Unexpected. The email sucked the air from my lungs in one long exhale that has not yet ended.
Immobile. What do I do with this?
The woman who is biologically my maternal parent. That one. After fifty-two years, I finally dredge up the courage, the self-love, the compassionate words to speak my truth. At least a start of it. I finally tell her that I’m choosing myself over her and that I don’t want to play her reindeer games. I finally tell her no.
I expect a door slammed in my face like so many times before. I expect glares and iciness and yelling. I expect retaliation.
Unexpected. An open door. Honest words. Acknowledgement if not understanding. An offer of help.
What do I do with this? I am not prepared.