Dear Grandma,

I know that you love me and you are proud of me. I am blessed to have such a godly woman as my grandmother, and I love that you want to support me. Please though, please stop.

When you tell me how lucky my kids are to have me, and how they must be so happy to be here, I go quietly insane. They are not lucky and grateful, they are wildly traumatized and very broken. Even if they were grateful and happy, I am not some sort of saint that they are lucky to have as their mother. I am barely keeping my head above water. I can barely pray. I am so exhausted and anxious and conflicted.

I am not living a shiny happy facebook life. I am in a freaking foxhole and some days I can hardly breathe. So as much as I love you, it drives me crazy when you soliloquize about how wonderful and magical everything is. It is not magical. It is tiring and hard.

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