I've learned that I am loved, even when it feels as if everything is falling apart and the world is seriously trying to fuck with me; I am loved and that knowledge grounds me. I'm going to screw up, I will trust the wrong people sometimes and occasionally take a left when it should have been right and I might even cry because fucking up hurts, but I won't have to do it alone. It's not just me anymore, walking along carrying my load of self inflicted responsibility with no one to catch me, I have people with names and faces with smiles when they see me, hands to hold as they walk beside me. I am not alone, I have family. For the first time in my life I actually know what that means and I trust and accept it into my life.
I look at her, straddling an invisible line, poised on the edge of adulthood and struggle with my feelings. Pride wars with fear, anger and sadness battle a sense of awe and wonder while they are all overshadowed by a deep rush of love that only a mother comprehends. She is incredible, from the tiny little ball of arms and legs that the midwife placed in my arms to a stunning creature of light and laughter, somehow in the blink of an eye while I held my breath. Strong and stubborn, with a heart vast as the sea this child of my womb has evolved into a woman and my heart swells with pride to see her standing tall. I have no call to this happiness that rises up, her accomplishments are her own and rightly hers to claim, my joy lies in their sheer existence at all. Despite my lack, my absence and my utter ignorance, she has risen up, as the plant among the weeds grabbing for the sunlight to blossom in its warmth. She is glorious to behold, her laughter resonating in my bones and calling to...
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