“I’m sorry I’ve led you to believe you're anything less than”: A self-apology

I'm sorry that I don't let you simply be. I'm sorry that I rarely meet you where you're at. I'm sorry that even when I let you take a break to rest and be still, I still find flaws to point out.

I'm sorry that I treat you as something that requires scrutiny and fixing rather than rejoicing and cherishing.

I'm sorry that nothing you do is ever good enough. That I keep picking and prodding and pushing you over the edge and then pointing out your inability to handle yourself.

I'm sorry that I compare you to them. That I belittle you and diminish all your worth and value. I'm sorry that I don't see you for everything that you are. Everything that you bring.

I'm sorry that I let you cry all by yourself. That I don't let them see you when you need them the most. I'm sorry that I don't love you enough to let you be vulnerable outside the confines of your bedroom. I'm sorry that I don't let you say how you really feel. I'm sorry that I think your feelings deserve to come in second. That I don't feel you deserve happiness the same way everyone else seems to experience it.

I'm sorry that I so rarely allow you to bloom and flourish as you are. That I fixate on how you look and sound and act, and how I think you must look and sound and act. I'm sorry that I make you feel like you have to perform for the sake of everyone else.

I'm sorry that I let your worth be so heavily dictated by how you've been treated in the past. I'm sorry that I allowed you to be taken advantage of.

I'm sorry that I look at you like I look at a to-do list. Like a near good enough person if I just tweak ____. Like a near worthy person if I just ____.

I'm sorry that I'm hardest on you when you need protection and love and safety the most.

I'm sorry that I so often look at your perceived failures through the lens of others accomplishments. I'm sorry that I let you sit in your heavy sadness and lonliness without even thinking to ask for help or comfort.

I'm sorry that I let you walk into that house that day and feel the hope and happiness exit out of your body like smoke from an exhaust. I'm sorry that for so long I let you believe he was the best thing you would ever hold, and god forbid you let it go—even when your hands are too full from all the ache and it slips through your fingers.

I'm sorry that you think you will always, and forever be, someone's second best at most. I'm sorry that from then on I won't let you believe or accept in the kindness and warmth they try to give you. I'm sorry I let you believe that it's all lies nicely wrapped in a candy coating. I'm sorry I let you believe that you have to give yourself over and over again in order to recieve the love you want.

I'm sorry that I can honestly say, I can keep going.

I'm sorry that I've led you to wander in the deep, dark woods for far too long. I'm sorry I never gave you a map or supplies. I'm sorry I just let you go aimless and alone in the dark, haunted by the ghosts and grievances that still linger and fester and settle in your bones. I'm sorry I pretended that you knew where you were going all this time.

I'm sorry that I've led you to believe that all you have to offer is your body. That you have nothing of substance that anyone would want. I'm sorry that I taste your salty tears on my lips as I relay this all into words.

I'm sorry that I automatically assume they won't want you there for long. I'm sorry I always make your consideration and capacity to care into that of a burden and annoyance.

I'm sorry I can only make out their discomfort and unwavering disappointment in the background of your long overdue joy.