I have to forgive my mother.
I have to forgive her for smothering me as a child, and for keeping me away from birthday parties. For being over-protective and keeping me under her wing even to this day.
I have to forgive her for not allowing soft drinks in the house. For always keeping me where she could see me.
I have to forgive my mother for all the days she forced me to go to school when I was being bullied. For sending me to a child psychiatrist and allowing me to be sent to a mental health unit for minors.
I need to forgive her for all the antidepressants and antipsychotics she signed prescriptions for, and for the bitter yellow diazepam she forced on me. For her allowing me to be diagnosed with autism and sent to specialist after specialist. For the social worker she made speak to me.
I need to forgive her for all the times she judged my hair colour or style, or my clothes. The times she told me I would never cope on my own. The times she told me my goals were unrealistic. For all the times she told me to take my piercings out because they made me look ugly.
I need to forgive her for all the times I couldn’t invite friends to visit, or introduce a boyfriend for fear of her disapproval. The whispered phone calls so she wouldn’t overhear and the secret trips needed just to speak to boys.
Most of all, I need to forgive her for the control she has held over me all my life. I haven’t been an easy child for her, and I have been cruel and illogical on many occasions. Still, her motherly apron strings have been choking me for too long, and it’s tainted my whole life. It’s only now as an adult I can see that what she did was out of concern and anxiety, and that she felt just as confused as I was.
I need to forgive her, and I need to say sorry for causing so much damage.