I’m sorry that I don’t regret decisions you think I should be ashamed of.
I’m sorry that no matter how much I try to make you understand what I’m going through, I know you will never have the compassion to truly forgive me. If you did, you would remember my light instead of only condemning my darkness.
I’m sorry you haven’t walked in my shoes, even though you think you have. I’m sorry that my decision to choose myself feels like I’m rejecting you, when it genuinely isn’t my intention.
I’m sorry that you think I couldn’t make it on my own and I actually flourished without you.
I’m not sorry that you refused to see me as anything but your perfect girl and I ended up being an ugly, flawed human being. You looked at me with judgement when what I needed most was grace.
I’m not sorry for how much of a terrible, selfish person I look like when I choose my mental health over trying to be your impossible idea of perfection.
I’m not sorry that my bravery offends you. I won’t feel bad for how much farther I’ve come than you’re comfortable with and I won’t apologize when I go even farther.
I’m not sorry for the distance I put between us, because we needed it and I won’t apologize if I choose to put more.
I’m not sorry for choosing to breathe fresh air from a higher place than your constant toxicity. I refuse to put in effort to comfort your pain when you put in no effort or value into mine.
I won’t apologize for bursting out of the cage you tried to put me in, because I told you repeatedly that trying to control me wouldn’t work.
I won’t allow your threats to scare me into someone I am not proud to be. I’m shaking out of my fear of failure, because in your book I failed already, yet here I am somehow still standing.
The truth is, for months I have been suffocating from the mistakes of my own making. I hate myself for the destruction I’ve caused to myself and to the people I care most about in this world. No one is more disappointed than I am in myself. Even so, I’m finding the internal kindness to forgive. I am doing the dark, ugly, slow process of building myself up from the ashes of the terrible fire I started. I am fighting desperately to become beautiful in my own eyes again.
And you know what the hardest pill to swallow is? The sad fact that you, my own mother, struggle to support me in this pursuit because you have your own ugliness to work through too.
So this is me letting go of living up to your or anyone else’s expectations.
What I’ve learned is that the only way to true freedom at this stage of my life is to stop apologizing for who I am. I am done being guilty and ashamed of the mistakes I’ve made because I am trying to grow from them.
I am truly, fully, freely unapologetic.
I genuinely, whole-heartedly, finally do not care what you think.
And I’m sorry that I’m not sorry about that.