I'm here when you are ready my Lilli Bug.
No explanations, no rush, just love.
FOR YOU
If you ever find yourself here, I want you to know this first:
You don’t owe me anything.
Not a response. Not an explanation. Not forgiveness.
Just your own life, lived in the way that feels safest to you.
I’m not here to win anything, prove a story, or correct one.
I’m here because love doesn’t disappear just because time passes or things become complicated.
I’ve wondered, quietly and often, where the magic bond between a mother and child goes when it feels broken.
I don’t believe it vanishes.
I believe it goes quiet, waiting until it’s safe to breathe again.
There are things you may not know about me — not because I didn’t want you to know them, but because for a long time I thought being strong meant hiding my feelings. I tried to protect you from my pain. I thought that was love.
I am stronger now, but not because I stopped feeling.
I’m stronger because I finally let myself feel everything.
I went back to college when you were 6.
I was suddenly a single mother rebuilding from survival mode and I kept moving forward because stopping wasn't an option.
Our paths separated during a time of great change, not a lack of love.
You made a choice that felt safe and right for you and I understand more than I ever got to tell you.
As life continued, I kept building the steadiness I knew I needed to be a mother.
In the years that followed, I raised your brothers and welcomed a sister into our family.
But I want you to know this clearly: I didn’t “move on” from you.
I've carried you with me through all of it.
I’ve ached in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Quietly. Privately. Without putting that weight on you.
That ache was love with nowhere to land — not absence, not forgetting.
I don’t know everything you’ve lived through.
I don’t know what has been hard, or confusing, or overwhelming.
I won’t pretend to understand your world from the outside.
What I do know is this:
You are not broken.
You never were.
If you ever choose to reach out, I will meet you with calm, not chaos.
With listening, not defense.
With presence, not pressure.
And if you’re not ready — or never are — that doesn’t erase what’s real.
I’m here.
Living. Breathing. Loving.
And the door remains open, exactly as wide as you need it to be.
I win.
— Mom
I LOVE YOU.
This was real.
