Dear Mother,
I am happy, really. I know you won’t believe it because I told you that I have PPD a while back. Now you forever think I am permenantly depressed. It’s so not the case. I love life. I love my family. I am genuinely happy.
I have a beautiful daughter who makes me laugh almost constantly. I have a dear husband who loves me unconditionally. We have a great time together, whether it be reading the scriptures as a family or playing X-Box football. I have a knowledge and testimony of the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My calling has helped me to grow infinitely closer to Him, for which I am eternally grateful.
Sure, I’d love to be out of debt, or even working in a great full time job to pay down the debt quickly. Sure, I’d like to own my own home so I don’t have a crazy landlord telling me that I can’t foster or adopt kids as long as I live in her home. Sure, I’d love to have a mother who doesn’t call me up to talk about bowel movements, catheters, bed sores, or gaseous problems. Seriously.
Never will I sound happy on the phone as long as you are asking me stupid questions, along the lines of, “Are you feeling better? You know throwing up will make you feel better, so why don’t you go do that now.” *eye roll*
I love you, Mother. But I think we do better at a distance, and without daily contact, contrary to your thoughts. This is why sometimes I just let the phone ring. I know youmay never read this as I’d be terribly afraid of your reaction. You would priobably send me incredibly horrid, vile emails but expect me to be overjoyed that you wrote.
Thanks but no thanks. I’ll just type this and then go to play with Doodlebug.
Love,
Your happy daughter
This sounds like my mom, right now. She’s in a bad place, but she calls and checks in incessantly with me.
And, once I was diagnosed with OCD like 5 years ago, she hasn’t stopped regularly asking me: “How’s the OCD?”
It’s like: Mom, the OCD is a factor in my life, but not the only one or even one of the biggest. Give it up.