Letters I've Written

I unexpectedly had an opportunity for one week of solitude. My 3rd oldest grown child needed to be out of town with her husband and kids and so she asked me to stay at her house to care for her dogs. It gave me the opportunity to compose each of the six letters - one for each of my kids - expressing my regrets and apologies for the mistakes I made as a parent. It was not an easy task. It came with much emotional purging; in other words, I cried.

But the letters are written. My next step, since it has been a few weeks now since they've been prepared, is to revisit them to revise them, if need be, although I doubt there is much I will change. Then, they will be ready to be delivered, by mail. Each letter comes with a first page explaining to them what they've received and asking them to read it only when they have some time alone to reflect on what I've written. I told them it may be emotional and to be prepared for that as well since it may elicit a flood of memories and feelings. My intention, of course, is not to inflict more pain but rather, to generate some healing - for me, but for them too. I believe it is time for all of us - me and my kids - to take that next step toward wholeness and I am hoping these letters will do that.

I've discussed this endeavor with my counselor - and with a few others. Most have responded by telling me that "all parents make mistakes" and "your kids are adults now so it is now up to them to pursue healing" and "it's no longer your responsibility to care for their mental health." They are wrong on all counts.

While it is true that all parents make mistakes, they are usually small and insignificant mistakes like, bottle-feeding instead of breast feeding or allowing their kids to eat too much processed foods, or not sending them to better schools. Those were not the kinds of regrets I carry with me. Mine involve physical abuse, emotional neglect, being self-absorbed, becoming disconnected emotionally from them, not tuning in to their emotional needs, and isolating them socially to such a degree that it left them socially phobic as young adults. I did not prepare them for real life. They instead grew up in a house of chaos and dysfunction. There were the church years - five years of my life (but five years of their lives as well) that I was involved with a toxic faith - a faith that encouraged physical child abuse and the subjugation of women and children. It was a very dark time for all of us, but especially for them. And then there were the years that followed me walking away from all of that religious crap and then putting all of my energies into my faltering marriage to a man whom I allowed to control me; it was my effort to break free, but instead, I spent my days being sucked in to one argument after another, all while learning how to use my voice and assert some authority. More chaos. More dysfunction. In essence, my kids were never put first; they were never the priority and they sensed that. For all of that, I carry regret and made efforts to express it to each of them individually.

Each of my six children experienced traumas - multiple traumas - as a direct result of my poor parenting. Yes, it is true that their father is equally responsible for the damage done, but I cannot act on his behalf. I accept my part - my role - in the errors that were made, and that is all I can do. I cannot apologize on his behalf; that is up to him. But I can and will apologize for my part in it all - for not having a voice when they were young; most of all, for not trusting my gut and listening to my heart because even while in the midst of all that dysfunction, somewhere, deep inside, I knew that it was not right; I just didn't know how to fix it back then. If only I knew then what I know now!

Only my two youngest children have ever expressed outright anger toward me for the way things were. The older four seem more forgiving. I think it is because they saw more of the earlier years of my parenting - the way I was before I completed disappeared, figuratively, as a result of my husband's manipulations and his family's ability to intimidate me. They must've held on to the memory of the more-functional me, and are therefore more forgiving toward me. But that doesn't mean I owe them any less of an apology. That does not lessen my regrets.

So, in just a few more days, those letters will go out and time then will tell what the consequences will be. It is my deepest hope that it will at the very least help them heal just a little bit more. I hope that my words will be music to their ears. I do not expect complete forgiveness; I just ask that they hear what I have to say...and then, we will all go from there.