Confluence; Volume Four
One journal entry paired with one image, each of my own creation.
I was recently told that part of the reason I haven’t healed from my current health issue is because my mother abandoned me—consistently. It didn’t take long for me to realize how accurate that assessment is. When I was around 20 years old, just before I moved out of my childhood home, I woke up one day with excruciating stomach pain. My mother repeatedly told me it was nothing serious. Her remedy? Warm milk. I remember standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, drinking it, then lying on the couch for hours as the pain worsened. Eventually, I my health worsened tremendously. It wasn’t until I advocated for myself that my mother finally took me to a doctor—not the ER, mind you, but our family doctor, who took one look at me and immediately sent us to the ER.
That drive is burned into my memory, not just because of the pain, but because I remember my mother complaining, thinking it wasn’t going to be something serious, as if I were inconveniencing her. That’s how I often felt around both of my parents—like a burden. I ended up having an emergency appendectomy. The doctors told me I was minutes away from my appendix rupturing, which could have been fatal. At the time, I didn’t think much about the fear of death, not like I do now. But maybe that was where it all began.
Now, as I face another health scare, the fear of death is all too present. And once again, I feel ignored and on my own. I’m still searching—for answers, for an accurate diagnosis, for someone who can fix this. But the reality is that I might never find that person, that singular solution. Even though people around me offer help, I still feel alone. I am alone most days. The abandonment I felt from my mother all those years ago still haunts me now, echoing loudly through this new struggle.
This is/was an exercise in awareness, coping, and a way to deal with emotions I’m confronted with on a daily basis.
Just know that y’all are not alone. The opportunity for reconciliation is gone like her. I must mend myself, as always. I believe the pain will always be there but it doesn’t have to surface daily. God bless.
It's important to understand that our mothers are human before they are mothers. They carry their own histories, traumas, and limitations. The inability to nurture or to be fully present may stem from wounds they themselves never healed. This does not lessen the impact of abandonment, but it does open a pathway for compassion and, ultimately, forgiveness.
Forgiving our mothers is one of the hardest tasks because it feels like betraying the child within us who yearned for love and security. But true forgiveness is not about excusing their actions; it's about liberating ourselves from the pain that holds us. We must recognize that, often, the inability to mother well comes not from malice, but from an incapacity to 'nocturn'—to be awake and attuned to our needs during our darkest moments.
Ultimately, this is not about erasing your pain but about seeing it with new eyes—eyes that recognize the complexity of human existence. Your mother, like all of ours, carried her own unspoken burdens, and sometimes, she might not have known how to love in the way you deserved. But it is through this understanding, through this compassion, that we can begin to heal.
I want to emphasize that this is a theoretical basis, one that I am also trying to apply in my own life. I am coping with issues surrounding my mother, too. It’s not easy, and some days are more difficult than others. Lastly, I truly hope that your health issues will be resolved soon, and I wish for a creative and fulfilling period ahead. Keep going—you’re not alone in this.