I want to take a moment to express my apologies for being particularly hard on you. I often catch a fleeting glance of you at your desk, immersed in whatever project has captured your attention. I don’t lean over to inquire about what you’re working on or whether you need assistance. I don’t fret about whether you feel excluded while your siblings engage in their own playtime.
Instead, my focus shifts to your brother and sister as they share laughter and secrets, their joy echoing through the house. My heart feels heavy, and a wave of anxiety washes over me regarding their well-being. I find myself consumed with worries about your older sister, fearing she’s drifting away into the world of friends and adolescence. I envy the bond she shares with your father, questioning why I don’t share that connection. I worry that she’s burdened by unexpressed emotions, trying to manage her own life while caring for everyone else.
Your younger brother is no less a concern. His sensitivity runs deep, and I see him react intensely to life’s challenges. I worry that my patience may not be enough for him and that I lack the tools to teach him effective coping strategies. The reality of our family’s past, with its challenges and changes, weighs heavily on my heart. I wish I could turn back time and provide him with the nurturing he deserves.
In contrast, you, my sweet middle child, are a breath of fresh air. You communicate your needs and feelings openly, which gives me a sense of reassurance. I don’t have to decode your emotions or guess what you’re thinking. Your humor and straightforwardness make it easy to connect with you, and I never question my interactions with you—until now.
I’ve come to realize that in my comfort with your straightforward nature, I may have inadvertently overlooked your needs. Just yesterday, when you asked me to fetch your soccer shin guards, I responded curtly, “You can get them yourself.” That moment struck me hard. I would never speak to your siblings in that way because I worry about them. It’s time I start to worry about you too.
I’ve taken your easy-going nature for granted, using it against you without even recognizing it. How many times have I snapped at you, hoping your siblings would learn from the lesson I directed at you? I mistook your resilience for invincibility, and that realization has shaken me to my core.
I’ve been so focused on ensuring your siblings feel loved and supported that I may have inadvertently neglected you. I’m beginning to worry that I haven’t done enough to make you feel valued and cherished. I’m sorry for not noticing sooner how my parenting may have affected you.
My own mother used to say that you’re only as happy as your saddest child, and I now understand that truth. I want each of you to feel unconditionally loved every single day. There’s nothing you could do that would change my love for you. I hope you always feel safe sharing your thoughts and feelings with me, and I want you to celebrate each other’s successes without jealousy or competition.
I’m committed to improving as your mom. I know I’m not perfect and that I often fall short, but I promise to do my best. Each day, I strive to learn from my mistakes and be the best version of myself for you.
So, dear Emma, as you lay your head down tonight, know that you are loved beyond measure. Your unique talents and the bond we share are invaluable to me, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. My love for you is infinite, unconditional, and truly special.
Warmly,
Mom