Dear mom,

An uncomfortable part of therapy has been realizing that you probably did as much damage to me as my father did. No, you weren't abusive like him. But unlike with him, I looked up to you, wanted your approval and affection, and internalized and judged myself according to your worldview.

I know you have always loved me. But that's not enough. A child is a child, not a miniature adult. You were very... pragmatic... not cold but certainly not warm, and never very good at pretending to like or be impressed by something you did not like or were not impressed by.
I learned quickly that you would be visibly relieved when I made it clear that I didn't expect you to be impressed by my popsicle stick crafts or tell me that my singing was good. But did you have to ask me not to sing around you because my tone deafness hurt?
Acknowledging that the things I made and did were not objectively impressive was one of the few things that I could tell earned your respect. You would have been disappointed in me if you'd known that sometimes I secretly wished that you'd pretend to like the arts and crafts we made in school the way my friends' parents did.
I learned not to show you anything I was proud of, because that was a recipe for disappointment and hurt feelings. You never intended to be cruel, but you couldn't bring yourself to pretend that you thought that a 10 year old's poetry was good, and you assumed that you weren't expected to. It was better for both of us that I just not show you anything I'd done.
We've talked about it now that I'm an adult, and I know that you now "get" that I'm not like you, and that you're sorry that you hurt me, but it still feels like you're disappointed that I'm not like you in this regard. I don't think that telling you this now would do any good. You already know I was hurt, and you're already sorry you hurt me. Knowing just how much damage it did wouldn't undo any of the damage, it would only cause you more pain. And you wouldn't be able to convincingly lie to me to reassure me that you weren't at least somewhat disappointed.

Once you said, "you know, I think I was never meant to be a mother," and instead of reassuring you I said, "no, probably not."
Your feelings weren't hurt, because it was the truth and you didn't expect or want me to lie to you—that's just the way you are, and I understand that now. It just would have been nice if you hadn't assumed throughout my childhood that I was that way as well.