Skip to content The silence stopped feeling like abandonment and started feeling like space. I realized that from my usual point of view—the frantic, spinning, "everyone needs me" vantage point—I had never actually seen myself. I was always the camera, never the subject.
I sat down on the couch. I pulled my knees to my chest and stared at the blank TV.
Now, when I feel the spin starting, I go to the couch. I sit down. I look at the chaos from a different angle. And I remind myself: The laundry can wait. The diorama will get built. The permission slip will be signed.
The look on her face—confusion, then a flicker of fear—should have snapped me out of it. But it didn't. I just felt… empty. I had spent years building the identity of "Mom the Provider," and in that moment, the scaffolding collapsed.
I hated that woman in the photo. She was a liar.
I didn't move.
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