you wanted me.

I always flinched, afraid of my next move. That was always the only distraction you needed to hatch some plot or plan to further ruin my life. And I let you, always becoming the scared little girl that you have been able to take advantage of.

Me and you always fought over the keys to my life and all it's done is make us strangers to one another. It has brewed so many negative emotions and actions. It's so sad what our relationship is, was and will be.

I love you because you are my mother. You conceived me and raised me. And if it weren't for your noticeable disdain for me, I wouldn't be half the woman I am today. You have always wanted me to fit your mold but I've never quite been who you wished I was.

Here's the thing: I will always be me, whether you approve or not. And I'm not half bad contrary to the disappointment I am to you. You may think my mistakes in life make me dirty and that's fine. I believe my flaws and mistakes make me better because of it all.

For a long time I blamed myself for everything even your unhappiness with me. I allowed myself to be engulfed with what you would think of me. Even up until this letter, you still had the control where I cared what you thought.

Even though I thought I was ready before, I know now that I wasn't. There were certain things that scared me to share. And however I feel, I don't ever want to be disrespectful or dishonorable. I just want to be honest - for my sake and the sake of so many other women and girls out there.

For that reason I am finally taking control from you. You DO NOT decide anything that goes on in my life. Your job is done. I am grown and proud of who I have become and am becoming. I would love for you to be proud, but I know that is highly unlikely. It's hard to support someone when you are the subject in which they need to get rid of in order to grow.

Can you feel your power weakening?

Until then,

Your daughter

Decision Making

Dear Mom,

Sometimes when I'm alone I can hear your voice. It mocks me. It stalks me until I get so frustrated anyone watching would think I was arguing with myself. If that isn't enough, there is an organ at work. Twice a day I'm reminded of you as the sound eases through the pipes and settles above my head. In these moments I question myself.

You always had a way of making me rethink who I am and what my purpose is. Regardless of what I want I have this uncanny need to seek your approval. Even though certain suggestions you've made in the past have totally backfired.

These instances I cannot totally blame on you because it's not like you put a gun to my head. At the time I was more concerned about you being happy rather than what was best for me. It's just when things went awry you left me on my own to figure it out.

Much of my trauma was created by my need for your attention and/or your approval. All of the choices I absolutely made. However, you planted the seeds without cultivating the soil.

You expected the best of all of us. My movements were more controlled than my sisters' though. Was it because I was broken from birth? The "problem" of your three children. There was always something wrong with me; physically, mentally and emotionally. So you figure if you just suggest what I should or shouldn't do, you can control the outcome.

You were only trying to protect me. I wasn't strong enough to make my own decisions but I was smart enough to figure things out on my own. Oh wait, that was only after I "betrayed" you. Before that you made the choices, covering up if things didn't go right.

All this makes it very difficult for me to make decisions. I spend most of my time debating what would work, pros and cons. And even after I think I've figured it out, I go back to the drawing board to make absolute the choice. It's so damn frustrating.

Your voice sits in the back of my mind saying, "I don't think that's a good idea," like you used to about the majority of my aspirations. Not being able to have definitive answers for the things going on in my life brings me to a high level of annoyance. Knowing that you're sitting somewhere with your quizzical look - down playing anything I try to do from afar.

I truly don't think you know how much control you have on me even though you're not around me. Or maybe you know just exactly what you've done to mess with my brain. Sometimes I think it's all a game, and other times I think I was just an experiment that went wrong and for that was tossed to the wayside.

Not being able to trust your own judgment is the scariest thing for any adult, especially if you're alone in the world. This is my existence. One of the many things I fight with day to day. It would be nice to talk to you face to face about it but I know that will never happen. So I am subjected to writing to you hoping that one day you will find your way to me with some sort of explanation to soothe my confusion.

Until then,

Your daughter

Just Like You

Dear mom,

There's a friend I saw recently.  Me and her became close as adults and when she found out that you, her favorite music teacher, was my mother it rather solidified our friendship. She said to me that I look exactly like you.

Always have resembled you, haven't I? Folks used to tell me so all the time growing up. I hated it. It's an honor for a daughter to look so similar to the woman who gave birth to her. Especially when it comes to you.

All of your students loved you. As a child, we couldn't go anywhere without someone recognizing you. Whether it was in our own hometown, on vacation, on tour there was always someone who knew you as a great teacher. People spoke so highly of you. They still do to be honest.

See, however, I know who you are outside of your educational and musical status. Looking like you was the worst thing considering we had the biggest issue with one another.

When I look in the mirror I see me but I also see you. I'll deny it to anyone else but I cannot deny it to myself. And there is something else I cannot deny.

I am just like you.

Not only do I have your beautiful eyes and killer smile, I am strong, just like you. I am an intellectual force, just like you. My fingers have played and my voice has sung some of the sweetest melodies, just like you. I can hypnotize a room with my wit and charm, just like you.

And just like you, I can make people love or hate me with just words said in the most eloquent of ways. But just like you, I would much rather them love me. I have a need to control situations to my comfortability and what do ya know. You do too.

I feel I have so many secrets people can use against me and I have come to the realization that you feel you do too. I fight with myself to allow anyone to know the real me. It scares me and I know it scares you too.

The difference between us is I try to heal and deal with things while you mark it off in your brain as not even happening. You know, conveniently forgetting about things we know were wrong is a trait we share. Pushing away people who genuinely care about us is something we are good at too.

When I look in the mirror it pains me to know and see how much we are alike. I am proud of who you are professionally but I despise being your daughter. I feel if I was one of your non relative students I could appreciate your accomplishments so much more than I already do.

To not know the other side of you would be quite pleasant seeing that you are an influential person. As I make my plans and push at being a writer I hope I become as influential as you, if not more so. However, I pray none of my children feel the way I feel about you.

To love and hate someone is the hardest feeling, especially when it's family. I guess I am just like you in that right too. We love and hate each other. I just wish I knew why. I really would like to get to the bottom of it. One day, maybe, we will sit down and talk about it.

Until then,

Your daughter

The Beginning

Dear mom,

Honestly, I have been back and forth about us. What our relationship really is. How we truthfully see each other. Where our loyalties lie. When things just went wrong. Who is the one to blame.

To be a total adult about it, I think we are both to blame. It hangs on both our shoulders, however this was noticed by me long ago. I saw the amount of unnecessary hatred that spew between us, forcing those around us to take cover. It was venomous and very unhealthy.

The events of the last few months have compelled me. If I cannot talk to you without blatant disrespect flowing from my lungs, I can only write to you. This way I can tame my tongue and let my words reach out to you. I can tweak and edit if I become reprehensible.

Knowing you, this will only fuel the way you feel about me. Knowing you, the thought of saying what I really think out loud, so I can be held accountable for what you will not forgive me for, will only anger you.

Honor thy mother and father. I want to be your daughter. I want to take care of you as you age. I want to show you the great person I become by what you've taught me. However, the hatred that emits from you makes it hard for me to do what is supposed to be done.

In truly showing respect, I have chosen to stop trying to communicate verbally with you. All it does it cause frustration and arguments. Nothing gets accomplished this way. So maybe if I just tell you how I feel and allow you to read instead of hear, you will take my feelings more seriously. At least this is my hope.

My real hope is by writing out what I think or feel will allow other young women to maybe regain a connection with their mothers. Maybe something I say will mimic their emotions and will cause the lines of communication to be opened for others who battle like we do. Maybe a mother/daughter relationship can be saved if ours cannot.

I can only pray that one day you'll read and comprehend but if not someone will gain from our tragedy.

Love,
Your daughter