Dear Comrades,

I posted my response to this text from my adoptive mother in my stories on Instagram (the first few lines of which you can see below) and 71 people sent me messages in response. I am holding onto the words of care, support, and understanding I received. I heard from people who had never messaged me before, many whose experiences mirrored my own.

I truly never thought it would get to this point. I thought my actions, however imperfect, would lead into a real conversation. This happened the Sunday after my birthday. 

I have been taking time to feel my way through everything. I walked to the edge of meaning, but not the edge of my life, which was such an interesting departure for me. As someone who loves to feel hope, joy, and purpose—deeply so—I could, as a thought exercise, be grateful for the ease of only losing meaning, which I trusted to return, and it did, two weeks and two days later.

I listened to “Earth Song" and I cried. Michael Jackson really did try to tell us. The lyrics spoke to me in a way that felt like this song was written for me to listen to at this moment, and understand exactly as I did, with the li(f)e I have li(v)ed behind me.

I decided to slow everything down. I decided to push back the start date of my class. I took time for myself.

I needed time to feel my way through everything that arose for me. The last two weeks and two days have been such an ordeal for one reason after another. I appreciated the care, support, and understanding of my friends, family, and community.

I gifted myself a week off from writing my newsletter for my birthday. I decided to combine my 36th and 37th newsletters into one longer piece. I started writing a newsletter two weeks ago, to send on my desired day, at my desired time, but I didn’t have the energy to present myself.

I didn’t have the energy to write. I tried, but I wasn’t feeling meaning, so I stopped. I was trying to do too much.

I want to tell my story. I have been trying for decades, and especially since I left Baltimore in 2021. Here is what I started writing two weeks ago:

In 2021, I started placing more spaciousness and distance between my adoptive mother and I than ever before. I did so because I valued our relationship. However, I could not proceed with the status quo she created and defined, which necessitated her control over me, forcing me to serve her wants, needs, and desires while my own went unmet, without any expectation of reciprocation.

With distance and spaciousness, I hoped she might be able to see the ways in which she harmed me, take accountability, and change, for the sake of our future relationship. Instead, she doubled down in her lies. She ran with the narrative she created, which is that she has been a good mother for me.

(The person I have always known as and considered to be) My mother has not been a good mother for me. The only time she appears to be a good mother for me is in the stories she tells, or otherwise as she cares to prove to her friends, family, and community. The care, support, and understanding of the stories she tells never shows up in the actuality of our relationship.

(The person I have always known as and considered to be) My mother has been a neglectful, abusive mother to me. She hid her treatment of me behind her treatment of her other children in particular, and her treatment of the children she taught in general. I am tired of protecting her image at the expense of myself.

In my piece The Abysmal State of Amerikkka: A Masquerade, I wrote about how I learned how to survive my country when I learned how to survive my family. The truth is that I learned how to survive my country when I learned how to survive (the person I have always known as and considered to be) my mother. She taught me how to survive a constant landscape and environment of narcissism, gaslighting, and erasure.

So much arises as I find myself on the other side of (the person I have always known as and considered to be) my mother. Yes, I am making my way through so much pain. And, I have created and manufactured the conditions of my life, so they might allow me to survive such a movement away from (the person I have always known as and considered to be) my mother—for the second time in my life.

I am doing alright and I need your support more than ever before, which I do not necessarily like to admit. Please sign up for one of my classes. Please donate to my GoFundMe to raise funds to monetize my newsletter, and then sign up when I do.

I plan to be as transparent about my newsletter as possible. One reason I chose beehiiv over Substack is because of their pricing structure, which allows me to keep more revenue as I scale my newsletter, with a larger upfront price. I will offer more insights moving forward, too.

I will appreciate it if those of you who can afford to donate will do so, as generously as it is possible for you to support me. This will be a much appreciated gift, helping me to explore what such a move could look like for me. 

Love, Ryan <3

linktr.ee/ryanartes

Ongoing: