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I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry they can’t teach you.

I’m sorry they don’t understand you.

I’m sorry they don’t care that they can’t teach you.

I’m sorry I can’t make them care.

I’m sorry I can’t make them try.

I’m sorry that no matter how much I try I cannot educate or change them.

I’m sorry this is so hard.

I’m sorry it’s a constant search for answers, a constant uphill climb. No child should have to experience this, especially starting at such a young age.

I’m sorry I’ve spent so many years trying to make it work, trying to make them understand, trying to make them listen.

I’m sorry I send you to that hell every day.

I’m sorry they make you doubt yourself and who you are.

I’m sorry you think you have to live up to their false expectations.

I’ve tried to help you not care so you could survive. I’m sorry I failed.

Because of how life bombards you, it is impossible for you to see what I see about who you are and of what you are capable.

From the day you were born I’ve doubted myself in most decisions regarding you. I’ve tried not to. I’m the queen of over analysis and second guessing. I’m sorry for that.

I am not trying to coddle you or over protect you. I’m not trying to teach you that you can excuse or crutch your way through life because of your challenges. I’ve been trying to teach you strength. I think I’ve done that well. You don’t use your dyslexia as a crutch or an excuse, but how much strength can you carry when you’re constantly being bombarded with never being “good enough” in their eyes, especially when they refuse to give a damn about ever enabling you to be “good enough?” How long can you sustain your quiet tenacity? How long until the anxiety you feel overflows into self destruction?

I can’t stand that they try to steal your joy. It infuriates me that you are afraid and anxious. It enrages me that they callously laugh at my determination to save you, and say “hold my beer” while they show me the depth of their apathy and abject disdain.

I can’t think clearly. I can hardly breathe. I question my reasoning in continuing with this broken cycle that generates nothing but stress, anxiety, and damage. Why am I doing this to you? What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to protect you! I swore an oath to God to protect you!!

“They” scream at me and belittle me while they demand that I love them, honor them, respect them, and if I don’t I’m a horrific, pathetic human being not worthy of anything in life.

I’m dying to hold you before me and scream back that how f***ing dare they demand my submission, my love, my adoration, my trust, my respect when the palpable damage to not just my child, but to every child like you brings me and every mother like me to my knees, pulling my hair, hiccuping I’m crying so hard.

After years of pleading for help I am only ridiculed, scoffed and laughed at, denied repeatedly, met with more hubris and ego than is reasonable or possible when their ignorance is overwhelming and they throw childish tantrums while they refuse to do better, to learn, to lead with true love, to care that you, or any child like you, or any child for that matter, ever actually, really and truly learns to read or write.

I’m sorry, my love, my heart. I tried. I failed. I allowed them to harm you. I allowed them to harm me. I can’t undo that sin.

The changes needed are daunting. They’re attainable, but it will take brave, intelligent people who genuinely care about children. I don’t see those people anywhere around us right now. We do not live in a school district that cares or has those people in decision making roles. They don’t care if you or I rot in hell. They never have. I’m sorry I’m only now coming to terms with this truth.

I’m so sorry, baby. I tried. I failed you.

I’m going to try to fix this, baby, to do better, without them harming you anymore.

I love you, more than the sun and the moon and the stars, the heavens above, and all the space in between. Always.



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