Dear Mother,

Consider this letter a farewell—a final chapter in the story I’ve been trying to rewrite for far too long. This is the last tear I will shed for what could’ve been. No more will I grieve over you like someone clinging to a love that was never real. No more will I convince myself that things would change if I just tried harder. Happiness and peace are my portion now, and I refuse to let you steal them from me any longer.

I have come to terms with the fact that you will never acknowledge the damage you've done. You have convinced the world, and even parts of me for a time, that the problem was mine. But I’ve finally seen the truth. To those who preach, “That’s still your mother,” I say this: respect is earned, not owed, and I owe you no more of my peace.

Recently, I read a book about love. For the first time, I saw clearly what love truly is—and what it is not. It was a painful pill to swallow, but I realized that you never loved me. not in the way a mother should. Your actions have shown it time and time again, but reading those words on the page was the confirmation I needed.

You hate me.

It’s a truth I’ve avoided for years, hoping against hope that things would change. But nothing has, and nothing will. You’ve spent my entire life tearing me down to protect the illusions you’ve built around yourself. You’ve projected your flaws onto me, painting me as the villain in a story you wrote to hide your wounds.

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You had the power to break the cycles of abuse and dysfunction that hurt you. Instead, you became the cycle I had to break. I was just a child—your child—but you used me as a scapegoat for your pain. The family followed your lead, continuing the pattern you started. At seven years old, I couldn’t trust you to protect me. At eighteen, you burdened me with responsibilities no young adult should bear. Even now, you weaponize guilt and manipulation to maintain control.

You never fought for me. But you fought me.

You fought me every chance you got, even after I became a mother myself. You found ways to tear me down, to make me feel like I was nothing. And yet, I was expected to remain loyal, to put my well-being aside for the sake of “family.” But loyalty to abuse is not love.

I see now how you’ve used religion to keep others in line, to paint me as the problem because I chose to walk away. You call me hateful, but the truth is, I finally love myself enough to leave.

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I’ve been undoing the harm your words and actions inflicted on me for years. You made me feel like I was never enough—unworthy, unloved, and incapable. I’ve had to rebuild myself piece by piece, reminding myself that your treatment of me was a reflection of you, not me.

I have accomplished so much despite you, not because of you. I bought a house, maintained it, and built a life for myself without your help. And when I achieved my dream of becoming an Amazon bestselling author, you couldn’t celebrate me. Instead, you made it about you, trying to steal my moment by publishing your own book.

But even in that, I refused to be like you. I shared my resources, though everything in me wanted to let you fail. You destroyed it, proving once again that your chaos will always catch up with you.

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These are my final words to you.

I will not return. I will not subject myself to your abuse, manipulation, and projection any longer. You’ve called me hateful because I see through you. You’ve painted me as the villain because I won’t play the role of the scapegoat anymore. But I have chosen myself.

I hope, in another lifetime, you find healing. But in this one, I am done.

Signed, The Rejected Firstborn

                       From Pit to Purpose: Recovering After Emotional Setbacks Workbook