Truth & Vulnerability

For 26 years my mother had feared the truth and my judgement. One sentence shattered the story I thought I knew about my family, and revealed the price my mother had paid alone for decades.

I didn’t know who my real father was until I was 26. I learned of him while my mom and I were packing up my things after my graduation with an MBA. It was just she and I in my apartment. The conversation went to my brother doing something silly. This wasn’t a rare occasion. My brother was always doing something questionable. Over the years, my general response to mom was to ask which one of us was adopted. I told her that I can handle the truth in some flippant way. Usually my mom would say, “oh you two” and go about her business, but today was different.

Today I noticed that she dropped her head and slowly started crying looking at the floor. I had no idea what was happening, but I felt bad I’d made her cry. I followed up quickly that I was just kidding. She wiped her face, raised her head so she could look at me and said “I have something to tell you.” I wasn’t picking up on the impact of this moment.

My mom, through crying, described a relationship she had when she was younger. She spoke slowly about their dating and getting pregnant with me. It seemed as though she was pausing after each tortured statement to see how I was going to react. Mom told me that he made it very clear had no interest in getting married or having children. He told her that she should get an abortion. She refused, setting into motion the first of many sacrifices my mother would take to ensure my dignity and life. That single decision on her part saved me but would cost her. He immediately ended the relationship with my mother. She told me she wouldn’t stay with someone forcing her to get an abortion. It wasn’t a possibility in her mind. An abortion would violate everything she believed.

Ending her relationship was the first cost of her decision to save me. She was kicked out of her shared apartment by her sister for being “stupid enough to get pregnant.” Mom had to move in with my grandparents. While living with them she gave birth to me. During those first years of my life, she raised me and my older brother with her parents’ help and support.

After she finished her story, the scenario seemed out of the script of a movie. I said, “Mom, are you telling me my brother and I have two different fathers?” At this point, she started crying again, saying “yes” quietly. I thought about it for a minute, and in my mind’s eye it seemed so clear. I spent years asking my mother which one of her sons was the “adopted one.” In doing that, I made her feel the burden of the secret she kept to protect me every time I said it. It was unintentional, but I could immediately see how hurtful it was given this new information.

The whole idea of having a different father bounced around my head for a few minutes. In a moment of clarity, I thought to myself, somehow I’ve known for a long time, I just didn’t know how to explain it or vocalize it. All I can say is that it explained many situations that had occurred, and why my brother and I were so different. What my mother thought was going to be a world shattering unveiling for me, was was actually a calming thing to me. She uttered an apology and “I should have told you before but, … but I didn’t know what you’d think of me.”

I thought about her statement for a moment. My mother, who seemed was bulletproof was suddenly utterly defenseless. I knew I needed to say something to reassure her. “What do you think I would think of you mom?” “You’re my mother, this doesn’t change a thing.” She just kept crying. I went over and gave her a hug and tried to calm her. Some may say keeping this from me deserved a punishment, but the way I looked at it, she kept secret with her since my birth. She carried this burden for so long. I contained her fear for me and her fear my judgement. It was more punishment than anyone should have to carry. I told her, “Mom, you know I’m going to have more question about my father’” She said she understood, just not today. I had no problem with that, it had been a big day for both of us.

In the end, I had a lot of questions about the man who was my father, but I learned a lesson about my mother. My mother loved me, having spent my lifetime protecting and providing for me. That day I learned about her self‑imposed punishment, carried to protect my dignity. She deserved the same from me. On that day, I vowed I would always try to be worthy of the price she paid for so long.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.