Hi Mom,

That term makes me flinch. 'Hi Mom' is written to someone who possesses a lot of qualities you don't have. 'Hi Mom' is written to someone who loves their children unconditionally, no matter how many mistakes or screw-ups they make. No matter what color they dye their hair or how many speeding tickets they get.

It certainly means they love their children no matter what they weigh.

Unfortunately, you couldn't do that. When I entered middle school, instead of encouraging my self-esteem and helping me create positive relationships with food and exercise, you began shaming me. I started wearing baggy clothes to hide the body I loathed at fourteen. You forced me into public gyms for workouts; if you thought I wasn't trying hard enough, you would loudly lecture me in front of other gym-goers. I think you viewed this public humiliation as motivation, but instead, it fostered an intense connection between fear of ridicule and exercising. Even now at 25, if I take a run around my neighborhood and see another person, I duck my head down in embarrassment. You fostered my unhealthy relationship with food; if you thought I was eating too much or too fast, you would chastise me at the dinner table in front of my family and friends. I began eating in secret and would eventually be diagnosed with a binge eating disorder. Every day I was subject to comments about how fat I was, how lazy, how disgusting.

In 2008, when I was getting ready for junior prom, you came into my room while I was getting ready. I had spent all day with my best friend getting my nails and hair done and I had even found a dress that fit my plus-size body. I was actually prideful in my appearance.

That is until you walked into my bathroom. I will never forget what you said to me.

"I don't know why you're going to prom. You look fat in that dress so it's not like you look pretty."

I don't know what it was about my weight that ignited this firestorm of anger and disappointment in you. Perhaps you thought it was something that would reflect badly on our family or maybe you were just embarrassed to have a fat daughter. My sister, interested in sports and athletics, went on to be a high school cheerleader and date a football player. Your overwhelming support of her was a stench I could never escape. It was flaunted in my face, every time I showed you one of my published poems or an open mic event I had organized, it was clear that my accomplishments meant very little to you.

This story, sadly, goes on for years and years, but the ending is this: I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, an anxiety disorder, and a binge eating disorder. I barely graduated college, even having to take a semester off to work on my mental health, and spent what are supposed to be the best years of my life in a depressive fog. I'm doing a lot better these days, I have a great psychiatrist now and my therapist supports my decision to cut off contact with you. She believes that when and if I am ready to talk to you, I will.

My dad has a new girlfriend. She's incredibly supportive of me: my mental health struggles, my weight issues, my personal interests, she's there, involved and positive. Granted, it's easier to come into a grown child's life than it would be to live with a middle schooler, but she's putting a lot of work that she doesn't have to. Work that you never did.

My siblings tell me you're in South Carolina, working as a teacher. I genuinely hope you're well, physically and otherwise. Wishing misery on you is a feeling I got over a while ago. I still feel robbed by you, I probably always will.

I know you will never admit what you did to me for so many years, I don't even think you know what you did. But you did it.

When I searched for articles on 'letters to mom', I didn't find one that wasn't a thank you or positive shout-out. That reaffirmed my belief that I needed to write this one.

Because while my mom wasn't a mom to me, she still is mine. And that's something I am still working to reconcile and live with.