Dear Mom,

Reading Time: 3 minutes

I will not apologize for the words I wrote before, and the words I write today.

There’s nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of here.

I never developed a “normal” relationship with my mother, because schizophrenia doesn’t deal such fair cards.

Now, I am 28-years-old, and our relationship is more like what is found between acquaintances. The figurative rocks we threw and threatening words we spewed at one another are a thing of the past.

But, boy what a past it was.

There were so many questions she left unanswered. So much guilt I had to internalize. Chronic days of pain I had to endure…

I am not responsible for the aftermath of my upbringing. I never asked to be born into this world. It was her responsibility to make sure I grew up to be the “good desi girl” society expects…

But instead, we fought battles. We shouted until our lungs collapsed. Played mind games until my head hurt.

I couldn’t keep up when I was drowning in a lake of my own tears…

To this day, she doesn’t know what I do for work. Who my friends in LA were. What caused me pain or joy or fear or hate in the past five years. What medications I’m taking. Why I decided to do a PhD.

And eventually, I learned to be okay with that. I was lucky and fortunate to have an amazing father—who pretty much took on the role of “mom” and “dad”. Honestly, as I got out of the house at 22 and began a new life away from “home”, I didn’t want to fight anymore. If it meant not putting in the energy to fight with her demons, that’s what I needed to do.

To preserve every ounce of sanity that I could.

But every young girl—from her pre-teen years through college especially—would no doubt thrive with mom at her side.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

Unlike those around me—who believe ignoring the issue will make it disappear—I choose to showcase the words that came pouring from my heart 7 years ago. During a life-changing weekend connecting with other South Asians, I built up the courage to share so much about a rocky home life that I kept in for too long.

I felt a strong urge to pen down the words I used to describe to the group about how she made me feel. I wrote a literal letter to my mother, but never gave it to her.

I knew that her paranoia, obsessive-compulsive, and erratic, nocturnal behavior would not disappear on the command of a few words on paper.

But for me, it was a release.

And I do not apologize for verbalizing what was in my heart, because these words were the truth of my experience…

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

July 28, 2013