My mom was my first experience with patriarchy. Thinking you were spectacular until I watched you choose submission.

I’m writing a letter to my mom to heal my mother wound.

I don’t think that she’ll see it or read it.

I’m not sending it to her.

Because sending anything to my mom is like putting myself in some type of place where I’m about to get some fucking part of me cut off.

So, at 36 years old, I’m over it finally.

But I still feel like I need to say what I gotta say.

Basically, I feel like my wound of not being seen comes from childhood.

From birth.

My childhood was so confusing because I was different.

Now, at 36, I realize that I was just different. And everyone was lying to me about it because they are idiots.

Brainwashed idiots. Or robots, whatever.

I never aligned with anything woman-like or little-girl-like.

Those were not the things I ever wanted to do. Just didn’t really fit.

I was also very quiet because I was traumatized before I had consciousness.

I remember, in consciousness, already starting out with sadness.

That was my baseline.

I was depressed.

I dreamt every day of leaving this earth; it was all I would think about.

I would feel it so deeply.

I wanted to somehow make or give my mom resources, but then die to lessen the burden of me being around. I still wanted her to be proud of me, or yet be sad I was dead.

I was a child, imagining this instead of dreams.

I would only spend time by myself; when I was alone, I was not getting abused for my existence.

My presence just annoyed my family.

I think my girlhood was just disgusting to them.

And I could tell the difference.

Because my family was all women, but we had one male cousin who was basically my same age.

He would get praised for the smallest accomplishments; every birthday was a celebration with gifts, while mine was forgotten.

And on top of all that, the whole family was his bodyguard. He was special; he was the golden boy in the family of all women.

Let’s say we got in a kid fight. I would have grown adults fighting on his side.

“You’re too rude.”

“Don’t touch my child.”

“Watch what I do to you.”

Yelled at.

Roughed up.

Told to get out of here.

This was my reality, living on eggshells.

So before consciousness, I was very depressed.

And then I just still was, and I didn’t understand why, because it was still happening.

I just felt like because I was assigned female at birth, I was something bad. I just did not understand what it was.

And the thing about it is, I didn’t know that I was a girl, but I just knew I wasn’t my cousin.

I did not understand the concept of gender or genitals being tied into that.

He had short hair.

They were growing my hair out.

I had to wear skirts and keep my legs closed.

He never had to wear a skirt or worry about showing something between his legs.

He got to wear shorts and have fucking fun.

When we would go to my grandma’s over the summer, I would have to cook and clean while he just played video games.

And it made no sense to me because my grandmother actually needed help. She was an in-house cleaner, nurse’s aide, gardener, and cook.

I was like, I didn’t even want to help her because why do you need my help and not his?

So, for me, all those times, I learned nothing because I did it out of “I don’t want to.”

I say this because I learned to clean later on in life after an ex-girlfriend got me together. I was rebelling against all these tasks because of how they were introduced to my life.

There are still certain things that I’m learning in adulthood that I might have learned through those experiences, but there was no connection other than me being forced because I had to learn women’s duties. Or just knowing to help because I was going to be a woman.

Guess what? It did not happen like that for me.

It’s not like I came to consciousness and I was like, “I’m a little girl.”

I came to consciousness and was trying to figure things out.

I wanted to understand everything.

And instead, every time I had a question, I got bullied.

I got humiliated.

I got hurt.

I wasn’t an adventurous little kid.

I was very shy.

The perfect little girl, seen but not heard.

Now comes.

MY FIRST PERIOD

I remember when I got my first period. I was 9 at the time.

Again, I had no clue what was happening to me.

I just had blood between my legs.

A day that could have been a reason to celebrate because I was connecting to the earth.

You know?

Like my blood can now be in soil.

I was a small fruit of a tree, not ripe, not ready, but there.

I remember the whole room being still when I told my mom.

Remember, my family is all women.

I remember thinking, damn, something bad is happening to me.

Before this, I had no cramps.

But now, all of a sudden, I had pain.

I felt like I was supposed to be ashamed of this, but I didn’t understand why or what.

And it’s like they only saw my body and never a child.

It’s like, damn, just because I happen to be from the origin, like I also have mitochondrial DNA that’s from a lineage of only females, because I’m from that, you gotta immediately punish me?

Like, what the fuck?

Why couldn’t I have a celebration of my period?

I remember my mom would tell me terrible things after my period came.

My childhood is foggy because of the constant abuse, but I remember clearly my mom telling me she wished I was raped. Honestly, I do not know what my quiet, scary ass could have done. But I remember crying into my journal. Allowing the tears to make the ink bleed.

I started a journal of all the insults my mom would tell me. The rape comment was the first time the tears formed so much that they would hit the page. I don’t know where anyone was when I look back. I was so alone.

I despise my mom so much, honestly, because my mom is just a brainwashed straight woman, and I thought she was so much more.

And brainwashed straight women only look at other women one way; it does not matter if that other female is her child.

All I ever wanted was that boy-and-mom relationship that boys and their moms have.

Like, you’re arguing with me about things that did not happen.

I had no real conflict with my mom.

I never had daughter-mom conflict for the sake of us both being females.

Remember, I was not connected to womanhood, but instead of being treated like her little boy, I was her little reject.

I would listen to my mom like it was the Bible.

I do think how I communicate is super direct, maybe from all my trauma. But if someone asks me to do something, I do it. Simple.

I did not comprehend until later on in life that I had agency.

My mom would tell me not to watch TV after school; I’m not doing it; I would find something else to do.

My mom would tell me to take out the garbage; I’m taking out the garbage.

I’m painting the house with her.

I’m doing every single thing with my mom, kind of like we’re two men, or like I’m her little son.

My mom never took notice of this.

How gentle I am, or was, with her.

She only goes by some fucking script that tells her daughters are supposed to fight with their mom.

The media and whoever else had that experience became my mom’s.

Never a true experience with me, the being in front of her.

I remember my mom saying that I was a problem from some age to some age, indicating that I was liking boys or something along those lines.

She was talking to someone else; I was overhearing bullshit.

I didn’t fucking like boys.

Never fucking did.

I was just able to get along with boys a little bit more than girls because girls, at that time, kind of scared me.

Like, if my mom just sat down and thought, she would realize how dumb her thought process is.

As a baby Noele, later on in life, my aunt told me all my family knew I was gay or different before puberty and after. She said I had no interest in anything or anyone. So this means they all knew. My mom knew.

The crazy part that really gets me so pissed at my mom is that when she realized that I actually had no interest in men, she started pushing men on me.

Trying to correct me now. Trying to have me date men, date men of her choosing to make a baby for her.

Makes no fucking sense because she hated me but thinks she’s good at raising kids.

Because women are socialized to nurture and be caring, they really think it comes naturally, and they are good at it.

No, you aren’t.

What you do without intention, you will never do well.

Women are not fucking naturally caring; I have experienced it.

They need to stop getting a fucking pass to take care of people. At this point, it’s just a source of love that moms know they can go pull energy from.

An unlimited source.

My mom never wants to fucking acknowledge that I’ve been different my whole fucking life.

I am different because I am a part of the only group on the planet not obsessed with men.

She fucking hates it, like after all my mom has been through with my dad.

How could she hate me for being a lesbian and being free from all that pain?

Like, my dad got it immediately. My dad does not want me with no man; he knows how men are. My dad, without having experience dating men, knows how men are and understands my lesbianism is a blessing.

My mom now, just like every straight woman, wants to put me in the lion’s den because someone put her there. She was hurt, so that hurt needs to be shared.

Straight women will never stop that train; they just pass the baton of trauma as if it is the only way.

They are resentful and won’t fucking stop the pain with themselves. They are like a person who got an incurable virus, and because they got it, now they are spitefully spreading it.

That’s how I experience straight women.

My mom has always been lying to me.

She is one of those people that thinks when lying is for a good cause, then it’s not lying.

She will rationalize everything to the point where it’s not a lie to her.

So imagine a brainwashed straight woman just going by the script that says if she follows it, she will be rewarded, and now has a child.

This woman believes all the lies she told me had some higher purpose, but the purpose was just for me to get raped.

As she said when I was a child. I guess her prophecy came true.

The part that floors me is that my mom was also raped as a young adult. Her first anything was rape, just like me. But she wished that on me.

Later on in life.

A thing that really pissed me off was her telling one of my trans women friends, and I say trans woman so you understand that this person is visibly trans, so because she looks LGBT, my mom felt the need to tell her some LGBT shit.

My mom is gonna be fucking having a fucking gay ass conversation, one that she’s never had with me, about how she always knew I was gay.

Grasp.

How could you always know I was gay and allow me to be corrective raped?

Why did you push men on me? Try to hook me up with fucking men?

You were trying to convert me? Groom me into liking men?

I hate you for that.

And then, on top of it, before I used to feel kind of sad and feel bad for my mom, but now I don’t.

Because literally, straight people just fucking make kids out of some stupid love shit or some “I was drunk.” The kid is just for the man’s legacy or some other stupid reason.

There’s no plan past that “sex.”

It’s literally zero plan.

Now there’s a new fucking person in the world, and now we have to be thankful that you had sex.

Stupid.

No.

Fuck you.

Because I listen to how fucking straight people lie about how bad their relationships are when they cannot take it anymore. They are too ashamed to be honest.

And now you get some type of honor because a baby is a part of that toxic unit?

No.

You are a liar.

So, for me, my mom doesn’t get no fucking pass.

Like, why the fuck did you make a kid?

It seems like you didn’t want kids.

And then, you’re not even engaged with me as your child; you’re disengaged, telling me what to do.

If you were engaged, you would see who I am.

You would see me as interesting and unique instead of a nuisance.

You couldn’t see me because seeing me would have required you to stop trying to turn me into you.

MY MOM IS JUST ANOTHER STRAIGHT WOMAN OBSESSED WITH MEN

My mom, all she cared about was making me learn to be obedient to men.

Center them.

Do shit for them.

Take care of them.

When I didn’t, I was disrespectful.

Not ladylike.

She is just a straight woman obsessed with men, like every other.

If you had a fucking daughter who was just like you, cool.

Straight.

Wants to be married to a man.

Be his property.

Wants to wear women’s clothes.

Take care of his life.

Sure.

You’ll have your fucking clone.

But you don’t; you had me.

You were a bad mom.

You are a bad mom, a terrible one.

A bad mom to a lesbian child.

Fuck you for that.

Your obsession with my dad should have stayed there. Elevating it to kids did not need to happen.

Why couldn’t you see that being obsessed with men is your identity and not mine?

I was never gonna be somebody’s submissive wife like you.

I don’t know why you thought that would be the ceiling for me.

That’s why women are so fucking dangerous.

Because the ceiling for you was pushing out two kids and being your man’s whatever.

So that’s the ceiling for me?

Fuck you for that.

I wonder if I was your son, would that be my ceiling?

Telling me to submit to fucking men when I make mitochondrial DNA.

I’m pissed off at my mom in the way little boys are with theirs.

Like, I can see why men would repeat this pattern to women.

Because you watch your fucking mom give up everything to submit to a man. And you start to resent her.

Like watching your superhero deflate at the sight of a mouse.

That won’t be your superhero any longer.

You watch her be stupid for a man.

You watch your dad play in her face, and she again bows down to him.

She always chooses him.

He is always right.

Even if he is wrong.

He says the stupidest shit, and she is drinking it up as if he is some authoritative figure.

He’s a blessing just being around her, to her, and I am supposed to act the same way.

I did not.

I love my dad, but he was not interested in me. That is just the fact; I will not praise what is not there.

So my dad doesn’t really fuck with my mom or me by his actions.

But this bare minimum attention- I mean, he was not interested. When he does come around, I am supposed to fake excitement for a stranger.

If I didn’t, I was disrespectful.

This is what my mom called disrespect.

Not kissing my dad’s ass was me being a disrespectful daughter.

Why wouldn’t I resent her and even him for all this?

I used to hate my dad, but as I grew up, I realized it was not only him. He had a dummy that did everything he asked, regardless of how he treated her.

He gave her shit, and she turned that into gold and gave it back to him.

Like, who would pass that up?

Since it is my mom and not my friend, I can’t tell her how dumb she looks. I would get in trouble, so I have to respect this shit. This dumb straight woman shit.

Her trying to instill that dumb shit in me is where we would butt heads.

You know how many times my mom allowed men to disrespect me?

And then when I cursed them out, guess who she had a problem with?

Me.

Not them.

She is the fucking obedient, perfect little patriarchy princess.

An example of how far her obedience goes.

When I was in Grenada a couple of years ago, I was walking around in a Rasta mesh top, booty shorts on.

Normal Grenadian outfit; it’s hot as fuck out here.

My mom’s fucking chef. His name was Shabazz. She pays him.

Also remember, I am her daughter.

Shabazz keeps looking at me.

I say privately to him, “Don’t look at me.”

He felt comfortable because he knew how stupid and docile my mom is.

He knows how submissive she is to all men.

The first time, he does not respond to my statement.

I get back.

He’s looking at me.

Remember, this is my mom’s house.

Staring at me. He took it up a step.

I’m like, “Why are you staring at me?”

He starts to fucking talk about, “I can look wherever I want.”

Remember, it’s my fucking mom’s house.

And he’s gonna fucking tell me he can look at me if he wants to.

I fucking lose it.

I already told his ass once, so I was pissed my boundaries were being fucking tested.

So I fucking reinforce those fucking boundaries how I fucking want.

My mom breaks up the yelling match, allows homeboy to stay, and apologizes to him on my behalf.

I guess it’s Shabazz’s house.

The next time I saw him, he apologized, though.

Because I’m no stupid bitch like her.

She was surprised when she found that bit of information.

Men can’t just do whatever they want to me, as they do to her.

Patriarchy told her to be silent, and she listened; I did not.

He fucking apologized to me at my grandfather’s funeral.

Later on, I found out he got arrested for sexually assaulting a little girl.

This is the man my mom was defending.

This is how far her obedience goes.

All straight women are like this.

Idiots.

My mom thinks she can domesticate or neuter me. She fucking tried her whole life, but it won’t ever happen.

You couldn’t domesticate me without first replacing me with the daughter you thought I was supposed to be.

That is her life, not mine.

I live feral and free.

I always get complimented on how free I am.

No one will domesticate me.

That’s for y’all straights.

FUCK EVERY SINGLE STRAIGHT WOMAN, you all put men first, then deny it when told

So my relationship with my mom, I thought it was gonna be boy and mom, but it’s just divide and conquer.

It’s no different having a straight woman friend than having a straight fucking mom.

They still see you as just another female.

They only see you as two things: something to domesticate or a villain.

They don’t see you as a person who’s part of their community.

That’s why I don’t fuck with her.

That whole shit is over now.

I am done with all straight women, and that includes my mom.

Lesbians are not your ally anymore.

Being around you is just as dangerous as being around a man.

You having an attitude, saying you are not that type of woman, crying, or denying it won’t change my lived experience that you are dangerous.