Why? Or even how?

Why? Would I take any more time to spend my time trying to sow and my time with a woman I came from that can treat me like shit for telling the truth? Why?

All she reads is this blog. Does she even know all of me? No. No. No. not. At all.

I spent countless hours with my own children. Do I even know them? No. No. No. do I want to know them? Yes. Yes. Yes. How do we know this? Well. Look at my life path a minute.

No formal career.

Except the vocation of Mom

Did many jobs.

Most jobs I worked taught me many things to help me be a better mom and manager of my home space. Most of my jobs were only to bring money into our home so we could live. Why? Am I like this?

Because. My Mama spent no time with me growing up and I wanted my children to have as much access as they could to me. Sure. I’m not perfect. I’ve never denied that.

I’ve lived my life loving my children.

I’ve not always been kind.

And I’ve had a temper that’s taken me years to tame.

I take my time.

To show my Mama the time she doesn’t take with me now that she can have time with me.

My children receive what I have not received.

Why? Cuz I gave a shit. Their Mama have a lot of shots about them. They don’t know what I feel cuz their Mama never did them like mine.

Your welcome.

At least they got a good luck at what Adoption did to me. they got to touch the scares on me and see the monsters that programmed me even though I fought to keep those Monsters contained silent.

Now. Why should I post any of the good I do in the world so my Mama can see what she to blind to see. Is she gonna see any good?

If she can’t take me as I took her. If she can’t receive my truth, even though I received hers then what the hell. It takes being honest to even form a bridge to cross on. And she don’t want a bridge with me. And that’s now all on her.

I’m beautiful. And this blog is not horrid. It’s what happens when your own Mama can’t take her time to see about you.

One of the biggest things is boundaries. Our Mamas have known now boundaries. They have lived delusions and fairytales about how our lives are and who we have become due to the decisions they have made in our regards.

Without a solid fountain we can’t build. So the old foundation must be removed and a new foundation put in place.

Does my Mama know me? Or does she only know what she thinks I am?

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