“I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done to hurt you.”

This isn’t the first time an apology has been attempted. This also isn’t the first time an apology has been rejected. There is a tendency to apologize before actually owning up to one’s wrong doings. I see no point in making an apology at all if that is the case. This may sound harsh, but I only accept sincere apologies. Therefore, I do not accept yours.

Multiple text and phone conversations have taken place over the years. Multiple nights have been spent awake, unable to sleep and crying inconsolably. You’re sorry.

Many times have been spent trying to explain exactly what has caused the distance between us. We’ve talked face to face, on the phone, even exchanged some short explanations through text, but you deny it all. You’re sorry.

I have grown up, gotten my driver’s license, attended three proms, and graduated high school and college. You missed my sweet sixteen. You missed my proms. You missed my senior activities. You missed your oldest daughter receiving her four year degree. You’re sorry.

I am a dancer, you know. I’ve also played soccer and cheered. You never once came to a game or a competition. The only recital you ever attended you will never remember because you were intoxicated. You’re sorry.

Sure we have some good memories, but that’s it. It ends there. They are just memories. I wish we could make more, but at this point it seems nearly impossible. Yeah, you’re sorry. Maybe I should tell you why I’m sorry.

For all of those nights that I stayed up, blaming myself for our relationship (or lack thereof). For all of those recitals that I looked out from behind the curtain to see your chair empty, crushing me every time. For all of those soccer games that I expected to see you at cheering me on at the sidelines. I am sorry.

For all of the times that I wished that I could have a decent relationship with you. For all of the times that I blamed the fact that you hurt me on myself. For all of the divorces that I also blamed myself for. I am sorry.

I am sorry for always saying sorry. For apologizing for my life. My existence. I am sorry for giving you that power over me. That is going to change, and for that I am not sorry.

I am not sorry that I am no longer allowing you to hurt me or control my emotions. I am not sorry that you no longer have anything to hold over my head. I am not sorry that I have moved on with my life because I have moved on, and it is wonderful. I smile now. I laugh. I enjoy life. I am content.

I am not sorry that I now have my own sense of family. That I finally gave up hope of ever receiving love from you or my biological father. I am not going to sit around and wait for either of you to change your mind anymore. I am not sorry that I now feel that I finally belong. My concept of family is different than many, but I can count on them and they love me unconditionally. They have not left me like you did.

I am not sorry that I am not trash. That my family hasn’t thrown me away. I am not disposable. I am not sorry that I no longer walk on eggshells. I no longer flinch when I spill a glass of water. I feel safe. Secure. I feel appreciated. Loved. And for that I am not sorry.

I am not sorry that I FINALLY feel capable of being loved. Being appreciated. Being respected. I am not sorry that I can finally trust another human being. That I am not afraid to hug. I am not afraid to love. Not afraid to be myself. I can laugh now. Not forcibly laugh but really laugh. I can relax. I can enjoy my existence.

I have written all of this to thank you, really. Because of you I have been forced to grow up before the other people my age. Because of you I had to learn how to juggle multiple things at once. I learned to take care of my siblings and myself. I learned to strive to do the best I can in school, work, and whatever else I do in life. I am a perfectionist and a hard worker. Because of you, I am striving to make something out of myself, and I will not stop until I reach my goals.

Thank you for all that you didn’t do because I wouldn’t have accomplished all that I have if you had been there. I wouldn’t have a wonderful and loving family. I wouldn’t have such a close relationship with my siblings. I wouldn’t fully appreciate having the love of a family to support me. I wouldn’t fully appreciate making it this far into my education. I would take so much for granted, thank you for that.

“I just don’t understand why none of you won’t have anything to do with me.”

So now, I am able to look back on the memories. The hurt. The pain. I am able to see that it was not you talking or acting; it was the drugs. I also see that you were never really there. Your body, an empty shell only around to pump more drugs into it and mess around with the various men you brought into our lives. We never had a mother. We had a shell. A cold, hard, uncompassionate shell that would much rather pass out on the couch than go to her oldest daughter’s soccer game or her youngest daughter’s volleyball game. A shell that was so cracked, it could not manage to keep the house up, requiring her four young children to do so. I look back, and I pity you, really. A shell so broken and empty that she not only failed to protect her children from being hurt by the men in her life, but she also chose to hurt them herself.

I pity you because at some point, someone had to have hurt you like you have hurt us because there is no way that you were acting alone. Something was wrong. Something happened. That something scarred you. Because of that something that scarred you, you scarred us. But that does not change the fact of what you did. You are still responsible for your actions; you cannot blame them on things that happened to you in the past. You can no longer play the victim.

By the time court rolled around and you lost custody of me, you were angry. You tried everything you could to tear me down, and some of those messages still stab me to the core. I don’t know if you meant them or not. You say that you don’t remember sending them. Maybe it was just your shell talking. I prefer to think it was the shell.

You think I just decided to walk out on our family. You think that it was a road filled with sunshine and daisies to leave my siblings behind with you. You think that I didn’t and still don’t sit up at night and worry about them, about how you have hurt them in ways that I might not even be aware of. My biggest grief I experienced upon moving out was what the counseling community would label guilt. I was no longer there to protect my siblings, my babies. I couldn’t jump in the way when you went after my sister, I couldn’t volunteer to accept the blows for her anymore. She was left to hide the bruises after I was removed, I would have rather it been me. I couldn’t talk to my brother late into the night telling him that everything would be OK and that the fight was NOT his fault. None of the fights were our fault and they were not better off without me.

YOU are the one who ran. You left the family three years ago when you packed up and moved to Georgia leaving my brother and I to raise the younger two. Good parenting skills, mom. But that was your choice.

Aside from all that you have put me through, put US through. Aside from all that you still try to put us through, we will always love you. We don’t love you because you are entitled to it. We don’t love you because you are our mom. We love you because you gave birth to us and fed us for the first few years until we were able to feed ourselves. But eventually, you disappeared. That was your choice.

With our unending love for you comes our never-ending want for your love and approval. For you to be pleased with and proud of what we do. Recently we have seen that you’re not. You’re never going to be proud of us. You’re never going to express love for us. We are never going to be able to make you happy, it’s impossible. That’s your choice.

Aside from that, I have still held on to the hope of a revelation. A true apology. An acknowledgement that you have truly hurt me. But it never comes. It probably never will because you won’t stay sober long enough for me to have a face-to-face adult conversation with you. That’s your choice.

We have told you what you have done, but you choose to deny it. That’s your choice.

Your choice was to leave your kids. Not just when you moved from the state of Tennessee. You had left us long before that. Left us to fend for ourselves. Left us to take care of each other. Left us to endure ungodly amounts of physical and emotional abuse. Left us with broken hearts. Left us feeling empty, worthless, and unloved. Left us with a fear of expressing our emotions and growing close to other people for fear that they will leave to. That was your choice.

You probably didn’t think that what you saw as “little things” here or there would amount to what they do, but they did. I look around my room at the pictures I took with my friends and family at Christmas and am extremely thankful to have them. To have people to count on. What hurts is that I still lack complete trust that they too aren’t going to leave. I’m working through these mindsets, I’m trying to change the way I think and process.

Maybe one day you will be ready to love us, but I am not going to stand around and wait for you any longer. My heart cannot take the ache that comes along with hoping for change as we watch you waste away. Hope is diminishing, and it is now time to protect myself. You still have time to try to make sincere amends, to begin to support us.The problem is that this is your choice, and you're sorry.