What does freedom mean to you?
Mother’s Day is coming to an end. There was no call or text. No connection.
I’m free from living in another’s addiction, but it comes at an expense.
There were no options here. I either left and moved on with my life or stayed and lived a life chained to someone else’s mistakes and tragedy. The truth is, I live between both scenarios. I’m far removed from the lifestyle while ravaged and pained by the life now changed and lost in a world of addiction.
Above my desire came innocent lives left behind. It was their freedom I fought for. Freedom from blame for being the cause. Freedom from fear of drastic mood changes and a monster unleashed with every bottle. Release from going to school and returning to her empty room. “Mom left.” No other words were needed because they knew what that meant. Disappearances ran longer, and sadness dove deeper.
My freedom feels like an emotional prison at times. My best friend feels abandoned, disliked, and forgotten. Yet, so did we on numerous occasions. Even while living under the same roof, we were unseen. Though I was fine in that position, the kids wondered what they did wrong. “Why doesn’t Mom care? Why doesn’t she wake up and play with us? What did we do wrong.”
The ache behind the memories is intense. It palpitates with rage.
When I decided to disconnect from satan’s addiction, I did so with genuine love and kindness. I never intended to cease all communication; the wedge of substance use tore us further apart. The freedom of letting go is half the truth. The other half is the deep hold I have to hope and fear. I live in peace and anxiety all at once. I can’t help but wonder if she’s alive.
Freedom should have a joyful meaning, one of humility and gratitude. It is a symbol of dedication and fortitude. Behind the battle for liberty is quiet pride that whispers behind solemn battle-weary faces. It does not boast because behind freedom lies the beginning of the story.
My freedom means something very different. I am still in the back story, awaiting the victory. As I wave my white flag, surrender signifies the first step toward freedom.
“I let go, and I choose to let God.”
Instead of singing the battle is won, this feels like round seven in a 100-round boxing tournament. Yet, here I am. Safe on the floor, watching with the other spectators, free from the brutality of addiction. There before me is my loved one. It’s their round seven, their fight, their war.
Is this freedom? Some days it is hard to call.
Authentic Truths 