Not a Lifeline, But a Light

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Maybe part of me created this website as a last-ditch attempt to keep parenting, just in case I couldn’t be here someday.
A way to pass something down. To leave guidance. To try and protect my son from pain or confusion or loss.

But lately, I’ve started to realise — maybe that’s not the healthiest foundation.
Maybe it’s not my job to prepare him for everything or to give him answers in advance.
Maybe he doesn’t need me to map it all out.

Because although he’s vulnerable — he’s also resilient.
He’s capable.
He’s already proving that, every day.

And the truth is, he has so much more support than I ever did.
He has me.
Not perfectly. Not always knowing what to say.
But present.
Loving him. Holding space for him. Being there.

This website doesn’t need to be a lifeline.
It can be a light.
Something gentle. Something honest. Something he can return to when he chooses — not because he has to, but because he wants to.

Maybe the most loving thing I can do is trust him.
To find his own way.
To struggle sometimes, and still rise.
To grow through life, not around it.

And maybe the most healing thing I can do for myself is to stop projecting my own childhood vulnerability onto him.
Because he’s not me.
He’s not alone like I was.
He’s already more whole than I ever felt at his age.

I’m not planning to die any time soon.
But if one day he visits this site, I want it to feel like an invitation — not instruction.
A place where he can glimpse who I really was.
Not a manual, but a mirror.

Not a lifeline,
But a light.