To the Sons Who Grew Up With the Broken Me

Dear Sons,

If I could change anything about my past, it wouldn’t be having you—it would be becoming the mother you deserved from the very beginning. I was so young when I had you. Not just in age, but in understanding, in identity, and in self-love. I brought you into a world where I was still searching for myself, still healing from wounds I hadn’t yet acknowledged, still trying to survive. I gave you what I had—but I now realize that what I had wasn’t nearly enough. And for that, I carry a grief I can’t always put into words.

But I need you to know: I have never, not for one second, regretted becoming your mother. Being your mom has always been one of the greatest honors of my life. You both gave me the kind of love I didn't know I needed at a time when I didn’t even know how to love myself. You were never a mistake. You were the beginning of everything—of my becoming, my breaking, and eventually, my healing.

There is a 14-year gap between my second son and my third, and in that time, I became someone new. Not better because of favoritism or effort, but better because I finally began to heal. I started to grow, to learn who I am, and to mother from a place of wholeness, not brokenness. I need you to know this shift isn’t about doing more for your younger brothers—it’s about doing differently because I can now. I’m not replacing you; I’m redeeming parts of myself I wish I could’ve given you when you were little.

You grew up with a version of me that was still learning how to be. And even though I didn’t always get it right—and there are things I wish I could undo or do over—I need you to know this: I always loved you. I always wanted you. I always tried, even if the trying didn’t come out the way you needed.

I’m not writing this because I think you don’t know I love you—you do. I tell you. I show you. And you know I’ll always be there, no matter what. But I’m writing this because I still struggle with forgiving myself. And maybe that’s something I need to release now. Maybe this letter is a way for me to honor the truth of what we’ve lived while also letting go of the guilt and shame I’ve carried. With this letter, I release the shame I’ve silently carried around not being a good enough mom to you. I know now that I did the best I could with what I had—while broken, while lost—and that has to be enough.

You both are the first two pieces of my heart. You always have been. I hope that when you look back, even with the rough spots, you remember the love. I hope you see how far we’ve come and how much I’ve grown—because of you. And I hope you know that no matter how old you get, I will always be proud of you, always be in your corner, and always be your mom. I love you more than words can hold, and I’m so proud to call myself your mom.

With all my love,

Mom

Before I loved myself, I loved them.