Your Shitty Mood Doesn't Excuse Your Nastiness Towards Me: A Letter To The Mom That Was Never Proud
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Your Shitty Mood Doesn't Excuse Your Nastiness Towards Me: A Letter To The Mom That Was Never Proud

I don't even know why I thought that you were EVER going to change.

Your Shitty Mood Doesn't Excuse Your Nastiness Towards Me: A Letter To The Mom That Was Never Proud

Not this again. Not the endless nagging, the endless nasty tone on the tip of your tongue, not your repeated words of "you're just a piece of shit," or "you're never going to make it in this life."

Yeah. Thanks mom. Thanks for bringing me into this world even though I never asked you to. Thanks for continuously being the one person that can actually make me cry and actually feel like the "garbage" I might be, thanks for being super bipolar whenever I needed any sort of support. Thanks for being the mom I never wanted.

Moms are supposed to share a special bond with their daughters. Moms are supposed to be there because they know what it feels like to be slut shamed by the world, to be looked down upon especially by men who grew up in a patriarchal norm, to be judged simply because I was a girl. But no, you weren't that mom. Unfortunately, I was stuck with the mom that slut shamed me every day at any moment, that pushed all the chores and responsibilities onto me because I wasn't "woman" enough, that judged me during the times where I "showed too much skin" or "put on makeup" when I was supposed to be studying or taking school seriously.

You were the mom that made sure to make me listen to all the hideous things you would call me. "Garbage, whore, bitch, stupid, idiot.." the list goes on and on.

And on top of it all, you would be completely the opposite another day. You would be sweet, you would be caring, you would tell me how proud you are of me: my accomplishments, the fact that I would drop everything to help you, my kindness, my selflessness. Then how come Mom? How come you would use my very insecurities to bully me?

You know I love writing, yet you tell me my writing couldn't possibly be good if I haven't read all the classics in the world.

You know I try to perfect my resume and my skills, yet you call me lazy all the time, just because you saw me resting for literally a few minutes.

You know it's super difficult to get perfect grades, yet you tell me that I'm worthless because I didn't get straight A's.

You know I don't see color, yet you say that there's something wrong with me, because I'm not in an "asian bubble."

You know I try my hardest to please you, yet you say over and over again that I am selfish.

I'm trying my best mom to make you happy, but I don't think you'll ever see that.

You act like you know everything, but the thing is, you don't even know your own daughter. And here's the thing: you never will.

I work my ass off every day by staying at an internship I love, and learning new things through completing new projects and meeting new coworkers, studying for grad school, and multitasking academia with my own social life. I finished writing a novel that I didn't think I would finish until next year, and I continuously set new goals for myself because I see myself as a never ending canvas.

And maybe that's your fault. Maybe it's your fault I see myself with holes, rather than the parts filled in. Maybe it's your fault I cry myself to sleep every night thinking I'm never enough. Maybe it's your fault my anxiety and self-esteem clogs my mind and my heart. But it will be my fault if I keep taking your words to heart.

Because I am not "garbage," and I can't prove myself to someone who doesn't want to get to know me. I can't mold myself into the person you want me to be if you change your mind every few seconds.

I can't.

Because I know who I am, and the person you think I am is FAR from who I am.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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