I may be, probably a lot, very raw and brutal in this letter.
Reading this before your 30th birthday could be traumatic. So I will be sure this is not done by destroying this letter. And because I will be destroying this letter, I can write as free as I want, even exaggerate as a means of letting all feelings out.
Giving birth to you was a hallmark in my life.
It’s not that I didn’t want to have a child. I did.
It’s not that I feel that I was or am a bad mother to you.
Nor that you were a child difficult to cope with and raise.
But, it is true:
I had a life before you that will never come back.
When you came, I was almost 30 and had just landed at my first job after studying. At that moment of time, I could:
- see all possibilities as opportunities for me; all I needed to do is choose and explore.
- travel alone
- go out for a walk anytime I felt so
- watch 3 movies back to back and eat chips
- read a book until very late at night if it was that interesting
- have a hobby and go to the gym
- not cook for days
- have sex without scheduling for it
- clean the house only once a week
- buy new clothes, or
- save some money at the end of the month if I wanted
At that moment, I thought it was easy to:
- move to other countries
- change job
- keep my or any routine
- keep calm
- keep close to friends over the weekends
The first 6 months passed on auto-pilot. As if I had fallen asleep from spring to winter. If you ask me now, I can tell you here that it was not clear if it was night or day, if I was cooking, cleaning, sleeping, going out the trash, pushing the stroller around. I was doing all of that, most of the times somehow combined.