Dear Wicked Step-mother,

Dear Wicked Stepmother,

You cast your spell on me. You locked in me in a room and kept the key. You beautified your daughters and put them on stage and told me to watch. You laughed as you used my dad’s money to make your children so beautiful and elegant. As you put your daughters on display and you left me in the shadows.

What was I? I was his child, not yours. I was his child from another marriage but I was never yours. 

-Her mother doesn’t put her children in beauty pageants. 

-She’s kinda chunky too so she wouldn’t have a chance. 

-It’s the bad eating that her mother teaches.

-I brought her along so she could see a better life. 

-I wanted her to see what a real girl looks like. I think I really should be the mother of the year for raising mine and helping her mother raise hers. 

You cried tears of joy when you brought home those trophies your daughters wore gifted with. You loved to show me what each one was and what body part they earned that trophy for.

-This one is because my daughter had the best eyelashes.

-This one is because my daughter had the pointiest elbows. 

-This one is because my daughter had the best hair extensions. We used high-ended acrylic.

-This one is for being beautiful. It took three hours of makeup but those other girls needed more help.

You laughed behind my back when I said I would like to participate. You said that you would help me and that it would take a little work. Did you help me? No. Was I the punchline to your ongoing joke? I was. 

You made sure I was isolated from everyone and everything. You told me the way I eat my food is disgusting and that I shouldn’t ask for seconds because sodium holds weight. You couldn’t stand to hear me chew my food because that annoyed you. You told everyone to leave the table because if I was gonna smack on my food then no one should have to hear it. You left in the kitchen at 5 years old all by myself and you took that pizza box so that I couldn’t indulge in another slice but you could. 

You couldn’t stand to look at me. So you told me to stay upstairs while you wore downstairs. And if I wanted to play downstairs then you locked yourself in your room and ignored me. 

My children are always the smartest and you don’t compare. 

You said that I would never make it in an advanced academic program because you had to be smart to make it. And I believed you. You for years told me everything I was never gonna be. And I believed you. You for years showed me how much more your daughters matter than me. You never once cared about me. You wore right I didn’t compare to your daughters and I wasn’t good enough. 

Ugh! You’re still here?

You unwilling had to tolerate my existence. You didn’t need my father to die from some business trip accident. He was already a ghost. He followed you around with no voice of his own, he accepted everything you have ever said as truth, and when you finally took off your disguise and to discover your heart had been frozen for decades. He pretended as you fell from the heavens. I know the truth you didn’t fall from the heavens but rather you wore cast out. 

Oh, But you in public wore the perfect angelic creature to ever walk this earth. “She was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draught she sat in it–in short, she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others. Above all–I need not say it—she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty–her blushes, her great grace. In those days–the last of Queen Victoria–every house had its Angel” (Virginia Woolf)

You wore exactly what everyone could aspire to be. You wore so kindly to teach these bastard children a better life. You took pity and you had the perfect Southern hallmark card. Oh, but you would’ve rather cut us out of the picture and then you could have your perfect family. You could finally show the world that you wore the most amazing mother, woman, and most self-sacrificing woman. 

You enjoyed having power over me. You enjoyed tormenting me for years. Why? I’ll never know as to why. Did it soothe your soul to make me feel beneath you? Did it bring you joy to compare me to your children? What satisfaction did you get by keeping me locked away for so long? 

I stopped listening:

At 16 I wanted to die. My parents made me believe I was worthless. I was afraid to talk to my mom about the emotional trauma I endured. I didn’t wanna talk anymore and I didn’t wanna be disappointed anymore.  

You put me in this corner all bruised, scared and alone. What was your purpose? You wanted me to hide, to run, to cry? I did. I ran far away but I was running in a constant loop. I hid. I stayed quiet for years and so afraid to say a word. I cried. I wanted you to want me. I wanted to fit into yours and my father’s world. 

You didn’t account for one thing, Wicked Step-mother.

What’s that you may ask?

I’m a fighter. I am my mother’s child, and that’s something you never let me forget. I may have not been born with blue eyes and blonde like your children but I was still beautiful with every freckle of mine. I may not have been born with the mind to have a complete understanding of calculus and quantum mechanics, but I was gonna try. I may not be as skinny as your children but I was gonna be the most athletic athlete you have ever seen.  

I wanted to acknowledge thing Step-mother, and that is I wish you all the best. I don’t hate you, because that’s the way you want me to think. I don’t wish ill-will towards you because I don’t wanna be a monster of your creation. I do wish one thing towards you and that is you finally find peace within yourself. 

“And someday when you knock and push the door,

Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,

I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me”- Edna St. Vincent Millay

LOVE, 

    Storm