I was 12 years old, desperate, and living in survival mode.

I was living in a trailer on my grandparent’s property with my father, who was addicted to meth and other drugs. He was paranoid, abusive, and couldn’t hold a job. It was one of the scariest times of my life. I longed for connection—especially with my mother—and was desperate for her to save me.

But I couldn’t be honest in my letters to her. He read them all.

Still, I wrote. Here’s one of the letters I wrote that year:

August 25, 1994

Dear Mom,

I’m so sorry! I hope you forgive me. Remember when I said if you don’t write back, I’m not your daughter? I didn’t mean it. I was just mad because I don’t get to have good times with you like with my dad. I want to get to know you more and you to get to know me.

I’m living with my grandparents again, only in the trailer. How is it up there? My kitten got hit by a car and my great-grandma died. The only reason I started hating you was because my ex-stepmom told me to. She said you didn’t write or see me. I feel so bad. I love you.

You missed my birthday! You crazy mom. Ha. What’s your favorite song? Mine is “Everything I Do, I Do It for You.” Do you like Ace of Base and Snoop Doggy Dog?

What really happened when I was a baby? I’m just curious. I want your side of the story because I’m so confused. Will you please write back? Is it because I hurt you? I did that because you hurt me. Listen, I take back everything. I’m so sorry.

Another thing I was mad at you about was that I didn’t hear from you or get a letter. I’m in 6th grade and might skip 7th. I’m still thinking about it.

Well, good luck.
Love you,
Love, Beth
P.S. Write back.

The Toxic Silence Between Parents

I constantly wrote to her, asking her why she didn’t write back. It hurt not getting a response from her. I honestly have no idea how many letters were kept from me by my father.

Around the same time, my father sent a letter to my mom. It was full of rage, cruelty, and threats. I debated whether to share it, but to understand the depths of the emotional trauma I lived with, you need to hear the kind of messaging I was exposed to daily.

Mary (mom) what a joke,

That letter you sent Beth, what is with you anyway? How come you can’t tell her the truth about us? The only reason you left is cause you’re a f*cking whore. And you got caught. The main reason you couldn’t stay is cause I out smarted you in your little game. You said I was the boss, that is a crock of shit and you know it. You dumped Beth on my folks doorstep cause you didn’t want her anymore. It was messing up your f*ck life with John.

Also, that picture you sent her was mean. Considering you couldn’t even send her a Christmas card. You say you love her. You’ve got a hell of away of showing her. No birthday card, no nothing. I will not have you lying to her she doesn’t deserve it. If you persist, I will get a attorney and charge you with back child support. Or jail. It’s your choice. If you want your family to know that you’re a dead beat mom. Just keep it up and I’ll show them. I know the truth Mary, remember I was there. Here is your letter back. You know where to stick it.

I’m not going to play this game with you. It’s been 11 years now. You are not going to hurt Beth any more. So why don’t you take that Jesus stuff and stick it up that fat ass of yours.

I know your still doing drugs and your still sleeping around. You haven’t changed a bit.

If you can’t leave this alone, then I’d see you in court. Grandma.

• DJ

Reading this today still shakes me. I can still hear his voice and see the spit flying from his mouth when he was in his fit of rage. That constant fear of being hurt. My body trembled as I typed it out. I had to step away just to regulate my nervous system. That’s how deep this trauma still runs, even after years of therapy, healing, and inner child work.

It’s interesting to read this now and see the mirroring he’s showing. Pretty rich coming from someone who’s sleeping around and abusing drugs.

Doing the Work to Survive and Thrive

Later that year, my mother sent me a Christmas card. She told me she’d be in town and would try to arrange a visit with my father. Now I know why she was in town, because my father was taking her to court for child support.

You can probably guess how that went. (If not, click here to read about that day.)

Even now—after surviving panic attacks, insomnia, years of low self-worth, broken boundaries, and deep emotional pain—revisiting these letters is still triggering. But I’ve done the work to survive and turn pain into a super power. And now, I’m doing the work to help others thrive after suffering from Big-T trauma.

Healing the Mother Wound Through Sharing My Story

This is why I share my story. Because maybe it helps someone feel seen. Heard. Understood. Maybe it reminds someone that they are not defined by what happened to them.

You get to choose your path. You get to rewrite your ending.

In the next post, I’ll be sharing what happened after my mother left again in December of 1994. And how my view of her changed over the years, until I met her again at 18 and we finally sat down, face to face, to share our stories.

The grief. The clarity. The shift from longing to letting go. From blame to understanding. From pain to forgiveness.

Much love,

Beth