Dear Mommas

 Sitting at the gas pump at Sam’s Club, I watch the angry momma, the sullen child. Hear their angry words rise unbidden through the air. My insides twist. I remember being the child...and then, painfully, I remember being the momma. And I write:

For all the days I fussed at my kids 

I’m sorry

For all the times I didn’t remove the scowl from my brow when I looked at you

I’m sorry

For every time I embarrassed you in front of your friends 

I’m sorry

Sometimes the pain leaks

And we don’t know what to do with it

Aren’t equipped to hide it

Or heal it 

All we know to do is transmit it

Unaware of the damage it causes

The distance it creates 

We perpetuate disconnection 

Participating with disillusionment

For the ways I failed to heal you

I’m sorry

For the ways my anger and violence created your brokenness

I’m sorry

If only doesn’t change the past

But I pray acknowledgement of my wrong will be the release you need to heal

To be

For every momma in pain

Your kids see your eyes

They hear your scold

It feels like hate

It makes them question their existence

It sends them running to alternative forms of affirmation and approval

It’s the seedbed of doubt

Heal, Mommas

Love, Mommas

Be honest about your pain, your past, and your wrongs, Mommas

And most of all, Mommas, ask forgiveness for the ways in which we’ve been complicit in fracturing our young

And then return

Return to Love

Return with Love 

Return with an Olive Branch

Return armed with Forgiveness

No more harsh words

Hard brows

Back slaps and Do that’s

Return with Love

And offer the gift of your whole healed self