Starting today, you are fired from being my central occupation. I am retiring from motherhood as a full-time job. I will be a consultant: available for emergencies, holidays, and the occasional jar of your grandmother’s pickled onions. But I will no longer lose sleep because you sent a vague ‘I’m fine’ text. I will no longer rearrange my calendar around your visits. I will no longer feel guilty for having fun while you work late.
Do not feel abandoned. Feel released. You were never meant to be my anchor; you were meant to be my sail. And a sail, my love, only works when the ship knows how to steer without it. querido hijo estas despedido
No more.
I am firing you.
Not from loving you. Never from that. But from the job you didn’t ask for and I didn’t know I gave you: the job of being my reason. My reason to wake up early. My reason to save money I don’t spend. My reason to avoid traveling, to stay in this house with the leaky roof, to postpone my own dreams of painting in a seaside village. Starting today, you are fired from being my
The Unthinkable Letter