Closing the Door to Open a Window

reflections on childhood and moving forward without family.

I sent my parents a letter yesterday - it’s as close to an official “No Contact Notice” as you can get. I wrote it in a way that leaves the door open for resolution, and yet, sending it feels final. The last nail in the coffin. If I am honest with myself, about the people they are and the patterns they follow, I don’t think they’ll ever come around. I don’t think my parents will ever see me as a person. They might never be able to love me. “And that’s okay.” I’m gonna keep repeating that to myself until it feels true.

I didn’t think I’d be able to live independently without my degree. I decided college would be my escape route way back in elementary school - an escape from abuse, from poverty, from bigotry. I did well in school and decided this would be my life route:

1. Be really smart.

2. Go to college.

3. Make lots of money so I can fix everything.

It was a lot of pressure for a 9-year-old. Back then I thought my parents would be a part of that “everything.” If I made a lot of money, I could pay off their mortgage. My dad would be less stressed, so maybe he wouldn’t take his anger out on us anymore. He could relax and play his drums. I could get my mom all the help she needs to heal, and I would hire a maid, and a cook, so she doesn’t need to do all the “wifely” duties. She could sit back and make art. If I got filthy rich, they would never have to work again. We could live happily and peacefully, and they would be proud of me, and grateful.

Forget the fact that I had no idea *how* exactly degrees lead to more money… forget the fact that wages have stagnated even for college-educated folks… forget the fact that every major I was interested in has been in the arts and humanities… forget all that! The kid had a dream! And boy, did I pursue it!

But where did that dream come from? And where did it go?