The post I wrote on Sunday, October 10th will explain the ideas behind the Unsent Love Letter Mix Tape series, and if it still doesn’t make sense to you, well then, at least it makes sense to me. The writer. The blogger. The girl behind the computer. Call me what you will but these are my letters. Love Letters. Some will be traditional love letters and some will be love letters of another sort. These are my love letters to those that I love…or once loved…or will one day love. Let me point out that my plan is not to send these letters, but to write them as though I was sending them.
Track 7 is written to my Mom & Dad. After talking to both on the phone this evening, I found myself defending my choice to follow my dreams, follow my heart against their lack of support and conflicting viewpoint. The two people who I seek support, encouragement, and guidance from the most were trying to discourage me. To say I’m upset is an understatement. I don’t know how I feel. Let down, perhaps? Anyways, it is because I’m not sure if/when I will talk to them next that I write this love letter, because I do love them I’m just not sure if I like them much right now.
Dear Mom & Dad,
I am writing this letter to you because I love you. If I didn’t then I wouldn’t take the time to write and let you know how I feel, hoping that we find some common ground and understanding. See, in speaking to you both this evening- separately, I found myself upset listening to your ‘speeches’ and speaking up passionately to defend myself and the choices that I’m making.
I do need to (again) point out that I understand and appreciate the points you made during our discussions and as I said to both of you separately, all of these are things that I have taken into consideration multiple times. However, my passion for this line of work and the joy I get from it override each and every reason you gave me. I guess I just thought that you finally understood how dedicated I am to all things that align with me pursuing my passions and dreams. I thought that I had your support. I thought you wanted me to be happy. I guess I thought wrong.
I got off the phone with frustration steaming through my veins, and it upsets me more that you have no idea how much your words affected me. Did I take what you were saying the wrong way? Was that your way of saying “I believe in you”, “I support you”, and “Go get ’em, Tiger”? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
You are my parents. Your opinion means the world to me, and knowing that you do believe and support me are truly what I need the most in this take chances, carpe diem world of slamming doors and negativity.
I’ve lived in Chicago for two years now and you know this has been the biggest struggle of my life. But what I realized tonight is, you don’t know just how rough the struggle has been for me, do you? While you’ve been by my side, you have not worn my shoes. You have not felt what I’ve felt, nor have you felt completely empty- feeling nothing at all- for as many days I have. You will never understand how I’ve struggled.
You have never worn my shoes and you never will. You will never be an anxiety-ridden twenty-seven year old female who moves into a strange new city for a job that turns out to be exactly the opposite of what she anticipated it being. You will never know what it’s like to feel alone in a place filled with millions of people. You will never see the things that I’ve seen nor hear what I’ve heard. You will never feel what I’ve felt, and haven’t felt.
You have never worn my shoes, the shoes of a single women that is forced to provide herself with the love and support that a significant other is meant to give. You’ve been with one another since you were teenagers and therefore you do not know what it’s like to wake up feeling lonely and know that the same thing is going to happen again tomorrow unless a miracle finally happens.
You have never worn the shoes on a broken-hearted soul. You do not know what it’s like to be surrounded by millions of people and still pine for someone who you may never see again. You will never wear these shoes, and it doesn’t seem like you’ll ever understand that I do wear these worn-out shoes.
You have never worn the shoes of a dreamer. You do not know what it’s like to feel unfilled until you explore your passions and dreams. There’s always a dream, and therefore a dreamer’s mileage is infinite.
You do not know what it’s like to question who you are; question where you belong; nor question if you belong anywhere. You may never wear my shoes, but as my parents I hope that you can understand the shoes that I wear every day. I wish you could understand what I need from you.