I was wrong

Whenever my husband and I quarrel, he will accuse me for being obnoxious and stubborn and on top of that, he will never fail to tell me in the face that I am the sort of person who will always insist that I am right and never wrong.

I beg to differ. It is the other way around. The truth is I never do anything right ever since I left my parents’s place a decade ago. I made mistakes, one after another, and that includes insisting to proceed with what I am not supposed to proceed with.

I may not say it out loud, but I am wrong in everything that I do, especially after I decided to carry on being a mother. Big, big mistake.

Motherhood is supposed to make a woman grow wiser, happier, more content, but I feel none of those. I’m trapped in the mess of my own making, and I tangled myself in a web of complex prison further, years after years.

Truthfully speaking, I’ve dug my own grave and I’ve laid myself in it for so many years by enslaving myself just to take care of the errors that I’ve made.

But I shall have that no more. I promised myself to seek balance and live again until I stopped hating myself each time I look in the mirror.

Cleffairy: I never truly lived…until 3 years ago.



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