“Do you feel like your story has been acknowledged to the extent that you would like?”
This was the question I was asked yesterday.
I didn’t have an immediate answer.
After thinking it over by myself for a while, my answer was “Yes.”
I was surprised.
Two months ago I would have said, “No, there is still one person that I need to acknowledge my story, my Mother.”
After sitting with my thoughts and journaling, I’ve come to realize I don’t need my Mother to acknowledge me or my story, anymore.
I spoke my peace with her.
It didn’t work out.
And it’s okay.
I’m finally okay.
I no longer feel like I need her to say,
“I believe you and love you.”
I am healing and moving on in life.
I once believed I couldn’t do it without her, but now I know I can.
I can be happy in life without her.
I can go on and have and enjoy kids without her.
I don’t need to be on good terms with her to be happy or feel worthy.
And for once, this isn’t a dig at my Mother.
I’ve been known to go “Eminem” on her and spew hate from time to time in my writing.
I cringe at some of my older posts about her.
Back then all I saw was red when I wrote.
Now, I’m more at a light pink working my way towards yellow.
Yellow means happiness to me.
Anyway, I don’t HATE my Mother in all caps anymore.
I don’t exactly love my Mother.
My feelings towards her lay somewhere between love and hate.
I don’t know what this means.
My goal isn’t to love her.
If it happens, then cool.
My goal has always been to not carry hate in my heart towards her.
And I genuinely don’t anymore.
I never thought I would reach this point, but it’s refreshing.
I don’t know where this shift came from, but it’s about time.
And this isn’t a judgment on myself.
It’s more like a “Hallelujah!” moment because I feel free.
Free of the hate that’s been weighing me down.
Maybe this is the beginning of forgiveness.
Maybe I’m on my way to seeing yellow.