BY Senushi Liyanarachchi
Dear diary,
It’s been a week since the call, and I’m warming up to the idea of my children meeting their grandparents. I’ve cleverly scheduled the meeting two weeks from now, before Sunil’s parent-teacher interview. This gives me an easy out, as well as enough time to prepare for the absolute worst.
My paranoia aches, torturing me to tell my children exactly how I was treated by my own parents. If I warn them, surely they won’t expect much from their grandparents. They’ll expect the coldness masked as calm, the judgement masked as concern. I could train them to be unfazed.
The mother in me, however, sternly interjects over the coward in me. My children have never had the opportunity to be loved by their grandparents, why should I strip them of it without even giving them the chance? Why should I let my worries limit my ability to give my children everything they deserve?
Despite my anxiousness over entering their world again, contact with my parents has alleviated a lot of my guilt. I can feel it throughout my muscles, like I’ve just entered a warm bath after a long day. I’m opening myself up to reconnecting, and that feels…nice.
I never knew how much stress I was carrying with me until I began clearing the air with my parents. For how many years, I wonder, has that stress bubbled in me, finally erupting and taking over my body like magma?
I feel like I move more freely now at work. I feel like I’m finally doing right by my children, giving them what I couldn’t in the past. A major part of my adult life has been a constant struggle between taking care of myself, as well as those around me. Whilst I attempt to make amends with my parents and move forward in my career, the life I dreamt of for so long isn’t so far out of sight.
Anika.
Note- Dear Diary is a fictional feature article by Australia based writer Senushi Liyanarachchi. Senushi’s passion for writing expands vastly into fiction, fashion and culture.
