What do I do with this?

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.

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