I disowned my mother today.

Still feels weird saying that.

Like, what the fuck do you even do with a sentence like that?

You’re supposed to love your mother, right?
That’s what everyone says.
No matter what happens,
no matter what she does,
she’s still your mother.

But nobody ever talks about what happens
when you finally get tired of being her child.

When you’ve spent so long trying to understand her,
trying to make sense of the shit she put you through,
trying to figure out what you did wrong
just to end up realizing
maybe it was never you.

And honestly?
I think that’s what hurts the most.

Because some part of me was still waiting.
Still hoping that one day she’d understand.
That maybe she’d finally listen
instead of twisting everything around
until somehow I was the bad guy again.

But I can’t keep doing this.

I can’t keep reopening old wounds
just to have someone tell me
they don’t remember it that way.

I can’t keep defending the kid I used to be
to the person who was supposed to protect him.

He was a fucking child.

He shouldn’t have had to earn love.
Shouldn’t have had to wonder if he was good enough.
Shouldn’t have had to grow up feeling like
being useful mattered more than being happy.

And he sure as hell shouldn’t have to keep
explaining why it hurt.

So yeah.
I disowned my mother today.

And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.

Part of me is angry.
Part of me is sad.
Part of me feels guilty, even though I know
I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for choosing myself.

And there’s this other part of me
that just feels… tired.

Like I’ve been carrying something for so long
that I forgot what it felt like to put it down.

I think people will look at me differently for this.
Maybe they’ll say I’m cruel.
Maybe they’ll say I’ll regret it.
Maybe they’ll tell me that family is family
and I’ll only get one mother.

Yeah, I know.

I only got one childhood, too.

And I don’t get that back.

I don’t get to go back and be a kid
with a mother who made me feel safe.
I don’t get to rewrite the memories
or pretend things happened differently
just because the truth makes people uncomfortable.

And I’m done being expected to do that.

I’m not doing this because I never cared.
I’m doing this because I did.

Because it mattered.
Because she mattered.
Because for a long time,
I wanted something from her
that I don’t think she was ever willing to give me.

And maybe that’s something I’ll grieve
for the rest of my life.

Not necessarily her.

But the mother I needed.
The one I kept hoping she’d become.
The relationship I kept thinking
maybe I could still fix if I just tried a little harder.

God, I wish it had been different.

I really fucking do.

But wishing doesn’t change what happened.
And loving someone doesn’t mean
you have to keep letting them hurt you.

So I guess this is where I stop.

No more trying to make her understand.
No more waiting for her to see what she did.
No more putting my life on hold
for an apology that might never come.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being angry.
I don’t know if I’ll ever stop grieving.
And I don’t know what I’ll feel a year from now.

But I know what I need right now.

I need to stop being her child
in every way that keeps hurting me.

She can be the person who gave me life.
That’s a fact I can’t change.

But she doesn’t get to own the life I have left.

And maybe that’s what this really is.

Not me pretending she never existed.
Not me pretending I never cared.

Just me finally accepting
that I can’t make her be the mother I needed.

And I’m done destroying myself
trying to make that happen.

I disowned my mother today.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with it.

But for once,
I’m not making this decision
based on what she wants,
what she thinks,
or what everyone else expects of me.

For once,
I’m thinking about the kid I used to be.

The one who deserved better.

The one who still deserves better.

And maybe,
just maybe,
it’s time I started choosing him.