My Mother Wrote A Letter To Me Wishing She Had Aborted Her Pregnancy
I was disowned from my mother 14 years ago, a relationship I've since chosen to go no-contact in... and this week she asked for my phone number.
I remember the day clearly.
It was 14 years ago and I was sitting inside of a Tim Hortons with my mom, about to have tea and a conversation I’d been dreading.
I had rehearsed what I was going to say, planned for all angles (or so I thought), and was ready to lay it all out on the table- I was in love with him.
‘Him’ being Charles, my now husband. A man 18 years older than me. A family friend. Someone I’d had a crush on for years, who made me feel safer than anyone had in my entire life- and who would, unknowingly to me at the time, become my best friend.
I sat in the booth across from her, ready to pour my heart out and with the expectation that, no matter what… it’d be okay. Only I had no way of knowing that what was about to happen would change the course of the rest of my life.
Truthfully, this wasn’t the first time I told her about him. Weeks prior, before moving in with him, I had blurted it out unexpectedly while visiting home.
I didn’t mean to, and it certainly wasn’t delivered how I’d have liked it to have been- but the cards were laid on the table. And that conversation was anything but okay.
After the shock of what I’d said wore off, she shifted into disbelief, and then anger. I didn’t know it then, but I had been manipulated my whole life into doing what she wanted- and those tactics came out in full force that day.
At the time, I was in University, half-way through a degree she pressured me into, in accommodations that she was paying for. I was told that I needed to end the relationship ‘or else’.
I chose or else- and instantly, overnight, all funding was pulled back- leaving me without tuition, rent or money to live.
So, I had pivoted. I moved in with Charles, I got a job alongside a full course load, and I took out student loans to cover all my expenses- actions I don’t think she was expecting me to take.
In fact, I know she was expecting me to come running home and end the relationship. To listen. To behave. To do as I was told. As I had been doing unconsciously, for my entire life.
But the truth is that I couldn’t this time- even if I had wanted to.
I had this knowing deep inside of me that the man I was falling for… he would do anything for me. He’d change my world for the better, and help me become a better person. I can’t explain it, but I do believe something inside of me knew.
Thus, weeks later when she reached out, asking to meet me for tea, I wanted to believe that things had changed. That she was taking everything she had said to me back, and that she wanted me to be happy.
Unfortunately that was the furthest thing from the truth.
Before I even had a chance to speak that day, she started the conversation.
From the first word she spoke I could tell that the anger hadn’t shifted- in fact, it’d multiplied and grown to a level I’d never seen before. Her eyes held a coldness and disconnect that I hadn’t yet experienced, and the fragile, scared little girl inside of me was too paralyzed to say a word.
Instead, a sealed letter was thrust into my hands- and I was told that it contained everything that she wanted to say to me. I was told that I was a disappointment, and that, from this moment forward, I was ‘cut off’.
Not just financially- but fully disowned. I was no longer a part of her family- and as such, I would remain an outsider for every moment that I chose to be with ‘him’.
And with that, she left me sitting in the booth, holding the letter.
In shock, I walked out to my vehicle, and with shaking hands, I opened it.
Looking back, I wish that I would have waited until I got home to do so- because driving home in the state that I was in afterwards probably wasn’t the safest.
But, I read on.
The letter, multiple pages in length, began by reiterating what she had already spoken- the level of deep disappointment that I had caused her. How embarrassing and devastating it was for me to be her daughter. How ashamed she was of me. And how I’d never see my little sisters (who at the time were 3, 5 and 7) again.
She wrote that the news of me dating Charles would kill my grandparents- and if I was selfish enough to carry on this relationship, then I better not tell them because they would have heart attacks and die. That their deaths would be on my hands.
But the part that came next was the hardest to hear- and something that still sticks with today. My mother? She got pregnant at 16, having me at 17 years old.
And in the letter she wrote to me, she stated that she wished she would have aborted the pregnancy to avoid having such a disappointment as a daughter.
I wish I could find the words to describe what reading that line did to me.
The deep, searing pain I felt ripple through my body and my heart. The guilt that I felt for wanting to be happy and make my own choices in my life. The shame I felt for simply being me and existing on this earth.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried that hard.
I had called Charles from the parking lot, inconsolable. To be honest looking back, I don’t know if he could even make out what I was saying because I was crying so hard.
But he told me to come home, and so I did.
That’s when the real work began.
I wish I could write to say that things with my mother changed when I got home or got better in the years that followed. But the truth is that they haven’t, and they likely never will.
For years following this moment, I tried to fix things. Mend the bridge. Reach out.
I tried desperately to be the girl that held both worlds-
the girl who made herself happy
AND
the girl who made her mother happy
But the truth is that those worlds cannot coexist together when only one of them is healed. Regardless, for years, I regrettably kept communication open.
Looking back, I can see how often I would go through moments of hope, where things seemed to be improving and she’d say something supportive. Then instantly that would be met with gut-wrenching sadness as she ripped it away and told me what a terrible person that I was.
So I’d block her, wait a few weeks or months, and try again.
The cycle would continue to repeat again and again- always with me left in tears, wondering what was wrong with me and why my own mother couldn’t love me.
It was destroying me- until I realized that this pain wasn’t mine to carry anymore.
Almost ten years later, I finally found the strength to go no-contact. I blocked, deleted or threw out all old traces of her, her messages/emails/voicemails- and I even changed my number.
It’s been four years of no contact, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t healthier as a result.
But don’t get me wrong- in the beginning, it was not easy. There was a lot of shame, guilt and fear that I had to work through in order to get to where I am now.
There were moments I definitely regretted it, doubted myself, and almost went back to texting her.. But each and every time I’ve come to realize that how I felt in each interaction with her is not how I want to feel in my life- nor do I deserve that.
I deserve to be treated well, and to be loved without conditions.
Thus, my standards on relationships and who is a part of my life has also significantly changed- and I’ve realized that it’s a privilege to be a part of my life. A privilege that she no longer has and will no longer have at any point.
But while I’ve consciously cut ties, there are still infrequent moments where our paths do cross, and I have to work again to remember all of this.
Things like family outings or gatherings, in the care of my grandparents, or in seeing my younger sisters (who I’ve now started to form a relationship with after all these years).
Our interactions as a result, are always brief, surface-level, and polite. I’m able to observe without absorbing, and consciously use my tools to keep myself grounded.
And honestly? That’s exactly the way I’d like it to be. Like two strangers bumping into each other randomly and exchanging small talk before they carry on.
I’ve been doing pretty good with this and was just recently reflecting on how long it’s been since I’ve talked, thought about, or worried about our relationship.
But oddly (or not so oddly) enough, this past week she mentioned to my little sister that she’s been texting me but I haven’t been responding- because she doesn’t know that I changed my phone number years ago.
As a result, I told my little sister that- and she asked if the correct number could be given.
I’ll be honest… at first I felt hesitation. Then guilt. Then shame. I almost went down a spiral- and I even asked my husband ‘am I wrong for wanting to say no?’ (which of course he said absolutely not).
So eventually, I reached a place of neutrality and I finally responded- no.
The truth is that a part of me wanted to still feel guilty for keeping her out of my life and remaining no contact. A part of me wanted to feel guilty about not being the peace-keeper or the people-pleaser. A part of me wanted to make it easier on my little sister rather than holding my boundary.
But ultimately the answer is and will always be, no.
She does not deserve contact with me. I am not required to give her my number. She is no longer a part of my life (nor will she ever be)… and as hard as that is, it will be okay.
I’m not a bad person for believing I deserve more.
I’m not a bad person for wanting more.
I’m not a bad person for demanding more.
In fact, I know exactly who I am. I am a loving, lovable, kind, compassionate woman who strives to do well in her life, not just for her, but for others too.
I know I am a good person. I know that I am worthy of love. And I know that no matter what happens in any relationship of mine in the future- I’ll always have my own back and love myself unconditionally.
Because THAT?
That’s the only thing that matters.
* This piece was inspired by the feelings that can arise whenever we’re working hard to say no, put in a boundary, or go no contact with someone. I hope that if anyone is currently in this sticky phase of growth and healing, that this resonated with you and helped you feel a little less alone today.
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Hey there! I’m Brianne, the messy human behind The 30 Something Bible. I’m a full-time writer, speaker, and host of the Go Regulate Yourself podcast. Born and raised a small-town Alberta girl, I now spend six months a year travelling the globe in search of a slower, softer way of living.
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