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What an alienated child wants their parent to know:


I think about you more than you know.


I’m not angry at you.

I’m confused.


I don’t know how to be in two worlds at the same time.

Nobody taught me.


And nobody around me seems to understand how hard I am trying.


When you reach out…

even when I don’t respond…

I know you reached.


I need you to not need anything from me right now.


Because I am already so full.


I need you to stay.


Just steady.

Just there.


I need the version of you that feels like an open door…

not a door I have to decide whether to walk through right now.


I am finding my way back toward you.

In the only direction and at the only speed available to me right now.


Please don’t stop leaving the light on.


Parents, tell me in the comments how you’re doing.

I’m right here.


This is written from a perspective I know intimately, from the inside of what an alienated child is holding.


I was that child. And these are the things I could not say, in the words I did not have, to the parent who kept leaving the light on.


I thought about you more than you knew.


I wasn’t angry. I was confused in a way that looked like anger from the outside, because I was a child with no language for what I was navigating.


I needed you to stay. Steadily. Like an open door I didn’t have to decide to walk through.


And when you reached toward me, I knew. It registered. It became part of the evidence I was slowly collecting about whether reaching back was survivable.


Parents, you are building something in this silence. It is real even when it is invisible.


YES, Ryan helps.. The others help. I feel like I just still can not breathe. I want my baby back. Then I want my stepson back. I want my babies back and there is nothing I can do. I go back to the senrirty prayer. Always. I want my babies in my my life and god, I can not make that happen.


 
 
 
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