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I wish I could talk to you.

Wow, Mom, I tried to open the lines of communication because I miss you and I feel like you just shut me down. In fact you’ve been shutting me down all year, so I have to ask you to get off your high horse and have a little human decency and be fucking honest with me. Is it because of the work I do, or is it because I lied about the work I do? Is it something else? I want to talk about it!

If you don’t want to talk to me or hear from me, you need to have the balls to tell me yourself. Stop hiding from me! I’m not so scary!

You’ve been completely closed off to me even when I called to tell you guys the good news about my partner. I could tell you weren’t really all that interested in talking to me. You put on a tough exterior when you’re scared Mom, but I see right through it. You should know that by now.

You have no idea how hard it is for me to be open and vulnerable with you. You raised me to be very afraid of you, and I won’t fucking be afraid of you anymore. You are just a human, like me. You have no power over me anymore.

I wish I could talk to you about the things going on in my life. I’m not defined by what I do for a living – I suffer from severe social anxiety and it’s the ONLY thing I’ve been able to continue committing myself to. You saw me in other jobs, the ones I quit during a panic attack, the ones that made me so miserable I couldn’t stomach to face another day, the ones that drove me to need so many antidepressants. I don’t even need meds anymore, Mom, because I’ve taken MASSIVE strides toward MY life worth living. The work I do now is the ONLY way I could ever have gotten myself so far in creating the life I wanted for myself. I BOUGHT a fucking condo in my favourite city, Mom, and I haven’t even heard from you since I moved in.

I’m putting myself through college now, Mom. I can afford to study astrophysics at whatever pace suits me. I have to take it slow, because did I mention I suffer from diagnosed “very severe social anxiety.” It makes me sick that I care so much about what you think of me even now, and I wonder all the time whether you are even a tiny bit proud of what I managed to accomplish despite the obstacles.

You know what, it was you who told me when you found I’d discovered porn at the age of 11 (by the way, that is the average age that children discover sex on the internet and it doesn’t help when their parents are too embarrassed to talk to them properly about it): “WE WILL NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.” And then you TOLD MY BROTHERS! You don’t know that I heard that entire conversation. Did you expect that I would feel safe being open and honest with you after that? How could I when you made it clear there was no room for it.

I’m not trying to place blame here, Mom. I’m trying to provide a bit of context that I think was missing from my original expose. I had meant to talk with you about it after the initial “announcement” – I had hoped you would have the heart to talk to me about it, to ask your questions, to be upset but to be open about it. But instead you chose to close yourself off completely, and left no room for approach.

I couldn’t tell you because you raised me to be afraid of you, Mom. I know it must suck to see your kid straying so far away from your personal ideals and the way you meant for me to turn out, but I am a grown adult and I think for myself now. You might try it sometime. There are so many things wrong with the way you raised our entire family and it makes me sick to think that it’s continuing on into another generation through my brothers.

One of my goals is bring a child or two into this world and raise them to think freely without fear of judgement by their parents or their community, but especially by their parents. How dare anyone instill fear of eternal fucking damnation into an innocent child who hasn’t even learned to think?! It doesn’t matter what your belief system might be- that is child abuse. I am a survivor, Mom. I will pass on free thought and the ability to reason, not magic.

I’ve gone off topic. I am emotional. I digress.

You have given me nothing to work with this year. If you do not want a relationship with me, you are free to ignore this email. I will not try again. The ball is in your court, Mom. You can stand there dribbling like an idiot or you can grow a pair and play ball. I know it’s hard. Good things are never easy. You think this is easy? I want a relationship with my mother. I want a real relationship with my mother, which is why I’m being completely honest with you. If you aren’t ready I understand, and I welcome you to pass the ball back when you are. But please know that you have it. I won’t be waiting for it, but at least I won’t dribble like an idiot if you decide to play.

By I was a baby once.

I'm writing anonymous letters to work through some stuff.

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