You spoke a curse over my book. You told me I had to choose between a husband, and my writing.
You were married at seventeen. (I avoided boys at seventeen).
You loved the Victorian era (I hated it).
You called me Victorian (but I really wasn’t).
You said I had good values (you were right about that).
You are a workaholic (I work hard, but I never work myself to death. I’m more a Mary than a Martha, though all the world condemns me for it).
You pray over me, asking God to help me choose “the right thing” (which is meeting with you weekly for a Bible study).
You want me to come to you with all my problems (I won’t do that anymore).
You’ve discouraged me. Told me I will never be enough. You are speaking Satan’s lies. I am a woman created in the image of God.
I love you so much. You poured a lot into my life. But you’re wrong about a ton of things, and I’m pretty sure you won’t want to hear that.
You are wrong about my book. But even now, I live in fear, afraid that I’ll have to choose between a husband and obeying God in my writing. I feel like my heart is being tossed into the sea, with a lead weight around it.
I feel like I’m drowning.
I want a husband, and a family, and a home so very badly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were utterly wrong. I believe you are. But your words… they haunt me.