You Chose Me

Dear Daughter,

Just so we’re clear.

You chose me.

I wasn’t strong, didn’t care. I had no compassion, no tolerance, no patience.

I saw people like you, and those who helped them, and wondered, “Why bother?” Their sacrifice is costly, wasteful, and burdensome. You will never contribute enough to make their effort worthwhile.

Yet now I am one of ‘them.’ I’ve been asked to give more. More than I want to. More than I am capable of giving. I am unwillingly, forcibly, repulsively on your side. You chose me. And I hate you for that.

It’s been seven years since you dragged me into this life of servitude and simplicity, since you broke me, and pulled a promise from me I never intended to make.

“From the moment I decide ‘I will,’ it does not matter that ‘I can’t.’”

It hangs where I see it every day. And every day I do the best I can for you, though I am unable.

Unable to fix you. Unable to turn back the clock. Unable to quit.

And it becomes clear. I get it.

I love you.

And that changes everything.

Because I love you, you have potential. Because I love you, you have worth. You make me a better person. I see the world differently. I cry more easily, care more deeply. I am stronger. Wiser. Calmer. A leader. A giver. With new skills, talents, words, friends, insight, and faith.

You did this to me. You changed me. You chose me.

This was never about you, was it?

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