"Remembering is not a pre-requisite for care, and I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience."
This reminds me of what Ram Dass says about the importance of "becoming nobody." Reading this letter, I find myself wondering if I'd be able to summon the kind of courage you have summoned to lean into (as you described it) the feeling of "insignificance" while providing critical care. My parents have chosen lives that don't include each other--or my sister and me--and they made those choices in disturbingly cruel ways. Could I be the kind of person that shows up as a "nobody," ready to help if ever they should need me, regardless of the damage they've done? I'm not certain I'm that giving or understanding. Could my sister? Most likely yes. Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet.
Those thoughts aside, I wanted to say that your writing is both graceful and precise, and I have been at various points moved, reassured, and laid bare by reading your letters. I know it's going to be a good day when your work hits my inbox, and I think it's a safe bet that I'm not the only one who feels that way.
Such a beautiful letter, I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time. Whenever I’m reading something of yours, I never want it to end so I try to read as slowly as I can and savour it…but it’s hard as your words are just so perfect I want to gobble them up!
Oof, my heart. This resonates so deeply within me. Thank you for sharing your experiences and reflections so vulnerably. Writing is so therapeutic, sharing our stories is so healing. I feel like I've bounced in and out of grief and healing and grief and healing over and over again when trying to navigate the complicated relationships I have with family. When I write it out, I feel free. But my family then find my writing and shame and guilt me for sharing my experiences. I laud you for having the courage to share, no matter what. I respect you for trying your best to love and care for your mother despite her lack of mothering of you. And I admire your ability to say no more when treated unkindly by someone who birthed you. I see you mothering yourself now, here, in the community and relationships and most importantly, the relationship you have with yourself. And that is powerful. It's encouraging to witness. And I thank you for being you, sharing, and speaking truth <3
I needed this now, as I begin to navigate a world in which my mother has become a different, disconnected person overnight and as I witness the reshuffling of my historically consistent* family unit. I know that the other side, of the grief and of the dread, is there. I know one day I'll be on that side of it. Thanks.
Somehow this was exactly what I needed to read today, Anna. The phrase "I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience" will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing with me, with all of us.
I really connected with how your community reflected on the loss of a parent. After my mom died (just before the start of the pandemic, which shut down many of life's systems we had been told were necessary - including work), the perspective of giving zero fucks for so many inconsequential aspects of life was almost overwhelming. It was hard to bear, but as my life has grown around my grief I'm thankful for it.
On my first date with my now partner, we spent a large part of our walk up a large hill talking about the death of our mothers. Now, two years later I feel like it's an important perspective we share. We seem to have let our guards down - to question protective mechanisms and to let the important things in, even when they are the hard/scary/vulnerable thing(s).
"Remembering is not a pre-requisite for care, and I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience."
This reminds me of what Ram Dass says about the importance of "becoming nobody." Reading this letter, I find myself wondering if I'd be able to summon the kind of courage you have summoned to lean into (as you described it) the feeling of "insignificance" while providing critical care. My parents have chosen lives that don't include each other--or my sister and me--and they made those choices in disturbingly cruel ways. Could I be the kind of person that shows up as a "nobody," ready to help if ever they should need me, regardless of the damage they've done? I'm not certain I'm that giving or understanding. Could my sister? Most likely yes. Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet.
Those thoughts aside, I wanted to say that your writing is both graceful and precise, and I have been at various points moved, reassured, and laid bare by reading your letters. I know it's going to be a good day when your work hits my inbox, and I think it's a safe bet that I'm not the only one who feels that way.
Such a beautiful letter, I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time. Whenever I’m reading something of yours, I never want it to end so I try to read as slowly as I can and savour it…but it’s hard as your words are just so perfect I want to gobble them up!
Oof, my heart. This resonates so deeply within me. Thank you for sharing your experiences and reflections so vulnerably. Writing is so therapeutic, sharing our stories is so healing. I feel like I've bounced in and out of grief and healing and grief and healing over and over again when trying to navigate the complicated relationships I have with family. When I write it out, I feel free. But my family then find my writing and shame and guilt me for sharing my experiences. I laud you for having the courage to share, no matter what. I respect you for trying your best to love and care for your mother despite her lack of mothering of you. And I admire your ability to say no more when treated unkindly by someone who birthed you. I see you mothering yourself now, here, in the community and relationships and most importantly, the relationship you have with yourself. And that is powerful. It's encouraging to witness. And I thank you for being you, sharing, and speaking truth <3
I needed this now, as I begin to navigate a world in which my mother has become a different, disconnected person overnight and as I witness the reshuffling of my historically consistent* family unit. I know that the other side, of the grief and of the dread, is there. I know one day I'll be on that side of it. Thanks.
Thank you, again, Anna. One of my fave letters of yours
Somehow this was exactly what I needed to read today, Anna. The phrase "I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience" will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing with me, with all of us.
I really connected with how your community reflected on the loss of a parent. After my mom died (just before the start of the pandemic, which shut down many of life's systems we had been told were necessary - including work), the perspective of giving zero fucks for so many inconsequential aspects of life was almost overwhelming. It was hard to bear, but as my life has grown around my grief I'm thankful for it.
On my first date with my now partner, we spent a large part of our walk up a large hill talking about the death of our mothers. Now, two years later I feel like it's an important perspective we share. We seem to have let our guards down - to question protective mechanisms and to let the important things in, even when they are the hard/scary/vulnerable thing(s).
Stunning🙏🏼 Thank you. One of the most beautiful pieces I have ever read, ever.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
This is so beautiful, maybe my favorite so far. It resonates deeply as I try to grow through my grief. You are a wonder.
Ohhh the way you share your stories
melts me
Every time !
“Fed by many hands”
I also love on land with 9 others and have never felt so held before .
I look forward to reading more community tales .
X
this is a balm for a deep longing to return home to central california, to lean back into community, to cast spells for my deepest desires. thank you.
Beautifully written, a story that feels so bare and honest. Thank you for sharing!
Beauty-full. ✨
I love this and you. thank you for sharing.
this is so resonant. thank you so much for putting it to words and sharing.
Thank you.