I’ve noticed something lately: if I completely let go of my old life, I’m free to operate from who I am now, without fearing the judgment of people who never showed me real connection.

There’s a part of me that still says, “But they did this, they did that.” And yet when I look back over the last ten years, I have to ask: what have they really done? What has my mother ever truly given me beyond practical help? The emotional maturity I needed was never there.

I see how long I clung to the illusion that if I changed enough, if I took all the responsibility, then maybe the relationship could work. That gave me a false sense of control — but it kept me waiting far too long for something that was never coming.

The truth is simple: my mother had children for selfish reasons. Not to love them, but to ease her own pain, to be looked after. That’s a cruel reason to bring someone into the world. Letting go of the hope that she could be different is the only way I can finally step into myself.

Now, I want to live from who I am. College is part of that. Being with 24 other people every week for two years creates the potential for genuine bonds. Even if those relationships don’t last forever, they can grow deeper than anything surface-level. There’s hope there, and I’m open to it.

I also see how my inner child shows up in smaller moments — like worrying about whether my neighbour is keeping tabs on my dog. My neighbour’s judgments don’t matter, but my inner child still craves reassurance. And that’s where I need to step in as the parent voice, to say:

“You are safe. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re a good dog owner. I’ve got you.”

That’s the skill I’m developing: treating myself with the same kindness I’d naturally give my son.

It’s taken time, but this shift feels real. No more waiting for people to change. No more clinging to what was never there. Just living as who I am now, and nourishing the parts of me that still need care.