unglitchingme

Just how well I adjusted.

How quiet I stayed.

But in between the lines, I’m also researching myself.

just assigned roles, handed labels, shaped by survival.

and now that i finally have the space.

sometimes they look like standing in front of your closet, staring at clothes that don’t feel like you.

like deleting posts that once felt true.

i said “fine” like i always do.

but he didn’t move on.

he didn’t fill the space with small talk.

he just… waited.

and that wait told me everything.

it said, “you don’t have to perform here.”

it said, “i see through that word, and i’m not leaving.”

that pause made something in me soften.

not because i was ready to open up.

but because, for the first time in a long time,

because i was too busy surviving.

i don’t want closure.

she was so small.

and she carried so much.

always trying to read the room.

always trying to be good.

trying not to ask for too much.

trying to be liked.

trying to disappear just enough to avoid being a burden.

and she still shows up sometimes.

in the way i apologize too quickly.

in the way i second-guess my joy.

in the way i expect love to be taken away the moment i stop being perfect.

she didn’t need to be fixed.

she needed to be held.

so i toughened up.

bit my tongue.

sucked it in.

pushed it down.

i stopped crying when i needed to cry.

i stopped asking when i needed support.

i wore strength like a shield

because no one made space for softness.

but the damage was internal.

not dramatic… just constant.

and now softness feels like a risk.

vulnerability feels like exposure.

i’m not emotionally numb.

i’m emotionally armored.

i was the one who held space.

who stayed calm.

who made sure no one felt left out, or awkward, or uncomfortable.

it became second nature,

not because i was emotionally wise,

but because i knew what it felt like to be uncared for.

and that pattern stuck.

even now, i check in before i speak up.

make sure you’re okay before i name that i’m not.

and sometimes i resent it.

not because i don’t want to care.

i became everything.

the fixer.

the friend.

the one who understood, who softened, who stayed.

i held more than a child ever should.

and it made me proud for a while.

until i realized:

no one ever came to hold me.

i made myself necessary because i thought that’s what made me lovable.

but now i’m exhausted.

and i want to be held for nothing.

for no reason.

just because i exist.

and maybe that’s the beginning of healing:

realizing i don’t have to be everything

Mother!!!

you hurt me.

and not just in the ways you probably expect.

not in the big dramatic ways.

but in the small, daily ways that added up until i no longer trusted myself.

you told me i was too sensitive.

too stubborn.

too nasty.

too much and somehow not enough at the same time.

you raised your voice and called it discipline.

you threw harsh words and called it care.

you ignored my tears and called it strength.

you criticized me and called it love.

and maybe that’s what love looked like to you.

maybe you were just repeating what was done to you.

i believe that.

but that doesn’t mean it didn’t break me.

i needed a mother who made space for my feelings.

not one who made me afraid of them.

i needed comfort, not control.

curiosity, not correction.

presence, not performance.

i needed you to protect my softness.

not train it out of me.

i’m not saying this to blame you.

i’m saying this because silence didn’t save me.

i need to speak this.

even if it’s too late.

even if you never change.

even if you never understand.

i’m saying it because the version of me who still flinches at love deserves a voice.

you couldn’t give me what i needed.

and that’s a grief i carry.

but i’m learning to give it to myself now.

slowly. quietly.

without your permission.

and maybe the most loving thing i can do… for both of us…

is to stop waiting for you to become the mother i needed

i tried to protect you from this truth.

made excuses for you.

rationalized every sting, every silence, every unmet need.

but the more i protect you,

the more i abandon me.

i don’t want to hate you.

i want to be free.

and that means telling the truth,

even if it breaks your version of the story.

you can hold your pain.