Hi There,
I hope this letter finds you doing ok… surviving.
I’ve come to realise life is a complex web of relationships and experiences, and it’s all too easy to cast blame when things go wrong. We often find ourselves in situations where we feel hurt or misunderstood by those closest to us. In these moments, the temptation to villainise our loved ones can be strong. However, it’s finally obvious to me how essential it is to recognise that most scenarios are rarely black and white, and everyone shares some responsibility.
As a very proud Welshwoman, I can luckily say I was raised privileged in many ways. I grew up in a loving and genuine family, surrounded by close-knit relatives. With proximity, however, comes the inevitable in-fighting—siblings, who would have them really? I love my siblings, but I’ve had my moments when I’ve felt like walking away and never dealing with them again. But after calming down, I realise that it’s my rage talking, not my heart.
Walking away from family—whether the ones you’re born with or the ones you choose—is never just about severing ties. It means carrying memories that will haunt you, even the happy ones. There’s the ache of knowing your children might miss out on the joy you once experienced in your childhood. The next generation is always given the best chance to have the best of both worlds; you can be the bridge between your past and their future, filtering out the best parts—the parts that defined you and the lessons you may not have appreciated when you were younger.
My parents were not perfect, far from it. They didn’t always work together as a team, and some might argue they shouldn’t have lasted, but they did. They gave their best selves and so much more, providing us not only with the basics but also with an intense sense of home—a safety net, whether we were 6, 12, 24, or when we eventually reach the wise age of 48 etc. Parents are funny things; I remember feeling that they were being “unfairly” strict, at least in my eyes when I was 7 they were. They weren’t as bad as I thought, but we won’t tell them that (you are sworn to secrecy). They were humans, fallible, with their own anxieties and insecurities, facing their fears for the sake of my siblings and me, sacrificing their comfort for our happiness, fun, and learning. They did so much more than many parents would, and for that, I will forever be grateful.
Never Ignore A Mother’s Smile
I am glad I grew up surrounded by my family. My grandparents lived next door, and I regularly saw close cousins, and I still do. I miss the time I had with them all, and after losing a loved one, I find myself recalling those memories with fondness. I hate that I didn’t fully appreciate them when they were alive, but those memories now help me face the ongoing emptiness in my heart—a void that I doubt will ever fully heal.
Although I lost one loved one to death, I have also lost another to fear. They, I believe, are in a downward spiral and I very much worry that they too will follow a similarly dark path, an irreversible path. A path that so many feel they have to travel. I want them back, but I’m also so angry. I need them back to realise that their selfishness was a catalyst. Their intentions may not have been malicious, but they were blinded by their own perspective, failing to see the impact on those they were supposed to and claimed to care for.
I suppose this is me trying to let that anger go. If they read this or if this helps someone else, I’ll be forever grateful that I added this to the ether. I suppose this is an opening for myself to heal. To let go and forgive myself and take responsibility for my failures, and to forgive you. I hope this will help someone to heal. I hope this will help you, or someone you care about. To give this a go. As you can guess and read, I’ve been careful with how I write this, and I hope that only those close to me can truly recognise my truth, my reality. I also hope the vagueness will help you, my reader, to apply your own scenario and feelings to this letter.
So, dear friend, I hope this letter has soothed you, and has reassured you that it’s okay to work through your anger, to be angry. I know I have been and will be working through this anger alongside my grief for much time. I just hope that you don’t let that anger take over. As angry as I am and have been, I also want to be the person who leaves the light on and the door unlocked for you if or when you wish to return (I really want it be when). Understand, that there will always be someone waiting for you to walk through the door, into the arms of the people that missed you most, and to cry and laugh together again. Let go and come home.
Never Isn’t Allowed
Cariad Mawr
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