Day 9: An Open Letter to My Daughters

 

An Open Letter to My Daughters

How many generations does it take

for trauma

to work its way out of the blood stream? The psyche,

for the shadow to lift?

I hope it’s one.

I hope it’s half only, for some damage I know

I’ve already done.

Does it live in your genes?

A quick startle reflex

that proved necessary for some?

The inherited ability to walk

on eggshells?

Or is it all about

how you were raised?

In the calculus of my unknown origins, which would be best?

Was the water in your childhood environment

different from before and after?

I think it was.

Although we have not yet spoken of the trauma you survived,

I have not forgotten and will not.

I promise to bear witness,

not only to your flowering, your Blossoming,

but also to your reckoning.

You can ask me things

when you’ve come of age,

and I will answer.

No obfuscating.

No deflecting.

No excuses.

“Have you ever rationalized?” you asked.

Some vocabulary word

and a child’s understanding

of the layers of explanation,

meaning making,

boundaries drawn

and steps taken.

And ultimately, hope held tight.

“Once or twice,” I say.

And I pray,

silently,

that I can create a bubble

big enough around you

to shield you from boys

who try to step on your toes

as you run

the whole of the playground

that belongs to you, too.

That I can teach you how to use your voice,

your words loud and strong enough

to claim that space

for yourself

and others, too.

Whose voices are rusty from misuse

or happen to sing in a register

that falls on deaf ears.

And I pray

you will find ways

and make spaces

to build sanctuaries

to all that you love.

Warm rooms filled

with blankets and cups of tea,

to shelter your heart,

tiny altars to protect your soul.

And more than enough time and space

to just be.

Just breathe.

I pray

that when all is said

and all is out,

when you have felt your feelings fully

and found

in the end

I am just like you.

Too frail,

fallible,

human.

And one day,

finally,

you will reach for forgiveness.

Even if it seems too far away.

In Rumi’s field,

in a place beyond explanation and blame,

where there is only

Love.

I’ll meet you there.

I have always been there

for you, I have never left.

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Day 12: For Me, All the Pens

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Day 5: The Elephant in This Blog