An Open Letter To My Disabled Mother:

As I write this letter, I am overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. Despite that, I want you to know that I love you.

I know it’s been a long time since you have heard that from me.

It’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me at all.

Despite how it seems in the past couple of years that I have avoided communication with you, I hope you know that I saw the incredible strength and resilience you showed as a paraplegic single mother.

For all the challenges you faced, I know deep down that you did the best you could to provide for me. Your determination to prove that your disability does not define you has always amazed me, and it continues to inspire me every day.

It’s hard for me to find the words to express the pain I carried with me through my childhood and adolescence. The things you did and the words you said to me when you were drinking left deep scars on my heart. My issues with our relationship never had anything to do with your disability but with the struggle of enduring the emotional abuse that came with your substance abuse.

In the time when I needed your love, support, and guidance the most, I felt neglected and mistreated. The weight of responsibility that was placed upon me at such a young age was a lot to handle and often overwhelming, but I never had the courage to tell you that as a child.

I’m not writing this letter to blame you or make you feel bad. I just want to say the things I’ve never been able to tell you so that both of us can heal and understand the root causes of your behavior.

Mom, I have witnessed firsthand the daily struggles you faced as a paraplegic. From getting through inaccessible spaces to enduring physical pain, you never let your disability define you. Your determination to provide for me, despite the obstacles, has never gone unnoticed.

It was the dark side you had when you drank or had issues with your medication that impacted our relationship the most. I vividly remember the moments when I saw you consumed by substances, losing control of your emotions an actions in the snap of a finger.

It was during these times that the emotional and physical abuse took place. The pain I felt during those moments still lingers with me, shaping my perspective on love and trust.

The sharp hateful that you spoke to me and the actions that followed them have haunted me for years and shaped me in ways that I refused to accept until the destructive behavior I formed to cope took a toll on my life completely.

I remember the time you told me you had cancer and were going to die, and it was my fault because I had lied to you about doing a chore I didn’t do. I sat on the floor crying while you drunkenly yelled till you passed out. I know you don’t remember this though. You never remembered anything past 2 or 3 double shots.

The next day you tried to pretend that you had done those things in an effort to prepare me for if you ever died.

It was during those moments that I felt the most vulnerable and alone, desperately longing for the love and care I deserved. As time went on these moments and the feelings they caused, slowly made me believe I was never deserving of love from anyone.

Along with these moments, there also was a burden of parentification that I carried, forcing me to take on adult responsibilities at a young age as I became the caregiver instead of the child. While I know that some of the responsibilities I had because of your disability were out of your control, those aren’t the parts that hurt me.

“It’s easier for you to do it.” You would say to me anytime I asked you why you don’t get up and do it yourself.

I never asked you that question out of hate for having to help you, but because you and I both know you were more than capable of doing almost everything that you had me do for you. Just because it was easier for me to respond to your every request, it wasn’t fair you expected me to do so.

I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders during these moments.

I know your disability in some ways limited your ability to fulfill certain parental roles, and that never bothered me. It was the substance abuse that exacerbated this situation leaving me with a feeling of betrayal and confusion.

I lost my childhood, my innocence, and the chance to simply be your child.

It has taken me years to come to terms with the pain I experienced during my childhood. I feel guilty constantly about the way we fought and the lack of effort I put into trying to have a real relationship with you beyond the caregiver role. The journey of self-discovery I embarked on has been full of pain, remorse, and self-discovery.

I understand now that your battle with substance abuse was not a reflection of the love you had for me, but rather a manifestation of your own struggles, one that clouded your judgment and altered your behavior.

I want to tell you again that I know you did the best you could as a disabled single mother. I am grateful for the love and care you provided amidst the challenges you faced.

You defied the odds, proving that physcial limitations could never break you.

Despite the challenges I faced, I want you to know that I have grown and developed resilience. I have worked hard to overcome the difficulties of my childhood and have become a strong person because of it.

I hope for a future where we can heal together one day, where love and understanding can replace the pain and resentment. Above all there is an ubreakable bond of love that connects us.