Does this make me a bad mom?

I need your advice, internet.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan Lee is writing her way back to wholeness, one personal overshare at a time. Sometimes deep, sometimes swearily un-hinged. Please enjoy responsibly. 🖤

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It’s 11:34am on Friday and I’m just now staring down the barrel of my blank screen.

A thousand thoughts plus a thousand more threaten to dampen the screen in utter darkness with their words so furiously scribbled.

But that’s not what’s happening.

I freeze.

The familiar pang of but what if I go too far this time? what if I share too much? what if this time I’m ostracized?

Thankfully, I can override that voice.

But not without secondary voices popping up that say but… what if you really will go too far?

Ok, so.

Am I a bad mom for sharing my child’s shit in public?

That thought has been intermittently pounding me with a sledgehammer since I posted that newsletter two weeks ago.

Since cracking a lid on that particularly painful, infected, nearly septic shame sandwich jar… I’ve been desperate to share it all.

I want to share and share and share and share and share.

You have no idea how much fucking SHIT I have put up with and kept inside of me.

For years.

Silenced.

And now that I’ve got the sweetest taste of un-silence I want to fill oceans with my words. Light bonfires with my thoughts. Scorch desserts with my fury.

But.

Does that make me a bad mom?

That’s what I’m desperate to know.

Does me wanting to share what it’s really been like — behind the scenes, of being a single mom to an extremely hurting and difficult child — a bad mom?

Is that unfair to my child?

Right now, I’m firmly in the camp of: If I don’t share this shit, I will implode, and then what?

THEN WHAT?

Part of — a large part of — my daughter’s issues stem from the fact that she is EXTREMELY reluctant to open up about how she’s feeling.

She bottles and bottles and bottles and won’t open up to me about what’s going on.

And yes, this is particularly painful because I know where she got that from… me. 💔😭

Even when she explodes all over me, she still never wants to address what’s making her feel that way in the first place.

I bring this up because just last night, after a particularly terrible treatment from her, and a subsequent long talk and some tiiiiiiiiiiny amount of opening up from her to me, she told me she doesn’t ever want me to tell anything about this to my partner, or she will never open up to me and tell me anything.

Which, again. This isn’t new, she NEVER wants anyone to know how she feels about things. Teachers. Grandparents. Her Therapist. Me. My Partner.

But.

I’m fucking drowning in the silence.

I just want to fucking end the silence and share what I’m feeling.

Growing up, speaking up was tantamount to treason, which is why I’m struggling so hard with this.

It’s hard enough to open up myself, but pile on the guilt of exposing someone’s own shit “against their back?” oooooooooof I feel like I should be put into a meat grinder.

Sidebar: I never realised just how much my “silenced” upbringing is contributing to these feelings until right now.

On the one hand, I think it’s incredibly important to respect everyone’s right to autonomy. Obviously.

And on the other hand, why am I so reluctant to share my truth?

This isn’t a smear campaign against my daughter.

I have immense compassion and empathy for how tangled she feels inside.

And.

And — some days, I’m fucking drowning, holding it all in.

So… am I a bad mom for wanting to share my truth at the expense of my daughters’ life being aired through my perspective?

Idk.

Again, I lean towards: this is not a smear campaign, this is me expressing how I’m feeling and processing what’s going on in my world so I can try and lighten the crushing load I’m carrying all alone — therefore it’s ok to share.

But maybe that DOES make me a bad mom. Maybe I shouldn’t be sharing publicly on the internet.

????????

I’d love to hear the internet’s thoughts on this. 🫣

Please and thank you.

Signed one very weary single mom,

-M

p.s. — somedays I truly don’t know how I carry on. Writing is my greatest solace.

p.p.s. — I can’t believe how “guilty” I feel about “talking about my daughter behind her back”. I hate this feeling. I hate all of this. 😭

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From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If these words made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil ‘heart’, leave a comment or share this. 🖤