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I don’t like you.

Now that I know myself it’s hard looking back on all those years I spent trying to make you love me. And all the while you were programming me to feel shame for so many aspects of my true self. Who does that?

You always made me feel small, Mom.

Maybe that’s because you were so big. (This is not the beginning of a yo mama joke.)

I was buried underneath the societal standards you perpetuated. I always just wanted to be known, but it’s hard to let other people see you when you don’t see yourself.

I wish you could know me. I think you’d like me.

It’s too bad really, but I’m happier without you in my life these days. I don’t need your approval anymore. In fact I don’t even want it, because I don’t like you. Maybe it’s because I don’t know you, but at this point isn’t that kind of exactly what you bargained for?

By I was a baby once.

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

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