My Father's Eyes, My Mother's Rage

I grew up in a family where my parent's emotions, or lack of, were more important than my own.

when your mother is your first heartbreak, no love will ever fill the void of feeling so unloved by her.

my mother didn't want to hurt me, but she was broken. her brokenness cut into me and made me bleed. she didn't know how to love, or at least how to love me. it didn't even matter that she hurt me; I just wanted her to be sorry. she said that she loved me, but it often felt like hate. when I finally had enough and tried to be free, she looked at me with desperation and cried, "you are abandoning me!" so, I stayed and I suffered, and I did my best to love her. as a woman, I have so much empathy for my mother, but as a daughter, I have so much anger.

you said you wanted all of me, so here I am. darkness, melancholy, rage. why are you walking away?

I am a mother to my mother, and I never wanted to be. it just fell into place when she fell to her knees. I was a child, afraid inside, telling her that everything would be alright. raising myself while raising my mother, but all I ever wanted, was to be her daughter.

you make me feel like I belong, like I don’t need to be ‘someone.’ I can just be me and that is enough. I never felt a love that didn’t demand to receive. you give and you give and don’t ask for anything. in my happiness and my grief, you allow me to just be. you tell me everything I do right after I confess all I’ve done wrong. without expectations and nothing in return, you make me feel like I belong.

he only loves me when I’m happy, when I make him feel like a man, smiling cheek to cheek, giving all that I am. but when I break into pieces, smaller than sand, he lets me slip through his fingers, and I’m alone again.

I prefer silence to the sadness of being misunderstood. it doesn’t matter how I explain my heart, he doesn’t love me the way he should. days go by without words, and he doesn’t ask what’s wrong like I thought he would. but I still prefer silence to the sadness of being misunderstood.

when they say, "but you survived!" I smile and nod. I look around and look within, for any sign of life or remnants of who I had been. she’s gone (the girl I used to be). my heart was destroyed, I survived only physically. I can’t remember a day I haven't cried; is this what it means to be alive? they watch me barely holding onto life, and then they say, "but you survived!

I try to speak my truth, but I cry. when I would express my opinion, my mother saw it as a chance to fight. my father never sat with me in sadness; he would get up and say goodbye. so, when I feel emotion, it's hard to express what’s inside. now that I am older, I understand the reasons why, but I still cannot speak my truth without having to cry.

damn right I'm angry, I'll never get my childhood back.

you are the only one who knows my silence means I have so much to say. you listen to me when I don't say a word.

this time last year, you were still alive. [...] how can everything be just as it was and completely different at the same time? how can everyone just go on with life? I miss the sound of your voice and listening to you complain. I miss everything about you, I used to hate.

if I’m being honest, I hope that sometime before his death, my father will realize I am all he has left. he will be heavy with regret, and I will pretend to forget all the things he did and didn't. time will have softened his heart, and made his body weak, he will need me to care for him, as I once needed him to care for me. I still have hope that he might change, and I will wait for his love, even if it comes late.

without light we can't see the shadows, without love we can't feel the pain.

if I had only one wish, it would be that I am worthy enough for my children. that despite all my mistakes, they will always feel loved and safe. they will look back on me fondly, my memory will be a source of love and peace. if I had only one wish, it would be that my children never have to heal from me.

I cannot remember a time when I didn’t love you. even before we met, I loved you. you were always in my heart as a thought, a hope, a dream. my love for you has always been.

they say home is a place, but a home without your love is just walls and a bed. when I lay with you, head on your chest, I seek refuge from the storm. there in your arms, I find pieces of myself, and you return them with peace. they say home is a place, but you are home to me.

maybe he will come over and tell me to come to bed. (he won't) maybe he will hold my hand and ask me to forget. (he won't) maybe he will apologize for all the cruel things he said. (he won't) maybe he will treat me like he did when we first met. (he won't)

just admit what you’ve done wrong, tell me you understand that you’ve hurt me. all I’ve ever wanted was your accountability. I know you can’t change the past. but the least you can do, without any excuse is ask for my forgiveness. why is it so hard to give me an apology? all you do is deny, I need your honesty. don’t say it didn’t happen, or that we don’t remember it the same. I am not a child anymore, I won’t fall for your gaslighting.

it's hard when anger turns into empathy. when you realize your mother and father were once innocent, just like you. they did not ask to be born, just like you. just as their parents before them, and their parents before them, they were born without permission. so, should I be angry at god? who do I blame? this anger is from my ancestors; it lives in my veins. my parents were born innocent; something or someone made them change. it was easier to be angry, then it is to be filled with empathy. I see myself in both of them; my parents are my destiny.

he looked at her in black and white, she wanted to be seen in colour.

when I became a mother, I could no longer turn away from the pain. how could my parents do that to me? how could my mother have thought it was okay? how could my father so easily turn away? I would do anything to protect my child from emotional and physical pain. why didn’t my parents feel the same?

my mother didn’t want to hurt me, but she was broken. her brokenness cut into me and made me bleed. she didn’t know how to love, or at least how to love me. it didn’t even matter that she hurt me; I just wanted her to be sorry.

I want compassion from my mother, but she can’t be compassionate with me. still, I love her, I love her, I love her. after all, she is my mother.

when your mother is your first love, you can search to the ends of the earth and never find any love comparable. when your mother is your first heartbreak, no love will ever fill the void of feeling so unloved by her

then when I cried about things I couldn’t achieve, she told me it was my fault and called me lazy.

I want the kind of love that loves me when I'm too much. the kind of love that lets me be, and knows I am enough. the kind of love that accepts me, even as I change. the kind of love that I can ride, despite all the waves. the kind of love that can see me smile and know I'm not okay. the kind of love that holds me down but always lets me grow. the kind of love that sees my rage and loves me even more.

if I was not wanted by the ones who should love me the most, why am I here?