Well, I tried again. This time, it doesn’t feel like starting from nothing, but the weight is still the same. I spent a week preparing myself, convincing my heart to be ready, only to sit there five minutes before the service, frustrated and restless.  

I argue with my mother more than I’d like to admit. Maybe because she’s from a different time, or maybe because I always feel the need to protect myself—to refuse blame, to stand my ground. I don’t think that’s wrong. But if it’s a sin, then I’ll apologize again and again. Guilt has a way of creeping in, and if I feel guilty, maybe that’s proof enough that I was wrong—at least a little.  

I confess to Almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore, I ask Blessed Mary, ever-******, all the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.  

The words caught in my throat today. Maybe I do have ambitions, dreams, things I want to achieve. But more than anything, I just want to be better—for myself, for the people around me. That’s all it really comes down to. A hope for something lighter, something kinder. A future that doesn’t feel so heavy.