Redirection Through Trust

I called a solicitor recently about my financial arrangement with my mother — about the so-called gift.
The first one felt dismissive straight away. Cold. Like they wanted to pass me off to someone else with poor reviews. It stirred up that old feeling — being brushed aside, like I didn’t matter.

Then I called another.
They listened, said they’d call me back… and I’m starting to realise they probably won’t.
Because it’s easier not to deal with someone like me. Someone who’s already calm. Clear. Safe.

And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe I’m not a profitable client — because I’m not desperate, chaotic, or naive.
And that redirection — though painful — might actually be a gift.

It triggered something deeper.
This wasn’t just about solicitors or legal clarity.
This was about the feeling I’ve known for years: the rug being pulled from under me.

My childhood was full of promises that never landed.
My mother would tell me grand things — like buying me a house in London — and I’d hold onto the hope, even if it felt unreal.
But my dad, often distant, would pull away at the last minute. Not to hurt me — I see now — but maybe to cut the cord.
To say: “This isn’t right. You don’t need this to succeed.”

It didn’t feel like love at the time.
But now, I wonder if it was his quiet way of saying:
You don’t need to be tethered to her control. You can build something real — on your own.

So yeah — these calls felt familiar.
A promise… followed by silence.
A moment of being taken seriously… followed by nothing.

But this time, something’s different.
I didn’t chase. I didn’t scramble for answers.
I saw the pattern, and I let it go.

Because I’m not that kid anymore.
I’m not hoping someone else delivers the life I want.
I’m not here to beg for reassurance, or accept scraps as safety.

I’m building my own foundation.
And if that means some doors close — I trust that the ones that stay open are the ones that are meant for me.