I told her that she is me-
If I’d had parents the way she has me and her dad,
And she’d smiled before she paused and asked me what I meant.
“You are me but if my parents had given me the childhood you have, kiddo.” I’d said-
It took her a minute to understand that not everyone has the loving family she does;
And neither did her mom.
Too young to understand the complexities of what not having good parents is like;
I’ve made it my life’s mission to make sure she never carries that weight.
It’s lead in the chest to try to understand the parental decisions you made for us-
Protection never superseded the fear of losing custody to a state that neglected us as much as you did.
And it was easier for the child in me to victim blame you;
Anger collected in my DNA like evidence stacked against me,
A prison cell of “it’s your fault.” that trapped me for decades-
like the one I’d convinced myself that you put dad in,
too.
Becoming a mother was the most terrifying thing in the world.
The job itself was hard but swallowing the stories my kid brain told me to survive was harder.
She is me;
But if I’d had parents who loved me the way I love her.
Maybe you would’ve been different if you’d had that too.
