I’m mad because I feel like I have nothing of interest to offer you unless I am a mother. I’m mad because you just disappeared emotionally. I’m mad because you are in another orbit now – a beautiful orbit – but I’m not worthy of it. I’m mad because I feel like I have to have a baby for you to be interested in relating again. I’m mad because I know you have felt lonely among our friends and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m mad because you are absent – you aren’t fully there. I’m mad. I’m mad and it is selfish and wrong; I know. I’m mad and I shouldn’t be. It is silly. It is not worth it. You deserve better.
I don’t want to be like you. I always did, and now I don’t. I miss you so much, but I don’t see you anymore. Even when I see you, I don’t see you. I feel like I did something wrong. Not having kids when you did. Not wanting to talk about baby stuff all day. You are a fantastic mother – perfect, really. And I know I’m going to be messing it up something fierce when I get there. I am quite positive that I don’t know what you experience. I know you can’t understand it until you’ve been there. Until you have carried a baby nine months in your swollen belly, birthed a brand new person knit together in your own womb, of your own flesh and blood.
I just… I don’t want to be a mother like you. Perfect as you are. Attentive and patient and selfless as you are. I can’t do it. I’m so mad at you and it is so wrong of me. I just want to yell and cry because I miss you. You just left! You disappeared! You fell off the face of this earth and have never come back. We speak two different languages now, we are deaf to one anothers whispers. I can write this freely because you will never see it. I will regret it because the emotions are all wrong. I am all wrong. You don’t deserve this tirade. It is my own failings, my own insecurities, my own neediness that drives these words from my soul onto paper. There is no reason to be angry or even resentful. There is only reason to be kind, to show and receive grace, to be thankful for one another. There is only reason to believe that we are all doing the best we can and that is good enough.
I don’t want to be like you. I always did, and now I don’t. I miss you so much, but I don’t see you anymore. Even when I see you, I don’t see you. I feel like I did something wrong. Not having kids when you did. Not wanting to talk about baby stuff all day. You are a fantastic mother – perfect, really. And I know I’m going to be messing it up something fierce when I get there. I am quite positive that I don’t know what you experience. I know you can’t understand it until you’ve been there. Until you have carried a baby nine months in your swollen belly, birthed a brand new person knit together in your own womb, of your own flesh and blood.
I just… I don’t want to be a mother like you. Perfect as you are. Attentive and patient and selfless as you are. I can’t do it. I’m so mad at you and it is so wrong of me. I just want to yell and cry because I miss you. You just left! You disappeared! You fell off the face of this earth and have never come back. We speak two different languages now, we are deaf to one anothers whispers. I can write this freely because you will never see it. I will regret it because the emotions are all wrong. I am all wrong. You don’t deserve this tirade. It is my own failings, my own insecurities, my own neediness that drives these words from my soul onto paper. There is no reason to be angry or even resentful. There is only reason to be kind, to show and receive grace, to be thankful for one another. There is only reason to believe that we are all doing the best we can and that is good enough.
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