Dearest Mother of Mine
Dearest Mother of Mine…
“There is no fear in love; instead, perfect love drives out fear, because fear involves punishment.
So the one who fears has not reached perfection in love.”
~ 1 John 4:18
Lately, I’ve been wondering what it means to be one’s authentic self. How I can ever hope to be
authentic or myself when there is so much others want or need me to be, whether crafting my
being is for the sake of their sanity or their vanity…
To my own mother I even ask, why do you expect so much of me? Why am I in my entirety with
each of my opinions, beliefs, and desires not enough for you?
What motivates you to stifle the growth of your own labor? Is it that like the flower I gave you
on Mother’s Day, I chose to grow in the wrong direction?
Is it because I extended myself towards a warmth that nourishes me and makes me feel alive and
whole? Were you worried that like this bright white flower I would misjudge the direction of my
growth and fall over, broken and incapable of being seen as beautiful?
But I thought my beauty was both internal and eternal…
Mother of mine whom I love and admire dearly, why do you not love me as I love you? Why is
your love of me limited to my observation of obedience? And my growth… like the flower’s…
limited to the confines of your hypocritical and ungrounded judgment and authority?
I watched as that flower grew in the direction of the warmth and security. You made sure with
critical care that it could find this light, this genuine light, amongst the darkness and artificial
warmth kept within our walls. Yet, the minute it began to grow away from the position of your
care, you fastened it to a rod, a definitive line indicating the allowed direction of its growth.
But with time she outgrew the length of your rod, and her head continued to grow, and it grew
towards the warmth it knew and loved. And as it grew, so did your frustration and neglect. No
longer was it necessary to pour cool water into its pot, to tend to its roots, to nourish her very
soul. What was the point you said? It wouldn’t grow right anyway….
Why is it that as I sit here I feel forsaken, lost, and ashamed? I feel stained with your look of
disapproval, your unwavering judgment and disgust. You pushed and impatiently waited as I
decided whether I was ready, and when I finally was you got scared. You saw the looming
possibility of commitment, of permanency, and of mistakes and regret, and you projected your
fear unto me. You wanted me to hold this fear close to my heart, to let it guide my life,
livelihood, and love. This fear was supposed to protect me…
…ye t I on ly feel MORE b r ok en THAN be fore.
I feel silenced and confused, guilty and guilted. Since when does true love hurt the ones we love
the most? Would He really forsaken me because I want to fully enjoy that which I accept as a
blessing in one of its truest forms? Why have you taken His role in casting judgment upon me?
Why is it that in trying to learn how to love your own body, you deny me the chance to further
learn to love mine? How is it that you can deny to me that which you wanted for me for so long?
“Be gracious to me, Lord, because I am in distress; my eyes are work out from angry sorrow—my whole being as well.”