Letter Mom,

I believe that every little girl was born with the mindset of having big dreams; childlike faith. It’s life that influences those dreams. They either grow up knowing that they are unstoppable and achieve those big dreams or like in my case, life dulls their glimmer of hope, and there is no one in their corner to influence them otherwise. I wanted to go into law enforcement, live in a mansion with 25 bedrooms, and drive a Lexus. My little girl’s plans were clear back then. As my momma, I needed you to support those dreams, tell me I was unstoppable, and do everything in your power to protect my innocence.
Instead, as I felt myself drifting further and further away from the things I desired most and giving into the darkness of trauma that no person, let alone a child, should ever have to endure. Where were you?

Observing through my suffering eyes witnessing all the other kids in our neighborhood with mommas, mammas who enjoy engaging with their children. cooking dinners , braiding hair and telling them they loved them a lot. You? You don’t even look at me. I feel betrayed, this hand that I’m dealt is unfair

I kept thinking maybe if I could be a better daughter, you would want to be a better momma. That’s all I really want.

It’s strange not knowing what’s to come. No warning from you. Did I even have a say where I wanted to live? I didn’t even want to go live with daddy and this white lady. She isn’t even nice to me. And looks at me weird. At least living with you, I would have my own mom that looks like me. If I go there, I would have none at all. Either way, it’s lonely, though. This isn’t what childhood is supposed to feel like. Or is it? What did I do to deserve this? Why didn’t God make me enough to be loved by my own momma?

Thoughts running through my head constantly. I mean, I know you care. I’m your flesh and blood. How could you not? Is caring the same as loving?

“Mom, do you care? Do you care about me?” These are questions that I ask myself daily, even though I feel I know the answers. I’ve never seen you at a game, never had you visit me at school, eat lunch with me, come to parent teacher conferences or attend a graduation. Dad did. It’s as if I didn’t even exist in your world. The few times Dad did bring me to see you, I had to beg him, but I still felt rushed by you. Nothing ever felt real; it was like I was a problem to you.

So I guess caring is not the same as loving, and not caring enough equates to not loving at all. Or at least that is what my childlike mind keeps telling me.

It became clear early on in my childhood that I was not wanted by you. I was stuck somewhere between having a hardened heart from anger and being vulnerable and fragile from the hurt and yearning for a mother’s love. Being close to you was all I wanted sometimes. Getting you to notice me, see me…like really see me was all I could think about. Dreaming of a typical mother-daughter relationship.

I need you to love me, support me to protect me, feed the possibility of my dream, argue with me (in love), ground me, not understand me, and advise boys. I wanted to feel all the phases that a mom and daughter go through., dress me up in pretty little dresses with jewelry and tell me I’m your beautiful princess. Teach me how to put a pad on when it’s time. Tell me that you love me and you’ll always be here for me rooting me on to the finish line.

By the time I hit middle school the angrier I became. I just couldn’t understand. There was no fight in her to love me. I need you momma! fight for me. As a mother, I feel you had to have known this man’s tendencies. Sometimes I physically feel pieces of my heart grow cold. Just out right selfish as if I asked to be in this world.

Along with time came distance and then shutting down. Why didn’t you see it? How did you not notice? Or did you… and just not care? I feel others know. And scared to ask. Does my stepmother know?. Or maybe She’s too busy torturing me in her own way she hasn’t noticed. I should have been able to tell my daddy that his wife was treating me awful, but how do you tell the more immense evil that, the lesser evil was being evil? Do you see? I have NOONE to turn to. If a girl doesn’t have anyone, she should always have her mom. Not me, though.

My little girl’s mind used to scream on the inside loud and desperate every day, hoping someone would just look at me for a minute and notice. I’m sure my eyes told my tormented story even when my fake smile didn’t. Or maybe I hid it all under my smile.

Mom, even now, as an adult, I wish I could just sit with you, and even if You could never fully articulate my pain, you would interpret my tears…because that’s what moms do. The tears flowed freely back then…they still do.

~The invisible daughter that she doesn’t care to know