A Mother’s Day Letter to the Woman who Raised Herself
By Karina Lafayette
You still grew up with food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back. You’ve been constantly surrounded by people who care for you and admire you. Except deep down, you’ve often felt invisible, like some just didn’t see you for you.
You were always the one looking out for people, tending to their wounds, even before you could talk. And by talk I don’t mean putting words and sounds together, but before you learned to express your self. Yet behind closed doors tears stained your pillow. You wanted to come across as strong at an age when strong should’ve been for grown-ups.
Often, she was the one to confide in you, telling you things you weren’t mature enough to understand. Each time you fell or got hurt or felt uncomfortable you didn’t say anything, because you were afraid it would upset her. I’m here to tell you you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
Now that you know better you still do this from time to time. You worry that reaching out makes you seem like a burden, but you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re afraid needing people is a sin of weakness. You don’t have to feel that way anymore. You’re not a burden. Maybe emotionally orphaned, but you’re here for a reason.
Like Kali, you have the power to destroy and create, as you like it. You know when to build and when to break down. You live by seasons, not by reason. You give so much but deserve to be given, too, to be nurtured. You’re loved. You’ve earned the crown and have the battle scars to prove it. You’re a mother to yourself, and to anyone who hasn’t had a proper one.
So for today relax, put your feet up, and rest in your throne. The next battle can wait.