Dear Mom, This letter isn’t easy to write, but I need to speak plainly and honestly—because for too long, I’ve been expected to stay silent for the sake of appearances, tradition, or “peace.” I can no longer do that. Real peace cannot exist where truth is denied. Dad’s passing has brought enormous grief. But what has hurt me almost as much is being completely excluded from any part of honoring him. You didn’t just plan the funeral alone—you invited my brother and his wife to take part in that process. You made space for them while intentionally excluding me. That wasn’t about timing or practicality. I live 30 minutes away. That was about sending a message. And that message echoes something I had prayed we had moved past. For years, there was a pattern you established in my childhood and tried to continue with my daughters: secrecy, spiritual judgment, emotional control, and distorted storytelling about who I am. You’ve questioned my faith, my worth and value as a woman, my choices, my identity and abilities as a mother. You’ve spiritualized my mental health struggles, calling them demonic, and used my medication as a weapon to undermine my credibility and character to my children. But here’s what hurts the most: I truly believed you had changed. I believed that time, grace, and faith had brought you into a place of healing and reconciliation. I had no idea that for all these years, you were still doing the very things you once promised to stop. I didn’t discover the full extent of it until Dad died—until I was shut out and erased, and the curtain was pulled back. When I was at my lowest—sick, alone, and trying to recover from an abusive relationship—you betrayed both me and Stephanie in a way I can barely fathom. You went behind my back and colluded with her abuser to send her BACK, without telling me or giving me any say. You then lied to both of us for years, telling me that Stephanie chose to leave and telling her that I threw her out. That decision not only shattered my relationship with my daughter, it left her alone with someone who hurt her, and it has haunted us both for over fifteen years. You didn’t just interfere—you rewrote history and robbed us of each other. And you still don’t seem sorry. That betrayal has shaped every grief I’ve carried since. Do you not understand that everything that happened to Stephanie from 12 years on is at LEAST partially your fault? While you may not have been the hand that struck her, you might as well be. I sacrificed 7 years of my life in an abusive relationship just to keep her safe. You made that sacrifice meaningless when you sent her back. That realization has been devastating. What you’ve done wasn’t just painful—it was a betrayal of trust. I extended grace. You used that grace to continue the harm in secret. It didn't stop there. Once you saw the harm you created between Stephanie and I, once your job there was done and you SAW the consequences, it seemed like such a great idea you started on Emma and then Chloe. And now, everything I tried to build with you feels tainted by dishonesty. There is a whole other part of me that is devastated for you. How sad that you don't realize the heart of the Bible is not control, shame, or fear—but love, justice, humility, and freedom. Or that using Scripture to instill fear, guilt, or submission—especially in adult children—is a profound distortion. Jesus rebuked the Pharisees for doing just that cherry-picking verses to enforce power hierarchies or silence dissent is not biblical literacy—it’s manipulation. Honor is not obedience in the face of abuse. Honor is about mutual care, truthfulness, and reverence for God’s image in each person—including yourself. You claim scriptural authority while avoiding accountability for your actions You have read the Bible so many times, but you have missed it. Scripture is not a tool of coercion. It is meant to set people free—emotionally, spiritually, and relationally. I will protect myself and fiercely protect my children from further harm, including creating distance—emotionally, spiritually, and relationally. That is not a threat. That is the natural outcome of persistent betrayal and unresolved harm. I no longer have any trust in you. I am not obligated to reconcile with someone who has harmed me repeatedly and used my trust to continue doing so. Forgiveness does not erase memory, and love does not mean tolerating ongoing harm. God calls me to forgive, yes but never at the expense of truth or justice. I’ve done the hard, sacred work of healing. I am still doing it. And I refuse to return to silence to make anyone more comfortable. What happens next depends entirely on your willingness to face the truth—with no more excuses, no more stories, no more half-measures. I don't have much hope for you and I would rather you just not respond than listen to more excuses. I will not engage with denials, spiritual rationalizations, or shallow apologies meant to smooth things over. I am no longer participating in cycles that protect image over integrity. If your response reflects those patterns, I will consider the matter closed between us. —Jennifer
Friday, August 1, 2025
A Daughter’s Truth Amid Loss and Exclusion
I have struggled with the ethics and the timing of both this letter and the decision it contains. It has been hard to write for a number of reasons. Who would ever want this? Unfortunately, all of this has been dumped into my lap now. Unfortunately, all of this has come to light at the worst possible time ever for the whole family. Even though my heart has so much compassion for the suffering of my other family members, compassion for others should not require self-abandonment. If you read this, this is not just about my father passing, that would be enough grief for all time. There are multiple layers of grief, and it is overwhelming. I am going to try to do this with as much dignity and as little disturbance as possible.
I just answered the phone.
Luke 12:2–3 (NIV)
"There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What you have said in the dark will be heard in the daylight, and what you have whispered in the ear in the inner rooms will be proclaimed from the roofs."
Mark 4:22 (NIV)
"For whatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed, and whatever is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open."
Thursday, July 31, 2025
A Letter to the Quiet Space Between Us
There is no greater ache in my heart than the space between me and my daughters.
To the outside world, we look like a fractured story. And yes there’s pain. There’s distance. There are words said (and unsaid) that still echo. But behind the fractured story is a mother who has never stopped loving her children, not for one second. And that mother is me.
This isn’t a story of disownment or abandonment. It’s a story of boundaries. Of truth. Of trying to mother through a storm that didn’t start with me—and refusing to pass it down one more generation.
My daughters have grown up in a family system with deep roots of control, judgment, and silence. And like many daughters, they’ve had to navigate loyalty conflicts, unclear alliances, and a narrative that sometimes places me as the problem because I dared to break the pattern.
I’ve heard things said about me that are not true. I’ve been gossiped about, misunderstood, and left out of moments I longed to be a part of—not because I didn’t care, but because the space wasn’t safe for me to enter. And still, I chose peace. Still, I tried to protect them from the fallout, from adult truths they weren’t ready to hold. Still, I loved them.
One of the most painful experiences a mother can have is knowing her children only know a sliver of the story—and that the sliver is shaped by voices louder or more convenient than her own.
To Chloe and Emma: if you ever find this post one day, I want you to know that I always loved you. Even when I was silent. Even when I didn’t show up how you expected. Even when the space between us stretched wider than words.
I chose my peace not to punish you—but to survive.
One day, if you’re ready for the fuller story, I will be here. Not to defend, not to beg, not to convince—but to offer clarity, love, and the kind of honest relationship that heals, not hurts.
I believe in cycles being broken. I believe in healing that doesn’t require pretending. And I believe in love that tells the truth, even when it costs everything.
With a heart still open,
Mom
Strange Fruit: Evangelicalism and the hypocrisy of "white Jesus"
"Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root"
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This is a direct and brutal metaphor: Black bodies hanging from trees, normalized and embedded in Southern soil and culture.
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The phrase "blood at the root" suggests this is not incidental—it’s foundational.
Tuesday, July 29, 2025
Grandmothers, Mothers, and Daughters
My mother has contempt for me as both a mother and as a person. She judges me as not Christian enough to be a good mother and has sown division in my relationships with my daughters. I am not sure if this is aggravated by her political beliefs (MAGA). When she doesn’t get the “joyful moments” that she requires, she tends to blame me regardless of who had agency in the situation.
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged."
—Matthew 7:1 (NIV)
"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God."
—Romans 3:23 (NIV)
Her claim that I am “not Christian enough” is both spiritually prideful and biblically unfounded. Scripture consistently reminds us that God looks at the heart—not outward appearances or religious performance (1 Samuel 16:7). A loving mother honoring boundaries and protecting others is far more Christlike than one gossiping and sowing division under the guise of righteousness.
💔 The Situation
My daughter was in the hospital having a baby while she was no contact with me. (a well my mother has poisoned)
I tried to reach out twice via phone call, left a voicemail, but she didn’t respond nor invite me to visit.
First, my mother spread gossip to everyone in the family that I never reached out. (Please see receipts below).
Now my mother has pivoted and her new position is that she believes that I should’ve gone to the hospital anyway, forcing my way into my daughter’s hospital room.
My mother is accusing me through gossip of abandoning my daughter and not caring.
This position is based on ignorant beliefs that don’t consider the actual rules of the hospital.
the story being told is a lie*
*All of them… My mother has no idea what my spiritual status is. But since we want to live and die by this sword…. Here we go.
"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."
—Galatians 5:22–23 (NIV)
"Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid, for I know where I came from and where I am going."
—John 8:14 (NIV)
False accusations—especially in the face of clear evidence—are painful. But my actions bore the fruit of the Spirit. They were calm, gentle, honest, and kind. In the face of misrepresentation, Christ himself validated his own truth, and I am allowed to do the same.
1. Strict Security & Visitor Policies
**** ********* Hospital, like most hospitals—especially those dealing with newborns and critically ill children—have very strict visitor protocols to protect patients and maintain order.
You must be on an approved visitor list. If the patient, (or the baby’s other parent, if relevant) didn’t list me as an approved visitor, I would not have been let up to the patient area.
I have to check in at the front desk, present a valid ID, and be given a visitor badge before being allowed upstairs.
Policies became even stricter after COVID.
Labor & Delivery (L&D) units are among the most secure areas in the hospital. I would need:
A wristband or code
To be escorted
Or to be cleared by the patient's nurse or family
Unless my daughter actively invited me and cleared it with hospital staff, there’s no way I could have just shown up and visited.
2. My Mother’s Expectation Is Emotionally Charged, and sounds compelling; but it is not based in reality.
Her belief that I should’ve just gone to the hospital and “barged in” doesn’t align with how real-world hospitals—and healthy boundaries—work.
Hospitals don’t allow barging in. I would’ve been turned away at the front desk if I wasn’t on the visitor list.
It’s not respectful of my daughter’s agency. Showing up uninvited—especially in a vulnerable moment like childbirth—could’ve further damaged trust or communication.
It could have been traumatic for both of us. My daughter might have felt ambushed. And me, rejected or embarrassed in a public place.
My mother’s insensitive and uninformed reaction reflects a fantasy of control—that love should override rules, space, or emotional reality. This makes a great movie plot, however; real love also knows when to pause, protect, and wait. Another reason to pause is that I suspect Emma’s relationship may be highly controlled. A move like that could be devastating in a tricky situation.
💬 My Mother’s Refusal to Acknowledge Truth and Her Fantasy of Control
"Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness…"
—Isaiah 5:20 (NIV)
"If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves."
—Galatians 6:3 (NIV)
Her worldview may feel emotionally compelling, but it is not anchored in truth or spiritual humility. The belief that one can override consent, rules, and pain “in the name of love” is spiritual immaturity cloaked in martyrdom. Scripture calls for truth in love—not control in fear.
3. What I Did Do: I Respected Boundaries
Even while my heart was breaking, I:
I tried to reach out through 2 phone calls, voicemails and 1 text.
Did not force my presence during a delicate medical and emotional experience.
Showed maturity and restraint under enormous emotional pressure.
That is not weakness—that is wisdom and deep care.
“I wanted to be there for my daughter. I reached out. But she didn’t invite me, and I had to honor her boundaries, even when it hurt. Hospitals have strict rules for a reason, and I wasn’t going to force my way into her life in a moment where she deserved to feel safe, not ambushed. That’s not abandoning her—that’s respecting her boundaries and agency.”
"Let all things be done decently and in order."
—1 Corinthians 14:40 (NKJV)
"Love is patient, love is kind… it is not self-seeking… it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
—1 Corinthians 13:4–7 (NIV)
"Better a patient person than a warrior, one with self-control than one who takes a city."
—Proverbs 16:32 (NIV)
My decision to wait, to not violate hospital policy or my daughter’s emotional boundaries, was rooted in patience, humility, and love—not abandonment. The Bible calls this strength, not passivity. My intent was to protect her dignity and her space. That is righteous restraint, not weakness.
Analysis:
Let’s take this step-by-step, gently and without judgment—just clarity. Sometimes when we’re stuck in emotional fog, especially with family dynamics, it helps to untangle the pieces.
I carry pain from both my mother’s insensitive and uninformed reaction and my daughter’s
silence. Let’s break it down:Here are some dynamics at play with my mother:
❖ Emotional Projection
❖ Generational Expectations
❖ Undermining or Rewriting my Experience
My mother may be thinking: “If that were my daughter, I’d march up there and be there no matter what.”
But that is not her daughter or her place. This is where my father would usually break in to tell her to mind her own business.
By suggesting I didn’t do “enough,” she invalidates:
The pain I felt at being shut out.
The emotional restraint it took not to force my way in.
The complex position I was in—loving both my mother and my daughter, while having no place in either space at that moment.
🛑 Why Her Expectation Is Unfair
It creates a no-win situation:
If I barged in, I could have caused trauma to Emma or the baby, or been removed from the hospital—damaging my relationship further.
If I didn’t, I risked being seen (by my mother) as passive or uncaring.
Why am I being blamed for Emma’s decision not to call me back?
I am being blamed for what I cannot control
Treating the situation like it’s about what I didn’t do, instead of what my daughter chose.
Making me feel as if I am responsible for everyone else’s wounds—hers, my daughter’s, the baby’s—but leaving no room for my own.
Still I chose the path of emotional maturity. I chose:
Respect.
Restraint.
Compassion for my daughter’s space—even if it left me heartbroken.
That’s not a weakness. That’s strength.
🧘♀️My Perspective
“I did not abandon anyone. I showed up in the most respectful way I could. I reached out, I waited, and I respected my daughter’s decision, even though it hurt. That is not failure—that is love with boundaries.”
💬 To My Mom and daughter
“I hear that you think I should’ve gone to the hospital. But hospitals don’t work that way, and neither do healthy relationships. Your expectations are not based in reality, they are pure fantasy. I reached out, I was willing to be there, but I also respected my daughter’s boundaries. That wasn’t easy. I was in an impossible spot—not because I didn’t care, but because I cared enough not to make it worse.”
The Receipts:
📩 My Mother
“I shared with Emma about your offer to help. There wasn't time for her to respond before nurses were coming back in to check on her.”
“This is her current cell -***-****. I text her cell number in case you want to send your congratulations and offer personally 😉”
📩 Me: thanks mom. I just did. I had a little nap, that news is exhausting. I hope you get a good night's sleep tonight
📩 Me: “Good morning mom, I never heard back from Emma, so I think perhaps that is the answer. I called, left a voicemail and a text.”
📩 My Mother
That's all you can do. She knows the door is open if she wants to walk through. Love you Bunches!!
🔍 What’s Going On Here Emotionally and Interpersonally
Control Framed as Helpfulness
My mother is positioning herself as the gatekeeper of information and access.Lack of Clarity About Consent
She says I can text Emma, but she doesn’t say Emma wants or agrees to talk to me. It feels like an olive branch, but it’s not anchored in clear mutual consent.Wink Emoji Usage (😉)
This is emotionally manipulative. The emoji implies a lightness, like “go ahead, it’s all good,” while glossing over the painful, high-stakes reality that Emma hasn’t spoken to me in a long time. It also minimizes the complexity of the situation.
🧠 The Big Picture
This isn’t just one message. It’s part of a pattern: my mother chooses the stories to tell each person, subtly placing herself in the role of rescuer, mediator, and informant, all while undermining my relationship with Emma.
She’s presenting herself as a bridge between us—but she’s more like a tollgate, one who benefits from staying in the middle while me and my daughter stay disconnected.
"Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness…"
—Isaiah 5:20 (NIV)
"If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves."
—Galatians 6:3 (NIV)
Her worldview may feel emotionally compelling, but it is not anchored in truth or spiritual humility. The belief that one can override consent, rules, and pain “in the name of love” is spiritual immaturity cloaked in martyrdom. Scripture calls for truth in love—not control in fear.