It turns out that I resent my children for aging out of our lives.
This is a surprise, because I was never one of those moms who wished the kids stayed little forever.
I always liked when they aged.
New beginnings and all.
And I am really looking forward to belonging to myself again. To rediscovering what that means.
So why this hostility?
How does it hurt so much when I wouldn’t have it any other way?
These aren’t questions I’m asking my own heart. Questions that wake me into the moment so that I don’t miss it while hating them.
“I wish I never loved you at all,” I want to yell.