#//aka mommy issues

[firecaptainphoenix]

Dear mom,

Tw: emotional distress Bradley Romero-Sawyer saw his husband sitting at their breakfast bar on one of the bar stools. Walking up behind him he was careful about wrapping his arms around his waist, Phoenix was a bit too jumpy at times and a bop to the stomach would not end well with the current occupant. Kissing his cheek, he glanced down at the counter seeing a piece of paper with the words 'Dear Mom' written on the top.

"You know it helps if you hold a pencil, it won't write itself," he teased.

Phoenix let out a huff of a sigh, "This is such a stupid assignment, it's not like she'll ever see it."

"It's not about her, it's about you. Your therapist said this would be good for you. Get all your feelings about her out in the open."

Phoenix turned pulling Bradley into his arms, he leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "What if I don't want them out?"

"Then tell your therapist you weren't able to do it. But both me and her think it'll help. It's been a month since she assigned it to you, you really sure there's nothing you want to say?"

Phoenix sighed, going quiet as he just kept leaning against Bradley. Therapy was harder than even firefighter training had been, he didn't want to sit and talk about his feelings. It was easier to stay quiet and just wait out when things got to be too much. As if sensing his distress he felt movement from Bradley's stomach against his own body. Glancing down he smiled fondly at the small bump that had been growing over the last few months.

"Remember who you're working on things for, I love you. But when you go quiet like this it's hard to tell what's going on. Little J isn't going to know why you get like that."

Sighing Phoenix nodded as he pulled back enough to look at his husband. They'd taken to calling the baby J unsure of what name they'd settle on eventually. But Bradley had said he liked J names so Little J was a nice place holder. He looked at Bradley seeing nothing but love and sympathy, it was still hard to believe anyone could look at him like that.

"I know...I'll try," he said softly.

Leaning forward Bradley kissed him deeply, "That's all I'm asking for, that's all we're both asking for." With that Bradley headed off to a different room leaving Phoenix once again alone to work on his letter. Sighing he picked up the pencil and just started writing.

Dear Mom Ma,

I'm suppose to write a letter to you. About how my childhood felt or what my relationship with you is. Least that's what the doctor Bradley found told me to do. I don't know what to say to you, you were a mother with way too many kids. Honestly you barely mothered, you were more like a general in charge of her army. You kept us fed, trained, and ready for anything. Maybe that's how you showed us love. Maybe to you that's love. I don't know.

I'm scared to be a father. When Bradley told me he was pregnant, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I didn't feel excitement. I felt dread and anxiety. I was so scared that he'd look at me and say you aren't enough for us. The worst part is I can't even talk to you about this, all you said was 'You better not be a deadbeat. I didn't raise any of you to be deadbeats.' Thanks for that. Honestly I'm still scared, I didn't have a father, and I guess I didn't really have a mother either. So how the hell am I suppose to raise a kid better than you?

Maybe I won't, maybe I'll fuck it all up and one day they'll be sitting far away from home writing a letter to me that they won't send about how much I didn't cut it. I want to think that I'll do better, that I can be better but I don't know. Bradley keeps saying how important talking is to babies, that's never been my strong suit. It wasn't yours either.

Guess that's it then, I'll either fuck this up the way only a Romero can or turn it all around. Maybe this kid will be better than me, hard to imagine them being worse. Least they'll be half Bradley, he's good. Deserves better than me, but he believes in me. Says he believes in me enough for both of us. He's the reason our kid is even gonna be a Romero. Told him I was fine being the Sawyers but he insisted, said half of the kid is mine and he never wanted anyone to doubt that.

You're never gonna read this. I'll see you when we visit little while after the baby is born. I miss you. I love you.

-Phoenix Romero-Sawyer

[sparklejumpropequeen1949]

This or nothing

[x4ver1a]

[shesmanic]

[disgustedlyscattereddd]

I wish I was here

𖤐

[redroses07]

worst feeling

[salembehindbars]

The unfortunate truth is that my anger as a daughter far outweighs my empathy as a fellow woman.

[ha1leysblog]

[lithium-poet]

my family might not be proud of me, but at least my favourite teacher is.

𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶

[nanixo]

All thanks to my dear parents :)

[tootles338]

I love my mom but I will never treat my children the way she treats me

[sparklejumpropequeen1949]

[girlintodust]

[xoxo-seline-solier]

How it all begins,

My mother enfolds me with care, her chest aglow,

Hopeful eyes scanning my innocent face,

Promising to break the cycle of maternal strife.

But the cycle proves stronger than her kiss,

And that infant matures to resent

Her emotionally detached workaholic mother.

The matriarch whose professional duties superseded

Her daughter's choral performances,

Vacating chairs where a familial visage should preside.

"We work all night for you, to see you educated,"

The mother scolds, her broken English a constant reminder

Of every sacrifice made for her children’s welfare.

Relocating to a foreign land for better prospects,

Only to confront xenophobia and disapproving gazes

From elderly white individuals who regard her scarf and dialect

As terrorist markers, branding her as an undocumented alien.

Yet to her, the headscarf symbolizes a peaceful faith,

While her mother tongue tethers her to confidants who relate.

The Americanized daughter strides beside her,

Oblivious to the sacrifices made for her aspirations.

How it all begins,

With a vow to cease the vicious cycle,

But sometimes, even the mightiest of mothers,

Cannot bear the burden of the world.

- seline solier

[bunnydoll777]

[hekateinhell]

Anne Rice on Lestat's relationship with his mother, Gabrielle:

She wanted a neutrality, an invisibility in a world in which women were inevitably more visible than men. She is truly not maternal and is rather cold. I have never really enjoyed writing about her. I enjoy writing about Lestat's need for her, and his broken heart when she is cold to him and basically not particularly interested in him. I understand his great love of her, his appreciation of her strength, and his need for her which goes unmet. ~ Anne Rice