I know it feels unfair
the questions,
the checking,
the pauses before I say yes.
I know it feels like
I do not trust you.
But what you do not see
is that I once trusted
that I would notice.
I trusted
I would see the signs.
That a mother would just know
when her child was drowning.
And I was wrong.
You smiled
while hurting yourself.
You carried darkness
without letting me hold any of it.
You learned how to sound okay
while breaking apart.
And ever since then,
love has become fear’s twin.
So now I ask questions
that make you roll your eyes.
I interrupt freedom
with caution.
I hesitate.
I double check.
I ruin moments
trying to make sure
there are more of them.
Not because I want control.
Not because I want to punish you.
But because I have already lived
through the horror
of realizing I almost lost you
without knowing I was losing you.
That changes a mother forever.
You want trust
to feel effortless again.
I want that too.
But my heart still remembers
how close the dark came
to taking you from me.
And I would rather have you angry,
frustrated,
slamming doors
and calling me overprotective,
than standing in a quiet room
begging God
for one more chance
to keep you here.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 5:41 PM UTC
I know it feels unfair
the questions,
the checking,
the pauses before I say yes.
I know it feels like
I do not trust you.
But what you do not see
is that I once trusted
that I would notice.
I trusted
I would see the signs.
That a mother would just know
when her child was drowning.
And I was wrong.
You smiled
while hurting yourself.
You carried darkness
without letting me hold any of it.
You learned how to sound okay
while breaking apart.
And ever since then,
love has become fear’s twin.
So now I ask questions
that make you roll your eyes.
I interrupt freedom
with caution.
I hesitate.
I double check.
I ruin moments
trying to make sure
there are more of them.
Not because I want control.
Not because I want to punish you.
But because I have already lived
through the horror
of realizing I almost lost you
without knowing I was losing you.
That changes a mother forever.
You want trust
to feel effortless again.
I want that too.
But my heart still remembers
how close the dark came
to taking you from me.
And I would rather have you angry,
frustrated,
slamming doors
and calling me overprotective,
than standing in a quiet room
begging God
for one more chance
to keep you here.