In Your Own Words

30. A LETTER TO HER MOTHER

Dear Jenna,

I have no idea if this letter will find you. It's been four years since we last spoke, so it's possible, however unlikely, that you've moved. Part of me that hopes you're not still at this address and that you won't receive this. Maybe you're living somewhere nicer. This isn't the first time I've thought about what your life must look like now, and I think it'd be good if you found a way out of that house and that town, too.

Regardless, I decided I wanted to write to you for a few reasons:

1. In case you were wondering if I'm still alive. I am.

2. So few people send mail to one another, and I thought it would be a treat to celebrate the joy of the written word with the woman who gave birth to me.

3. Quite a few people, mostly medical professionals, have suggested that I reach out to you. They don't actually know you, of course, so I take their advice with a grain of salt.

4. I had a few extra stamps.

5. Because I deserve the chance to tell you my truth.

I did it without your help.

After years of begging you to notice me and wondering what it meant to be loved, I did it. I found a place in the fucked up world you gave me.

Do you have any idea how badly you treated me? There have been a few moments that made me stop and wonder if you were ignorant to how messed up we were, or if you knew and just didn't care.

Why did you keep me? We both know you didn't want to be a mother. You made that much clear. Were you lost? Maybe you wanted someone to love you, to need you. I guess I ended up being more than you bargained for, huh?

There are so many questions I have for you, questions I've accepted will go unanswered. But you were such a strange character in my story; strong and feeble. Angry and broken. Beautiful and spiteful.

So much of me is based on you, and our life together. My independence is a result of your absence. My sense of humour is a product of your hateful comments. My disillusion surrounding romance can be attributed to watching so many men treat you like shit; I didn't know what romantic relationships were meant to resemble. I was as lost as you were when it came to what love, romantic love, should resemble. I'm still a little bit lost, I think. But I'm getting better.

I have friends. Really good ones. Maybe not as many as I'd once hoped I would have, but they're people that show up when I need them, and they accept me for what I am. And I have a home. My name isn't on the lease, but it's a place I feel warm, welcomed and happy.

There's even a guy.

An incredible, funny, gorgeous, and inherently sweet man who actually loves me. He sees me for everything mean and broken and ugly that I can be, but he still wants me. And I think I might even be able to love him back. Maybe I already do, and I'm just learning how to show him.

I'm trying, harder than I've ever tried before, to fight for myself; not to leave or to succeed... but to be well. I have decided that I'm going to do so much more than survive; I'm finally in a place where I can ask myself what I want, and what I want is to be whole.

I'm doing therapy, which is something you'd probably scoff at, but for the first time I'm giving myself to it. Because I want it to work, desperately.

I'm tired of things happening to me. I'm ready to make things happen for me. I realize it isn't as simple as that. I know that there will be some days that will make me want to give up and there will be many days where I falter. But I'm capable of fighting for myself, and I think that I'll win more days than I'll lose.

Perhaps you'll think me idealistic or too young to know any better, and you might have a point. But I am no longer your responsibility, and you don't get to determine what I am capable of doing.

I want you to know that I was right to go. My life is turning into something that makes me proud. Even if you never forgive me for leaving, or for existing in the first place, I'm choosing to move on. I think that's what I wish for you, too.

Wherever you are, Jenna, I hope that you're managing. I'm not ready to tell you where I am yet, but maybe someday I'll write you a letter with a return address on the envelope.

Sincerely,

Cassie Belford