Dear Mom,
First off, I want to say I am not sorry to be the person you raised me to be or for who I am today. I am proud to be me, but in that process of being me, I know that I caused you a lot of pain and heartache, and so that is what this letter is about.
I am sorry I was never the girly-daughter you wanted me to be. I’m sorry that we never talked about boys and first dates and everything else that moms hope they do with their daughters. Even today I am hesitant to talk about my dating life, because I know deep down inside it’s not what you want for me.
I’m sorry that even something as simple as clothes shopping was difficult. I know you tried your best to get me into cute outfits and frilly dresses and wanted to show off your pretty, feminine daughter. That was never me. I’m sorry that every shopping excursion up until I was 15 was a long-drawn out process in which I wanted to shop in the boys section and you dragged me into the girls section. Even today, when I come home with a new shirt or pants or tie, I see, for split second, the shame and pain that you have for raising a butch daughter.
I am sorry I will never give you the big white wedding that you want. I know you had saved your wedding dress for me, but you know I will never wear it. Even if, by some chance, I manage to find someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, we will never have the wedding that my brother had. Oh, I know you and Robert and Robbie and some of the family would show up, but I know there is ½ the family that would not. I know that the family friends you and dad would normally go running to talk about the wedding to would not be receptive, even if you told them. You will probably mention something in passing, if you do at all. In your eyes, it will never be a “real” wedding.
I am sorry that I am not the daughter you asked for, but I am proud to be the daughter you got. I hope someday, you are too.
Love,
Dany
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