I’ve reached the point in recovery where I need to make amends. My husband thought this day would never come. He’s been waiting for over a decade for me to admit I was wrong, but before I address his concerns, I must make amends to one of my closest friends. I was actually in charge of caring for this girl for a number of years. To hold me accountable, I’m sharing this letter with you.
Dear Kay,
This is the hardest letter I’ll ever write. Where do I begin? How can I ask for your forgiveness when I know I don’t deserve it?
I’m sorry I said you were ugly, and I don’t hate your nose, like I said so many times. When faced with a choice of praising you or being critical, I always criticized. If I tell you I love your hair, how it’s dark brown waves naturally wrap into beach-blown curls, will that begin to erase the hundreds of hurtful things I’ve said? Does it help that I think your cheerful smile is reminiscent of a younger Julia Roberts?
Ok, that’s still not true. I totally lied to you; I’m so ashamed. I completely dismissed your special dietary needs. That gluten-free blueberry pie wasn’t remotely gluten free. Neither were the gluten-free waffles. I feel awful, but gluten-free foods are so expensive. As I watched you eat those unhealthy foods, which were mildly toxic to you, I saw your health decline, yet I said nothing. In fact, I encouraged you. Not only did I dismiss your wishes, but I discounted your physician’s advice.
I knew you were building a savings account for emergencies, and I sabotaged your efforts. More than once, I took money from your grocery fund and treated my husband to Starbucks, or I bought a new toy for my son. Sometimes when I was tired, I borrowed a little here or there to eat out so I wouldn’t have to cook. Most of the time, I meant to pay you back, but that never happened. My irresponsibility often left you short on money for gas and food. Your nest egg is gone; your credit card is maxed; and you have nothing to show for it. I’ve cost you thousands over the years.
Regarding our home-improvement “projects,” I didn’t give you enough time or money to complete them, yet I demanded perfection. I should’ve known laying tile was a skilled trade. Or that you really can’t cut hardwood flooring with a utility knife. I taunted you to the point of tears, and I was ruthless if you didn’t deliver.
Even though it should have been your husband’s job, I forced you to negotiate with your mother-in-law. But you were the only one selfless enough to keep peace. When I realized your happiness was worth more than appearing happy, it was too late. Above all, I regret talking you out of standing up to her. I don’t know why I stopped you. She was awful.
The words, “I’m sorry,” are hollow and have little value; still, they need to be said. In the rooms of recovery, I’m learning to make living amends, so from now on, I’ll be putting you first. Your feelings and values are my top priority. If you say “No,” I’ll respect you. It will take time, but I will change, one day at a time. From now on, my love for you will match my actions.
Love, Pam
For years, I put everyone else first and was hardest on myself. Treating a child or a spouse like would be abusive, but self-abuse is difficult to see. In recovery, I’m learning self-care isn’t selfish, so I’ll be making living amends to me. I have books to read, nails to polish, and naps to take. Most importantly, I’m setting myself free from my self-imposed prison.
Pour milk, cocoa, sugar, vanilla, and salt into small sauce pan. Heat on medium, and whisk ingredients together. Whisking eliminates bitter clumps of cocoa and makes the milk frothy. Enjoy with a good book.
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