Is me. Is being to turned around and confused to think that I could even be a good mother to my children? What a god damn joke on me.
The pain I stuffed for no where to put it always came spewing up and all over them. I had no comparison to give them when they needed me, all I could feel was my own loss and that got in the way.
And I’m angry at myself? For not even knowing that my trauma was important to deal with so I could be emotional ally available to them. I failed them. Retraumatized them and Abandoned them emotionally when they needed me.
And for that. What can I even say? Sorry? Yes. I was sorry. A sorry Mama to them in that one thing? And probably more? So blinded by pain that no one saw? Makes me sick.
I’d been living a lie that it didn’t hurt and ended up hurting those I loved most. And now? I’ve hurt again those I love. When will it end? That’s all I keep praying. Give me another chance lord?
The body. Holds pain. And if I was gonna come clean about this? I was gonna clean up in public. Maybe someone can learn from my mistakes.
My family’s deserve to know why I was such a hot mess and pulled back when I could have leaned in? For fear. Fear. Fear.
As hard as I’ve spoken is as hard as I’ve spoken to me. Because I’m the one talking to myself here. Arguing with the wind.
So stupid. So naive. So strong I tried to be for them when they needed me to be soft and vulnerable. And present in moments they needed me.
Talk about carrying a cross? More like a load of crap I never wanted to carry. I love my Mamas. So much.
Guess I thought the truth could set us all free if they knew? Guess I was wrong again?
No child should have to deal with all this alone, surrounded by people that could t even see what was what with me?
That’s why it’s taken 6 years to call myself out on all my own bullshit and come clean. I love my Own Mama so much I could not see clearly. And I don’t want folks to let their children down like me. Get those adopted children the help they need.
Sometimes we grieve for more than just a Mama. I grieve for the loss of me.
At the bottom of this body of words. I’ve found the piece of me I needed to find at the end of my rope.