The truth is, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I talk a good game about being true to yourself, not wasting time, and living your best life possible but in reality, we haven’t lived our best life in quite some time. Sure, we’ve had good moments, but mostly we’ve soldiered on a a war we never actually had a stake in.

In 2015, I moved us to Tennessee under the false impression that my mother was gravely ill and I got us stuck here. I am completely to blame for that. And to “make the best of it”, I convinced myself and others that there was a valiance to my efforts. There was none.

It always sounded good on paper to say that I was my mother’s caregiver. It was a way to make her nonsense make sense, but that’s all it ever was – complete and utter nonsense. The only assistance she has ever needed is the kind that can be bought – a landscaper, a housekeeper, a grocery service, an errand boy, and an Uber.

My mother is a raging narcissist. As easy as that is to say, it’s all the more difficult to understand, especially in how it has affected me. It has shaken my confidence in myself. It has made me doubt everything I once knew to be true. It has made me scared of being hurt, being lost, being alone, and sometimes just being. I am the victim of 48 years of longstanding abuse, and while I don’t offer that as an excuse for anything I’ve done, it is my reality.

I am sharing this today because I’m going to be taking a little break again from writing this blog. I need some time to heal and to get some personal affairs in order to break these chains that have bound me to my abuser for the entirety of my life. I don’t know what the future holds but I can promise that the next chapter of this journey will not be in Tennessee and it will not be filled with excuses of any kind.