giniesaucedo“If your dad saw how sad you were, he wouldn’t be proud of you.”
This is a comment I received and for a moment I believed them.
I started to spiral thinking of how stupid I’ve been for being so naive.
For not being more prepared.
For not being more organized.
For not having worked more in the past.
For not having a bigger savings account.
For not being more vocal.
For being so financially dependent on Dad.
For not making the load lighter for him.
For not being more physically stronger.
And the list went on.
The guilt was compounding… exponentially.
Then I remembered.
How I’ve struggled with chronic illness for most my life.
With chronic fatigue. And pain. Even if I looked “fine.”
How blessed I was for having very supportive parents who did the best they could with what they knew.
How loved I was even if I didn’t always feel it because of trauma I didn’t even know I had.
I remembered and then I imagined what Dad would have said if he saw me crying…
“Viste que si me querías condenada?” And he would have laughed 😂
He wouldn’t have made me feel guilty.
He would be proud of me anyway.
Because I’m doing the best I can.
Despite the pain, physical and emotional.
Despite the fear.
Despite it all, I’m doing the best I can.
For a moment, I believed someone who didn’t even know me. Someone who was estranged to me.
Then God helped me remember and I saw the truth.
Both of my parents would be proud of me, even if I’m sad. My sadness runs deep because our love was deep. They would be proud of me. End of story.