14 Drafts and Counting (retracting a social media post)

Dear Mother-in-law,

When I wrote your constant visits were as welcomed as a diseased rapist

between the legs of a virgin, what I meant was...

My eyes flickered to my salutation like remote-controlled blinds when the button is stuck. Miniscule things made me paranoid because what others missed or generously ignored, mother-in-law would seize, sharpen like a righteous blade, and filet my self-esteem. Control-A…delete.

Dear Mother,

She’d hate that. I could hear her now, “Why so proper... am I a stranger? If so, a divorce certificate would be nice.”

Dear Jacqleen,

Backspace! Mother-in-law would die of insult if she read that. I could imagine her condescension, “Jacqleen huh? So, you think we’re equals? That bar must be serving magic on tap.”

Dear Mom,

Offending you has plagued me with the deepest shame. So much that I’m

no longer offended you gave my husband’s number to his former female-

acquaintances on the destroy-the-date wedding invitations you mailed on my

behalf.

Who am I kidding, this wasn’t an apology? Delete.

Mom,

Think of me like a real daughter because I am. Children make mistakes, this

was mine. Sort of like that you’re-ruining-my-life moment all children have...

only paraphrased.

Great, I sounded like a kid playing house. Delete!

Mom,

Things between us haven’t been easy. I hope that can change. Stating that

your idea of motivation could talk the Heavenly Father into suicide wasn’t very

productive, but...

Delete. I find myself having a newfound appreciation for Twitter’s 280-character limit. Emotional vomit needed boundaries. It made apologizing easier. “Damn you, Facebook.”

Mom,

I was drunk. If I promise to never drink...

Then I’d never survive another uninvited visit. Surely, I shouldn’t make false promises. Delete.

Mom,

No, Jacqleen. You’ve never liked me, at least now you have reasons.

One look at the sonogram… delete.

Mom,

I’m sorry.

Mom,

I’m pregnant, let’s start over.

Forget this! I slammed the laptop. Using my baby as a bargaining chip was low. Besides, mother-in-law would only highlight my stupidity for not realizing I was pregnant before getting wasted.

How could I apologize to someone who wanted me to mess up? I whipped out pen and paper because what’s more sincere than a handwritten lie? I scribbled an enormous ‘I’m Sorry’ to accommodate her poor eyesight, but when I looked it over my eyes bulged in horror. My strained penmanship made the words seem threatening. I added emoji stickers and hearts, but it all seemed comical.

I even thought it would be easier to fake sincerity by writing in another language. Turns out, there aren’t any words in any language that will make a coerced apology sound genuine.

As I stood in my living room with remnants of liquor-courage and hormones coursing through me, I picked up my phone and sent the most meaningful text of my life:

Mom,

Despite my grievances are, airing them publicly was an insult to myself,

my marriage and you. Perhaps I meant a little of everything I said, except

one thing. You are not a perfect example of what I hope to never be for my

child. Whatever your faults, you raised a great man. It stands to reason, that

there is greatness in you. I hope I have the chance, to witness it.