I feel like such a let down.
It’s Mothering Sunday (my mum always insists on calling it that, she says Mother’s Day is an American corruption…) and my family are eating a meal together. I know how much it would mean to my mum if I ate with them, but I cannot bring myself to.
“Are you sure you don’t want any vegetables?” my mum asked as we stood in the kitchen. I shook my head. I wanted to say yes, I wanted to sit with them at the table, I wanted to eat a meal with them. But the anxiety, the panic, the fear stops me.
I know how pleased my mum would be. I so badly want to make her proud. I want to give her a glimmer of hope. Instead I give her a present that my sister bought, as I have barely been able to get to the shops this week. I stayed at home as they went out for breakfast together. I sat in another room whilst they ate lunch.
I wish I could make my mum proud. I wish I could explain how much I love her. How much I appreciate every little thing she has done for me in the past few months. I am sorry for every time I have unreasonably shouted and blamed her. I see how stressed and upset she is, and the guilt hurts me. I am sorry for every lie I have told her. Every time I have promised that I’ve eaten. Every piece of food I’ve hidden. I wish I wasn’t like this.
I am grateful for every night she has sat with me and reassured me through a panic attack.
I love her for every time she has asked how she can help.
I appreciate every time she listens to me.
She sees me hurting, and she knows she cannot take the pain away. But she is always by my side. She never leaves me. She fights alongside me. And with her support, I will get better.