Letter to my family.
on personal identity and family
I woke up to another “it’d be better if I was dead” text from my mom today. It was a great way to start the day. I haven’t responded yet. I’m realizing just how interconnected the human psyche really is. This isn’t the first time my mom has mentioned or threatened suicide. In fact, I don’t know the first time I remember, I was probably 8 years old. As far as I know, she has never been serious, nor has she ever attempted to kill herself. But what impact must that have on a child’s mind? Is there any part of me that doesn’t get affected? I have problems connecting with people. I think I fail to trust them emotionally, I know I don’t trust myself emotionally. I do everything I can to minimize my emotions and feelings, my struggles - to minimize myself.
I don’t remember my dad as the loving, supportive, or caring type, although it seems to me that he was after I was grown. What I believe about my father - maybe just what I want to believe about my father - and the experiences I remember war against each other in my mind. He was the threat of punishmet, he was feared. He didn’t know what he was doing, but I know he loved us very much. I don’t know much about his early life, but what little I know isn’t good. I guess we carry the sins of our fathers.
We’ve always been closer to my mom’s side of the family. We are a proud Mexian family. We are dramatic and loud, screaming matches were not uncommon growing up. I remember being closer to my mom when I was very young, but that went away quite early. She can be quite manic and erratic - very high highs but equally low lows. She lost her husband a year ago. She didn’t know what she was doing then and even less now, but she loves me very much.
I don’t fault my parents their flaws, for indeed I’m starting to see that these make us who we are almost as much as our strengths do. And I think that moving forward, doing good, and showing love despite - yes, especially with - our flaws is one of the things that makes life truly beautiful and worth living. My parents gave of themselves entirely - they loved completely and without hipocrisy - that is all that can be asked of anyone. No, I’m not even sure what I’m writing about, just that it needed to be written. I love my family. At least, I think I do. If I knew what love was I could tell you. We are a good family and I believe we are a loving family, but there are burdens that I am not prepared to carry, and there are flaws that I must examine within myself.
One of the first and most powerful memories I have of my childhood is waking up to breaking glass, screaming coming from downstairs, something hitting the wall. It must have been well past midnight, I’m not sure. I was in bed, asleep I think. To this day I don’t know what the fight was about or exactly what was said. I was smart enough to figure it out, but I chose not to. And still today, I choose not to. I didn’t want to be involved, I was sure it was better not to. Now I’m not so sure, I wasn’t processing my emotions. How could I? I wasn’t letting myself feel them at all.
I keep coming back and asking myself “What am I really writing? Why am I writing it? What’s the point?” I don’t know if there is a point. Sometimes I want to reach out and talk to someone I know, who knows me, and someone I trust - but when I think about doing it, I think… I don’t know, I think that it’s unfair to them. I don’t want to burden them with my problems and I shouldn’t complain. I should be dealing with this, should have dealt with it already. And I guess not a small part of me is worried they won’t care. We all have our problems to handle. I’m scared that the voice within me that tells me “it’s not that bad, you’re being silly, there’s much worse” is correct. And most of all I’m scared that I am not strong enough or good enough.
The more I examine myself, the more I see how my issues and struggles are entwined with, not only my history and experiences, but those of my parents, and their parents before them. It shows itself in how I treat my sister, how I treat my friends. Our lives are all connected to each other, our worlds are constantly changing, shaping, influencing, and clashing with each other. It’s a beautiful tapestry, life. Family seems to be a weak spot for me. I feel most out of control of myself around my family. Why is it so easy to mistreat those who we’re supposed to love most in the world?
My family is very personable. We are each considered outgoing, from my mom who is out of this world, to me who is the most shy. It’s great, and ultimately, I believe it’s truly genuine. But it can feel like a mask that we wear out in the world, but not behind closed doors. Especially now. My sister is beautiful, energetic and kind. But when she’s around me, it feels like I’m with a different person. I see her shoulders sag ever so slightly, I hear her voice lower, her intonation drops, her words become clipped, her mannerisms recede. I feel her energy wane. I don’t know what it is about me that causes these changes, but it hurts me deeply.
My mom is the life of the party. Everybody seems to love her. She always seems full of energy. Like her father, she truly loves and cares about people, she’s bold and always makes an effort to connect to everyone. She’s bright and intelligent and I think she makes people feel seen and heard. But around me and my sister, all I hear is complaints, all I feel is frantic energy, all I taste is scorn and derision.
My father was kind and generous. He had a genuine outlook on life, he felt and experienced its beauty, and he shared this deeply with all his friends. I know he was a great man from the quality of his friends. But, he could be harsh and proud. Growing up there was one way things must be done, and they were always done that way. I loved him very much, but I think most of my life I feared him more than I respected him. I wish he got the chance to grow old with my mom, they would’ve made a beautiful old couple - dancing and partying away with good food, good wine, and better friends. I wish he had the chance to see my sister and I start our own families.
I guess I’m trying to say that we are each greater than the sum of our parts. I am as flawed as each of my family members, probably more so. Life isn’t perfect. I see the bad as well as the good. But I believe that’s part of what makes it so beautiful. I still need to give myself permission to feel sad, but also to feel good and to be happy. I don’t want to bury my emotions where they can’t affect me. I want to be free to cry, but also to sing, to laugh, and to dance. I’m still trying to figure out who I am - I’m not as outgoing as my mom, as generous as my dad, or as kind as my sister, but I’m no longer trying to be someone else. I’m writing my own story, and what a beautiful journey it is.
To mom: I love you so much. Please stop trying to hurt me.
To Alexis: You’re smart and beautiful and better than I can ever be, never forget it.
To dad: I wish you were here. Thank you for raising such a wonderful family.
Love,
Jordan