Mom, I know you’ve shared your belief that I harbor strong feelings of hatred towards you. (Yes, that’s the word you chose.) But let me clarify: I don’t hate you. I long for the mother I once cherished, the one who would give my dolls bubble baths and share laughter over classic TV shows. How could I possibly hate you? You are my mother.
While I don’t hate you, I’ve reached my limit.
I’m tired of hearing excuses for why you are unreliable. Excuses for your inability to drive safely. Excuses for your frequent injuries. Excuses that downplay your drinking and dependence on pills that transform you into a shadow of your former self.
I’m exhausted from the web of lies you weave—about your drinking habits, the medications you mix with alcohol, your promises to come home, the bills you neglect to pay, and the men you were involved with while married to Dad. I’m done with your fabrications about the supportive partner you have now, who is likely responsible for some of your injuries. I’m even more fed up with your attempts to tarnish my character because I choose not to expose my children to your toxic behavior.
I refuse to carry the burden of your struggles any longer. I spent too many years trying to figure out how to make you stop turning to alcohol. I recall the threats of self-harm you’d utter, projecting your despair onto me. Your choices are yours alone; I can’t bear that weight anymore.
I’m done accepting blame.
I didn’t create the poor decisions that brought us to this point. I didn’t choose the alcohol, the deceit, or the moments I dread remembering. I didn’t decide to endure the times you drove while intoxicated with me or others in the car. I didn’t choose the times you wished for an accident to escape your pain. Your actions are not my fault.
I also didn’t choose for you to avoid seeking help. If it were up to me, you would have sought treatment and found support long ago. You could have been a proud member of a recovery community, but instead, you deny how your habits harm yourself and others. My pleas for you to seek help have fallen on deaf ears.
So, I’m done.
I can’t force you to choose me, nor can I compel you to heal and become the mother I wish you could be. I can only make choices for myself, and I choose to distance myself. I choose to protect my children from your poor choices. I choose to shield them from your potential verbal abuse. I choose to keep them safe from the chaos you bring. I choose to refuse your demons.
Instead, I embrace the opportunity to be the best mother I can be to my children, even if it means being a “bad daughter” to you. They deserve a healthy upbringing, and so do I.
Unless you commit to an honest, long-term effort to improve your life, I will remain estranged. I can’t control your actions, but I can control mine. I choose not to let you bring turmoil into my life. I choose to raise my kids in a loving, stable environment, free from your influence. To achieve this, I must prioritize my children (and myself) over you.
So, do I hate you? Absolutely not. I feel sadness for you and miss what we could have shared. I hope one day you find the help you need. If that day comes, perhaps we can reconsider our choices. Until then, I refuse to feel guilty about our distance.