We had our first very open,

and honest conversation this morning.

Some hard truths were said, some painful memories surfaced

of things I am not proud of.

My anger, my reactions and its impact on him, his mum, and his friends.

It was confronting to hear,

to have those things come out

from under the rug we swept them in.

Laid bare, exposed.

Not being blown in anyway by the wind,

but just still, there, exposed.

I listened.

I was proud of myself for listening,

For remaining calm,

For letting him speak,

For letting him be open, and honest,

And take up space.

I was proud of him too,

For being honest,

Open,

For taking up space.

In the shower, he called out to me,

I came,

And he thanked me for the conversation.

I felt that power too,

Of being honest without expectation,

Or without control

Or without a perception

Of what I wanted to hear.

He told me the emotional cheating happened

gradually because she just listened,

checked-in,

Just like his psychologist – where he feels safe,

A place, a person to make him feel seen, heard.

Although I thought I had made that space for him too,

Perhaps over the years of routine, the mundane and survival,

I had forgotten to soften,

To care without control,

Or without taking on the responsibility to ‘fix it’,

But just to listen.

To be there.

For all the times I made you feel scared because of my anger,

Because of the way I shutdown, and shut you out.

I am uncomfortable sitting in this,

The shame of my darkest monster.

I am sorry for making you feel like you had to be small,

That you couldn’t tell me,

For that, I am truly sorry.

This time has been dark.

It’s not a storm that I’m going through,

It’s thick, deep, mud,

That I’m trying to navigate my way through.

In it, I’m finding things I didn’t expect to find,

Or to face.

My anger,

My anger,

My anger.

Here we are—

Face to face.

A choice,

To change.

To grow.

Or die.

This is my chance for

metamorphosis