Holding Love and Guilt Together
There are parts of my story that still sit quietly with me, especially when I think about my sons. I wasn’t able to bring either of them up because of my mental health and addictions, and even though many years have passed, the feeling of guilt hasn’t disappeared. It’s softer now, but it’s still there — a reminder of how unwell I was and how hard those years were, for all concerned.
What brings me comfort is knowing that my sons understand mental health better these days. They know it runs in our family, and they know I didn’t step back because I didn’t care. I was struggling with illnesses I didn’t yet have names for, doing the best I could with the strength I had at the time. I believe they’ve forgiven me, and that belief helps me move forward with more peace.
I love both of my sons intensely. That hasn’t changed, and it never will. When I leave residential care, one of my goals is to save up and apply for citizenship so my son in England can move here if he wants to. I would love for my boys to meet each other — not out of pressure or expectation, but simply because they’re both part of my heart.
Life today is steadier. I’m medicated for Bipolar 2 and Social Anxiety Disorder, CPTSD, and I have support around me that keeps me grounded. My weekly meds pack helps me stay organised, and my support worker recently told me that soon I’ll be trusted to manage my medication myself. It feels like a milestone — a sign of stability, progress, and trust.
I’m not the woman I was back then. I’ve grown, healed, and learned to live with more compassion toward myself. My past shaped me, but it doesn’t define me anymore. I’m moving forward gently, grateful for the life I’m building and hopeful for whatever comes next.