Dear Mother,
Now that I have reached an age where I can think for myself and understand my emotions without needing much external guidance, I\'ve come to realize that there were certain things during my upbringing that I wish had been done differently.
I wish you hadn\'t mocked me for how I looked. You always praised my intelligence but seldom my appearance. Your comments made me feel worst than I realised at the time. I began to believe I was ugly simply because I was overweight. Whenever I was around people my age, I felt like an out-of-place mountain, and I desperately wanted to hide because I believed I was too hideous to fit in.
I wish you had let me speak freely about the things I loved and hated, regardless of whether others liked or disliked them. I didn\'t have to conform to be accepted. I could have embraced my own preferences and still found my place. If only you had known the real me, you would have understood whether the issue lay with with me or with the crowd you always pushed me in ot.
I wish you had taken an interest in my dreams and aspirations. You always wanted what you believed was best for me, but my dreams were not wrong, Mom. They were just different, and that\'s perfectly okay. There\'s more than one path to success, and given time, I\'ll find mine.
I would have loved the opportunity to explore my youth, my thoughts, my likes and dislikes, my preferences, and everything in between with people I chose, not just those you selected, and especially not just with you. If only you had asked, I would have shared everything with you. Building trust could have made a world of difference, and it would work both ways. I tell you my truth, you tell me yours and it stays with us not to be weaponized as a form of gossip with your sisters.
It\'s ironic how the past continues to influence the present. Though so much time has passed, we still bear the consequences. Our relationship had the potential to be a strong and enduring one, but here we are… picking up the scraps and trying to build a bridge with it.
From,
Your Daughter, Marshmellow.