The day I lost my teddy bear

My mom threw away my teddy bear. I was 26 years old and packing to move back to Chicago for grad school. I was going through my closet--I had been living at home for a month or so in between leases. And she told me that my bear was a health hazard and needed to be thrown out. I argued and cajoled. But she threw it out anyway. I didn't take it out of the garbage. I knew she'd find it again and try to put him in the trash. Instead, I just let him go. She knew that even at 26, that bear was special to me and a safety net. I missed him for a year. And thinking about it now makes me cry. Losing that bear, that witness to my childhood was heartbreaking. He's never been replaced. Although, a therapist suggested that I go to a nice toy store and choose a new one. I haven't. Because I did not want her to see. She doesn't believe in sentimentality. Or emotions beyond her own. She can't imagine what it felt like to see my poor teddy bear, with his holey arm and worn out eyes, in the trash.

Hello! Welcome!

So here we are. On an anonymous blog. This is going to a place where I can tell the stories that I can't tell on my other, public blog. This will be therapy and maybe a space for other daughters who've had experiences like me to find comfort. I look forward to telling and sharing stories in this space.