Dear Mama: A Letter From Your Son Who’s Still Figuring It Out

Dear Mama,

I don’t always know how to say things out loud. Sometimes my words get stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat, like they’re afraid to come out wrong. So I’m writing this, hoping maybe you can hear me better on paper.

I know you love me. I feel it when you check in on me, when you make sure I eat, when you ask about school even if I don’t always answer. I see how hard you work. I hear your prayers. I see the tired in your eyes even when you try to hide it behind smiles. But sometimes I wonder if you see me—the me I don’t always show.

The truth is, I’m anxious a lot. Not just nervous before a test or when I forget my homework, but like… anxious in my bones. Like I’m carrying a weight I can’t name. I feel like I’m supposed to have it all figured out—how to be strong, how to be cool, how to not mess up, how to be a “man,” whatever that means. And sometimes I feel like I’m failing at all of it.

Some days I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. Not in school. Not on the team. Not even in my own skin. I laugh when I’m supposed to, and I act like I don’t care, but I do care. A lot. I just don’t know how to talk about it. I’m scared if I say I’m struggling, you’ll be disappointed or think I’m weak. But I need you to know I’m not weak. I’m just… trying.

I need space to be confused sometimes. I need permission to not be okay. I need you to ask how I’m feeling and really want the answer—even if the answer is messy. I need you to remind me that I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. That I’m allowed to cry. That I don’t have to carry everything alone.

And I need you and Dad—or whoever’s raising me—to show me what love looks like when it’s quiet, when it listens more than it talks. I don’t always need advice or lectures. Sometimes I just need to know that you’re sitting next to me, not trying to fix me, just being there. That means more than you know.

Mama, I’m trying to find myself. I don’t always have the words, but I’m searching. For peace. For purpose. For something solid to stand on. And even if I act like I don’t need you, I do. Not to push me, but to walk with me. To believe in me even when I’m doubting myself. To see the boy behind the silence.

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m not always good at showing it, but I love you. And I’m learning to love me too.

Love,

Your son,

Still growing

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