Holding Distance With Love
June 13, 2025
She asked me, “What do you love about your mother?”
And for a moment, I couldn’t answer.
Not because I was overwhelmed with emotion.
But because the space where an answer used to live felt quiet. Still.
Maybe even… empty.
The only trait I could name was her persistence — something I’ve inherited, and something I’ve learned to soften. But even that felt more like a survival instinct than something I’d call love.
It’s not that I wish her harm. I don’t.
But I’ve had to step away.
For my son.
For my peace.
For the version of myself I’ve worked so hard to become.
When she contacted me recently, asking to reconnect, I responded simply:
“No. I’ll contact you if and when I feel ready.”
It wasn’t an act of cruelty. It was an act of clarity.
Of self-respect.
Of protection.
To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ready.
And I don’t owe certainty.
What I do owe — to myself and my son — is safety.
The truth is, part of me has grieved that it may never happen.
That the kind of relationship I used to long for — built on understanding, respect, accountability — may never come to be.
But there’s also a quiet part in me that says:
If that day ever comes — a day of genuine change, real help, and lasting honesty — I’ll know what to do when I feel it.
Until then, I need space.
Not from a place of punishment, but from presence.
From a life that no longer centers pain.
There’s no anger here.
Just distance.
And maybe, in a strange way, that’s a form of love too.
The kind that says:
“I won’t pretend, but I also won’t fight. I’ll just walk my own way — with peace in my step, and room in my heart, if it’s ever truly earned.”