Dear Mom,
You know I love you, and you know I’m forever grateful for all you do for me, and I promise, what I’m about to say doesn’t change that.
But Mom, you need to figure this out.
I’m not the girl you wanted to raise. My grades aren’t perfect, and neither am I. I will make mistakes, kiss the wrong boys, befriend the wrong girls, eat the wrong food, and I will never be perfect.
But please, and I mean please, know this:
Every time you pinch my stomach and take me to the gym the following day, my self esteem gets crushed a little bit.
Every time you tell me I’m with the wrong boy, my sense of judgement crumbles, as well as my confidence in my choices.
Every time you yell at me for the B- in honors trigonometry and tell me I’m lazy, I lose the trust I had in myself.
And Mom I promise I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but please…
let me make my mistakes, Mom. Isn’t that how you did it?
a short piece about the struggles of a teenage girl and her mother.