What is it about the holidays that's so…disarming? Is it the transition from fall to winter? Is it the merriment of consumerism towards the end of the year? Is it the tradition of joy that magically gets upheld across the country? I know these questions sound a bit ridiculous, or cheesy, or both, but I have to ask. It seems like someone's holiday wish came true: a mom got her daughter back.

Obviously, we're still a *huge* work in progress (I made up with you a few days ago), but it's a step up from what we used to be. It's been a few months since my email about you not giving me the space to think things out for myself, when you tried to use the "I'm your mother" card to get yourself back in my life. Like I said in that email, I likely would've been okay to talk after another week had you not overstepped my boundary. That extra week turned into extra months, and I was extra vigilant to not speak with you unless I absolutely had to. Now that we hit the "reset" button on our relationship, I don't have to avoid you anymore. I know your reasons, I know your intent, and I'm glad to know that none of it was ever malicious in nature. Not that I ever truly thought it was - I know you well enough to know that you're not at all a malicious person - but still. Now that we've gotten the chance to talk things out, I know your side of the story, even if I don't fully agree with or understand it.

I'm sorry that Dad wasn't around as much as he was when I was born. We both know his job demanded his attention pretty often, more often than he probably liked, but I get that you felt abandoned by him. I wouldn't say I *like* that you cheated with Curtis, but I guess I can understand why cheating in general was a thought on your mind. I'm also sorry that Curtis cut you out the way he did. I still think he deserved to know that you were pregnant with his baby, even if things were severed between you two. It's what he was owed. That said, I wouldn't trade Dad in for anyone else. Blood doesn't always make people family.

I know your circumstances back then weren't the best when you found out you were having me, and I'm sorry it was the way it was. That being said, I don't think it's enough of a justification to keep a secret like this. You were scared, you were unsure, you were in a few tough situations, I totally get that. If I were in shoes, I certainly wouldn't know what to do. But to keep this hidden for 20 years?! I just can't understand that (and thankfully you were understanding about it). I know you think who my biological father is doesn't matter, and that's not the part I take issue with. In fact, I agree with you. I was shocked to find out it was Curtis, but I got over that in, like, two weeks because regardless, I still had Dad. The part that I take issue with is the fact that you kept a secret to begin with.

I don't think I properly explained myself when we sat down to talk. I went through a bunch of different scenarios with Dr. Collins, acting like he was you. I laid my cards out on the table, I told him everything I was upset about and everything I've thought about since finding out, but I just could never properly articulate what it was that really bothered me. I couldn't scratch that itch with him, and I couldn't with you. At least, not yet. Now, in a "message" to you (that's really to myself), I think I can.

Something you always told me to be was honest. Be upfront with people when something's wrong or when someone needs to know something. Do it with class and tact, of course, but be honest. You drilled it into my head as a kid, whenever I fought with my childhood friends, to tell them how I didn't like something or how I didn't want to do something I thought was bad or dangerous. Always. Be. Honest.

So how is it that you can preach honesty to me, but then not do it yourself?

It's not a "do as I say, not as I do" thing (what a ridiculous phrase). It's not a situational thing either. I don't think you can tell me to be honest, while lying about something yourself, and not see yourself as a hypocrite. I mean, if I did something like that, I'd be beating myself up for it the longer I stayed quiet. Of course, I don't know how you were personally feeling at the time since we have yet to talk about this, but part of me hopes you were self-aware. I'll find out when I feel up to talking about this again with you…which will be soon.

You know, part of me is actually happy our bridge was repaired. Well, not *completely* repaired. We're likely not going to get back to the relationship we used to have, but that doesn't mean we can't build a new one. And hey, it's not like we have to relearn everything about each other all over again. Our jobs are the same, our interests are the same, all of that is the same. We just have to rebuild our trust and faith in each other…well, in reality, I have to rebuild my trust and faith in you, and you have to work to earn all that back. It'll take quite a bit of time to get there, but I think it's possible. You're my mom, and I love you, and I feel like I'm finally in a place to reconnect with you and make something of the wreckage that exists between us. Forgiveness is yet to be determined, but I'm sure I'll get there someday.