To the Woman Who Gave Me Life and All Her Pain

Dear Mom,

I don’t know where to start, so maybe I’ll begin with this: I know that life hasn’t been kind to you. And I know I wasn’t born into a storybook moment, but into a storm of unhealed pain, abandonment, and sacrifice. I was your first baby. The daughter who changed everything. And I’ve spent most of my life trying to make sense of the shift I caused — not just in your life, but in how you’ve seen me ever since.

You were a single mom when you had me, left to carry burdens that weren't just heavy — they were generational. I understand now that your mother-daughter relationship with your mom was rocky and wounded, and it’s no surprise that ours ended up feeling like an echo of that same disconnect. How could you teach me what had never been shown to you?

Still, I always wanted you. Needed you. Longed for mother-daughter dates, for hugs just because, for warmth without conditions. But our life wasn’t built around love — it was built around survival. You worked. You provided. You did what you could. But I still felt invisible in all the places that mattered most.

And I get it now. I see you clearer. I see how resentment probably started forming the moment I became the reason your life changed course. Maybe when I stole the spotlight you felt you never got to have. Maybe when I became Mema’s favorite and you still weren’t anyone’s. I don’t know your story because you never shared it. You’ve always kept me at arm’s length. And maybe it’s because you couldn’t see past the version of me that hurt you — the lost, dishonest, broken me from my early adult years. I have apologized. Reached out. Expressed gratitude. But nothing has ever seemed to matter enough for you to see me as I am now — the woman I’ve become.

Some of the most hurtful things ever said to me came from your lips. Words that pierced deeper than any stranger’s judgment ever could. And the saddest part is, I can’t recall the last time — or any time — you said, “I love you.” Maybe you did when I was a child, but I can’t remember. I think that absence is what made me go searching for love and validation in all the wrong places for so long.

Still, even with all of this, I want you to know: I love you.

I’ve made peace with the fact that our relationship may never be what I hoped for. I’ve mourned the loss of the mother I needed, and I’ve stopped trying to convince you of who I am today. The distance between us used to hurt deeply. Now, I see it as confirmation — that I am the healing. That I’m the matriarch now. That I am the beginning of a new story for the women and children who come after me.

You may never step into a grandmother role for my youngest children. You may never be at my wedding or celebrate my wins. But I will still celebrate you for the good you gave — especially for being there for my oldest boys when I couldn’t be. I know that wasn’t easy. I thank you for that. Deeply.

I used to believe God gave me six sons instead of a daughter because of the broken mother-daughter thread in our bloodline. But now I believe He’s preparing me for something new. I still pray for a daughter. Not just to love her, but to prove that the cycle ends here. That healing is possible. That love — pure, safe, unconditional mother-daughter love — is not a myth.

I release you, Mom. I release the pain. I release the resentment, the longing, the ache. I hand it all to God because I know He’s the only one who can truly heal hearts like ours. I pray He blesses you. I pray He meets you in the deepest corners of your soul where you’ve hidden your own wounds.

I don’t know if you’ll ever understand me. But I understand me now. And that’s enough.

With a heart full of grace,

Your daughter,

Niki