It took me 11 years to let go of my mother’s death. 11 years. And I don’t think any one even noticed. No one except me.
Today on her anniversary I did not not cry a single tear for her. Instead I smiled. I smiled because I knew I could finally move on and live the life that she wanted me to live. I could be the woman she raised me to be and be happy instead of letting the overwhelming guilt run my life and dictate the choices I make.
I can be healthy. I can succeed at work. I can live life. I do not have to just exist and do things to please others or seek attention in all the wrong places just because I am lonely. Just because I am hurting. I can choose to be happy. I can choose to be myself unapologetically.
I am not saying this will be easy. I still deal with depression and anxiety every single day. All I am saying is that I can control and fight and grow and learn and just be. I can move forward and be okay even if no one notices the strides I make, or all that I accomplish. I can choose to either be my worst enemy, or my biggest cheerleader. And when my times comes, I can face her with pride knowing that I did my best to live a happy life. And that is all she ever wanted. For me to stop holding myself back so others could forage on while burying my light. I too can be happy.
I may not get rich, or get married with a houseful of kids and dogs. But I will try to live my best life.
I can be my mother’s daughter. And I can be me.