I haven’t taken very good care of you, and I’m sorry.
You see, I’ve blamed you.
I blamed you for getting teased, a moment that made me feel so awkward in you, I didn’t know how to move anymore – I feared running, jumping, even walking, I felt so self-conscious. I would hunch over, attempting to fit in. This moment on would earn me the title “pip-idle” by my family for the rest of my life, feeding into my insecurities.
I blamed you when on a school camp you gave up and wouldn’t finish the climb to the top of the mountain, I still get emotional at the embarrassment and shame I felt that day. I want to go back and hug that girl and tell her it will be ok. The next time a school camp came around, I lied so I wouldn’t have to go, fearing something similar would happen. And I blamed you.
I blamed you when the birth of my child was traumatic, painful, not the joyous moment it should be, still triggering me unexpectedly at times still.
I blamed you when you couldn’t feed my children and wouldn’t respond to my many attempts to make it happen.
I’ve blamed your weakness, I’ve blamed your awkwardness, I’ve blamed you for making my life “difficult”.
But, in truth, you have carried me through life, without disability, without getting sick very often, and with a lot of ease. You are strong and capable, and you have carried and grown my two healthy and happy children through two healthy pregnancies.
And I know now that all you are waiting for, longing for, is some love.
So I’m sorry. And I love you. And I thank you.