Note: I encourage letter writers to not post anonymously, but I understand that sometimes that is not possible. After talking with this individual, it was decided that this was one of those times. Therefore, the letter is signed "Me" instead of with a name.
Dear You,
Dear You,
I was
seventeen when my dad yelled at me for eating a sandwich. Coming down the
stairs he said, “Do you know how many
carbs are in bread? You don’t need more
of those.” I fought back and he called me a brat, an ungrateful little
bitch. We fought for almost an hour. We were about to go to a football game,
and I told him I didn’t want to go with him anymore. His response was, “It’s not a big deal- stop being such a drama
queen.”
That’s
exactly what abuse does. It slaps your soul, branding it with pain and then
pours salt over it by saying you have no
right to be hurt. You deserve everything that has happened to you. But
friend, sometimes you don’t deserve it. Sometimes things happen to you that are
not your fault. Abuse shames us into silence by saying we were supposed to be
stronger, supposed to be smarter, supposed to be braver or better. Abuse says
we got what we deserved.
Friend, you
will meet people in your life who will tell you that you deserve the abuse they
give you. They will tell you that you are unworthy, undeserving, and the way
they treat you is your fault. That is
not true.
You do not
deserve cruelty.
You deserve
tenderness and grace and freedom.
Love is
supposed to set you free- if you are not
free, it is not love.
My dad has
never hit me, but verbal abuse finds its way into your soul and buries itself
there in ways that most people underestimate. Friend, don’t stay silent. Start talking about it, and no matter what
people tell you, don’t stop until someone hears you. You deserve to be heard.
And I will
be here, banging my pots and pans with you, making a cacophony that will not be
easily ignored.
This is our
orchestra.
This is our
masterpiece.
Learning and
living with you,
Me