It’s almost been one year since your diagnosis. So much has happened this past year. I could talk about all the procedures, doctor appointments, surgeries and treatments. I could talk about all of the devastation, pain and exhaustion. But I won’t. I’ll remember how you rose up, faced reality and stood in your power. I’ll remember how you stood tall and beat the odds...
When my kids grow up and start their own life… when they have their own kids… What will they remember? Who will they remember? Will they remember the mornings with a cranky mom who needed more sleep? Or the nights she was there for them when they woke up from a bad dream? Will they remember the mom who constantly nagged about all the things? Or the mom who cared enough to worry about...
I can’t erase you from my life. You are still a part of my story. You are in my memories. But they’re tainted now. I can’t ignore what you’ve said. And I can’t ignore how you’ve made me feel. You picked up the phone and kicked me out of your life. You sat in my childhood home and shunned me with memories of me in that house all around you. Even the very chair...
I’ve listened to your criticism for years. Your judgments. Your disrespectful digs. I’ve pushed them aside, along with my self-worth. I’ve continued to allow you in my life. Against my better judgment. But this time… this time is different. You’ve gone too far for far too long. I will still love you. But I will do so from a distance. I love myself enough now to only accept...
You said we couldn’t fix this. You hung up on me. You blocked my number. You’ve put up your walls. You’ve shut the door. You’ve sealed up your windows. There’s no way in to you now. I can’t text you. I can’t call you. I can’t see you. I can’t explain. I can’t question. I can’t reason with you. You’ve pushed me away...
I hate that you left me. I hate that I’m questioning my worthiness now. I hate that just as I am starting to truly love myself, you have me questioning if I’m lovable. If I’m enough. I hate that you’ve gotten into my head. I hate that your choices, your actions, your mistakes are making me think less of myself. I hate that I ironically feel the need to protect you. That...
