Things I wish my mother could say.

A letter from the mother of my childhood to my 30-something year-old self

My mother and I at the hospital where I was born, getting ready to go home — April 1987

August 2020

Dear Katie,

I know you have some really big, terrifying, overwhelming things happening right now. I’m so sorry that I can’t be there. There are important things I need to tell you.

The most important thing you need to know is that what happened to you and what happens to you isn’t your fault. I’m sorry I taught you that you needed to be good and that if you were good, good things would happen. I was wrong. You are good because you exist. You are like a perfect, sweet, tiny, little babe who needs the love, acceptance, and closeness of their mama — no matter how old you are. You can never drive me away, and it is my job to keep you safe. Even when you feel far from me and are separated from my older self, know I’m out here, always loving you.

I want you to know I see the pain and the things that have happened to you and are happening to you. I’m so sorry for what happened to you in our family and the role my older self played in it. Again, this is very important: what happened and what happens is not your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that sometimes really painful, bad, unfair, oppressive things happen — things that have nothing whatsoever to do with you. Things like a global pandemic, nationwide unemployment, bureaucracy, exploitation, misogyny, poor job markets, sickness, and trauma.

I want you to know I see the things about you that you need me to see. I see your intelligence, your power, your sensitivity and thoughtfulness, your assertiveness, your friendliness, your helpfulness. I also see your little parts, the ones that are delicate and small, the ones that need consistent comfort, safety, and companionship, the ones that need to be consistently told they are good and safe because they have been told they are not good and were made very unsafe.

I also see the things that you’ve accomplished in your life. I see how hard you worked to travel to Russia, and I’m so happy that happened. You deserved that moment in Red Square to feel the power of what you’ve done. In that moment, I watched you with pride! I cried with you. You are so powerful, and I never want you to forget that. Your power is a gift for me and other people to witness.

You deserve comfort, safety, and care always. You deserve to be and feel like you are a true priority. Nothing is more important than our relationship with one another. Nothing. I feel deep regret over the ways my older self did not communicate this to you, and in fact, made you feel like a burden and that your concerns were less important than other things. Your safety and comfort are so very important. I am so glad and grateful for the ways your chosen family keep you safe and attend to you. They are doing the work I would do if I could be there.

My mother and I being cozy together —Winter 1988, almost 1 year old

I love you so much, Katie. You deserve all the softness, kindness, hugs, and cuddles you need and want. I am so happy you have photos and videos of us together when you were little — me holding you while you hold onto your cozy, soft blanket. Photos where I’m talking to you gently and smiling at your soft, happy face. If I could, I’d scoop you up in my lap right now and hold and comfort you just like that. I would talk to you in my softest, kindest voice. When you need to feel close to me, find that image in your mind and visualize us there.

Love,

Mama