JB's Story

My childhood was filled with the same worries, insecurities and difficulties that most children face. I didn't have a picture-perfect home according to the flawless ideals and happy endings displayed on television. Our family went through the same stuff every family does. There were good days, and there were bad days. Most of the time, I was just a typical kid trying to make it through life without any instruction booklet.

As I grew older, I felt my life changing rapidly. With the onset of puberty, moving to a new school, peer pressure and my parents’ divorce, I found myself unaware of how to cope with all the difficulties I faced. Instead of going to my mother for answers, I kept everything inside. I did not want to talk about my insecurities or let anyone know how I was feeling. I closed myself off and avoided sharing my real emotions.

It was easy to blame my mother; I felt she didn’t even try to understand me.

Over time, I allowed my fears and confusion to become anger. I started lashing out at my mother and blaming her for much of my frustration. I did not know how to tell her how I was really feeling, so I became upset and mad at her for not understanding. This behavior was the beginning of the very unproductive and painful emotional tug-of-war that went on between my mother and me for many years.

Troubled Years

When I graduated and moved away from home, the connection between my mother and I was very strained. I remember having trouble just talking to my mother. My throat got dry, and my chest seemed to tighten up. We said good-bye in the most sterile of ways, and I walked away feeling very little connection with her.

Leaving my mother, I felt nothing because emotional I had severed our relationship.

For the next few years, I seldom did anything to really improve our relationship. I believed my mother had been unfair to me and had hurt my feelings beyond repair. I felt my anger toward her was justified, and I hoped it was hurting her more than it was hurting me. In my mind, I thought that she did not love me as a mother should. She was not listening, responding or acting the way I wanted her to. Fueled by my anger, I found reasons to stay away from her and made up excuses why I should not confide my true feelings. I did not seek any support to help create the bond that I desired with my mother. I did not know what steps to take to overcome the anger, and I hung on to the past; not willing to let go of the pain I felt inside.

In a desire to rebel against my mother, I moved overseas to a small town in a third world country. While I was there, my life started changing. I was growing up, learning new things and getting more comfortable with the person I had become. I met many people and became friends with many families. Since I was an outsider and needed to learn the ways of the village, a few of the women took me under their wing. Even though we faced many differences regarding language, culture and customs, we somehow formed friendships. Over time, I gained a great deal of respect for these women. I started caring for them in ways that opened my heart and rekindled some of the lost feelings I had for my mother.

Much of the anger I felt inside started fading.

In that village I saw poverty, political unrest and economic standards at their very lowest, and yet I saw people who openly showed love and affection toward one another. Families who had little money, food or clothing had instead something more valuable: a true understanding of what they meant to each other. Although many of them lived in one-room shacks of sticks and cardboard, they still felt happiness within their family. Material things meant little to these people, because things could not substitute for the spirit of a parent or child.

Watching these people, I began to feel ashamed that I lacked the character to respect and love my own mother for the person she was. To not see her in all her glory and simply feel blessed that she was my mother brought an embarrassing feeling to my heart. A deep part of me felt saddened that I had let so much come between us. For the first time in many years, I began thinking about my mother and the impact she had in my life.

I no longer felt justified in harboring anger and resentment toward my broken relationship; instead I felt free and awakened to how special caring for another person could be.

A change of Heart

As my feelings started shifting, a terrible natural disaster occurred in another part of the world. I remember witnessing the tragic aftermath. For most of the night I watched painful images of tear-stained survivors looking for missing family members. I will never forget the news footage of a mother falling to her knees, riddled with agony over the death of her child. The devastation and emotional anguish she felt struck me deeply. I went to bed stunned, thinking of all the grief that woman was experiencing. As I lay there I thought, what if that disaster had struck in my country, to my family? If I were a parent, how would I feel if I lost my child? And then I thought...how would I feel if I lost my mother?

A wave of emotion hit me. Immediately I felt the need to reach out to her. I realized that foolish arguments, past disagreements no longer mattered. Everything I had seen regarding love, family, respect and forgiveness made me realize that my mother, regardless of our past, loved me undoubtedly. She gave birth to me, cared for me and tried to give me the best life she could. I know she did not take classes or have any lessons in the art of motherhood. She was not perfect, flawless or divine. She was human, doing the best with what she knew. She may have made mistakes, but those mistakes no longer seemed to matter.

She was the only person in this world I could call “Mother”, and that was all the reason I needed to tell her how much I loved her.

Taking Action

The next morning, I took the time to reach out to my mother in the smallest of ways: I wrote her a letter. I began honestly, writing the words I had wanted to say to her so many times before. At first I told her of my anger, my hurts and the things I still felt wounded by. Then I shared with her my desire to build our relationship and work on the things that had driven us apart. Eventually, I spoke of the deep feeling of love and longing I had for her to be a part of my life.

Every letter I wrote was like a gift to myself, ridding my heart of pain and sorrow.

I could write anything in my letters without judgment or disagreement. I could say everything I needed to, without conflict or avoidance. My letters gave me a unique freedom to share candidly with my mother. They allowed me to express my real feelings, and that in turn began the process of eliminating the tension between us.

Throughout this correspondence, a new and exciting transformation was taking place. For the first time I was openly conveying what I was feeling, rather than getting angry or upset. She was listening without judgment or complaints. The continuous cycle of pain and anger was being broken. For the first time, we were communicating in a new and healthy way.

Over time, the affection I felt toward my mother grew so much, I wanted to go home and see her. Nothing was more important to me than working on and creating the relationship with her that I had always wanted. I felt a deep desire to rebuild our friendship. I made a new goal to be closer to her and to show her the loving, supportive daughter I knew I had become.

It wasn’t her who changed, it was me.

When I did return home, I found myself feeling incredibly connected to my mother. Even though we had been apart physically, we were emotionally closer. Somehow the letters had removed the wall between us. We had a new and clearer understanding of one another.

Towards the Future

As time passed, my mother and I created new routines and formed positive, more useful ways of communicating. Many of our old habits were gone, and I began to understand and appreciate my mother, accepting her just the way she was.

I wanted a friendship with my mother, regardless of what it took.

Now I am pleased to enjoy a fun and close relationship with my mother. Some of the past has been forgotten, and most of it has been rewritten with new and warm gestures of love. I will not say that my relationship with her is perfect and that we never disagree. In fact, we argue, just as everyone else does. The difference now is that we are not carrying needless baggage from an earlier disagreement. Nor are we bringing up old arguments and unresolved issues that have never been discussed. Now, if we disagree, it is strictly on the merits of the moment. We are both dedicated to creating the best relationship we can. That is the most important thing to us, not the argument.

It was my mother that suggested I write this book and publish my letters. She hoped they would help other mothers and daughters rebuild their relationships. She knew that the honest, sincere words I had written over the years had touched and healed her heart, and she hoped that other who were experiencing the same kind of difficulties would be inspired.

When I thought about my mother's idea, I got excited, not just because I thought my letters would warm the hearts of other mothers, but because I knew that sharing love through letters could change people's lives. It became clear to me that my story might motivate other daughters to take the first step in creating the relationships they have always wanted, because in the hundreds of letters I wrote to my mother, she never wrote me back.

I thought my experience may give other women the courage and desire to reach out their mothers.

My mother did not enjoy writing. It was not a way she felt comfortable connecting, so she never took the time to express her feelings in return. The process and effort came form me and it was my own desire to change and understand that allowed her to change with me.

Since I used letters to rebuild the love between my mother and me, I thought you could, too. You could use letters to reach out to your mother and share the words you long to say. Any piece of paper could set you free and begin the very rewarding feeling of reconnecting and rebuilding the love you share.

Because our situation is a perfect example of how one person's efforts can bring two people closer, and how letter-writing has the amazing ability to restore a relationship, I agreed with my mother that writing a book about it was an ideal way to share that precious message with you.

If I had stopped writing and waited for my mother to write me back, I never would have met the woman I know today.