Dear Diary,
Following my triggers, I found myself contemplating the first time I felt the emotion they stirred up in me, which led me to write this entry. I was just a boy, maybe a little older than 10. My mother was busy working and studying, striving to get her degree while also working full-time, as usual. I remember she had a study buddy—another woman, likely of a more typical university student age.
I don’t quite remember the details of their conversation; funnily enough, I remember the setting more vividly: it was in a house where I used to live, with my mom and her study buddy standing in front of the stove, likely in winter. I was with a friend, maybe heading out or something, and I must have said something to my mom, which led to this exchange.
I don’t recall the specifics, but I do remember my mom making fun of me for no apparent reason, with her friend laughing along as if trying to please her. The whole scene didn’t make any sense: was my mom acting out of her insecurities? Did she want to show her friend that she was an emancipated woman, not needing to care about me? What was that all about? And what about her friend? How could a sensible adult make fun of just a boy? Seriously, what was wrong with her? And what was wrong with my mom, too?
I remember going out with my friend, feeling hurt and disappointed, and I don’t even remember who that friend was! Nearly 40 years have passed, and yet, when I dig deep, I still feel that wound.
I just want to forgive and be free. I just want to be free.
I don’t know why I felt prompted to write this down, but I hope it helps.