Mom, you’ve made it clear that you believe I harbor feelings of hatred towards you. (You even used that exact word.) But the reality is, I don’t hate you. I long for the mother I once knew—the one who gave my dolls bubble baths in the sink and shared laughter with me over classic sitcoms. How could I bring myself to despise you? You are, after all, my mother.
That said, I’ve reached my limit.
I’m finished listening to your endless justifications for your unreliability. The reasons why you can’t be trusted behind the wheel. The explanations for your latest injuries—a broken bone here, a black eye there. Your claims that you haven’t been drinking that much, or that you don’t need your medications to function, when the reality is that your drinking is excessive and the pills turn you into a mere shadow of who you once were.
I’m done with your deception. The lies about your alcohol consumption, the pills you mix with your drinks, and the promises you make regarding when you’ll come home. Lies about whether the electric bill has been paid and about your relationships, including those you had while still married to my father. Lies you tell everyone about my character because I choose to protect my children from your toxicity.
I refuse to carry the burden of your choices anymore. For too long, I wondered what I could have done differently to prevent you from turning to alcohol. I listened as you tossed around threats of self-harm, blaming me for your unhappiness. But no more. Your actions are yours alone to bear.
I will no longer accept the blame for a lifetime of poor choices that led us to this moment. I didn’t choose the alcohol, the lies, or the painful words that haunt me. I didn’t decide to put myself or others in danger by riding in the car with you when you were under the influence. I didn’t want those moments when you wished aloud for an accident to “end it all.” I refuse to believe anymore that your behavior reflects on me.
The fact that you’ve never sought help isn’t my doing either. If it were up to me, you would have sought assistance years ago. You’d be a proud member of AA, working on your recovery with a therapist to tackle your mental health issues. You would be trying.
Instead, you choose to deny that your drinking and medication use create problems in your life. You disregard the dangers your actions pose to yourself and others. Even when I begged you to seek help, you turned a deaf ear.
So, I’m done.
I can’t make you choose me, nor can I force you to heal and become the mother I wish I could have. My choices are mine alone, and I choose to walk away. I will protect my children from your poor decisions, shielding them from the potential for verbal abuse and ensuring their safety by never allowing you to drive them. I refuse to let your chaos disrupt their lives any longer. I choose to reject your demons.
Instead, I will strive to be the best mother I can be for them, even if it means being perceived as a “bad daughter” to you. They deserve a stable and nurturing environment, and so do I.
Until you commit to making a genuine, long-term effort to improve your life, I have to step back. I cannot control your actions, but I can control my own. I will not allow you to create turmoil in my life any longer, nor will I let you drain my energy with your toxicity. I’m dedicated to raising my children in a joyful and secure home. To do that, I must prioritize them—and myself—over you.
So, do I despise you? Not at all. I feel sadness for you. I truly miss the relationship we could have had. Maybe, one day, you’ll find the help you need. If that day arrives, perhaps we can reassess our choices. For now, we remain estranged, and I refuse to feel guilty about that.
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Summary
The author expresses feelings of sadness and disappointment toward a toxic mother, addressing issues of alcoholism, deceit, and emotional turmoil. They resolve to protect their children and themselves by stepping away from the unhealthy relationship, emphasizing the need for self-care and boundaries.