I remember calling my mother years ago, hoping she would listen. I desperately wanted her to tell me she was proud of me. I needed her to understand my needs, and honor my pain or my confusion at the time. I needed a safe space to land, someone who would remind me of my strengths, my true self. I wanted encouragement, hope, acceptance. Within seconds however, my chest would cave, my eyes would gaze at the ground. Our conversation would quickly shift into talking about the things it always did; my brothers addiction, her rude coworker, my father and his antics. I’d hang up sad, angry, disappointed. Not at just her, but at me. I had done it again.
We can’t blame others for our willingness to continue returning to people or places that can’t give us what we need. At some point we must accept + let go 🤍
