The Day My Mother Said, "I'm Sorry About That Time." [Today's Break Series]

There is a day I will likely never forget for the rest of my life.

That day in the kitchen of my childhood home, when my mother and I hugged each other and cried.

I feel like the "child version of me" that had been enduring for so long was finally embraced by my mother for the first time that day.

When I was a child, my mother often scolded me.

I would always get lost when we went out, and I was always fighting whenever I played with my siblings.

Losing things and forgetting things were everyday occurrences, and I couldn't tidy up either. Once I started reading books and manga, I couldn't hear the voices around me, so I was always being yelled at.

Thinking about it now, perhaps my mother at the time thought of me as a nuisance.

My mother, as it turns out, worked as a secretary to the local mayor from the time she graduated high school until she married my father at 23.

She must have been a fairly capable woman at work.

My father, who became her husband, was a boisterous man, but also a moody, rough character who loved pachinko.

Moreover, our home at the time was shared with my father's parents and aunts.

Giving birth and raising children in the midst of all that.

I understand it now. My mother, who was still young, must have been fighting a great deal of stress.

My mother often complained. I was always the one listening.

Most of it was about the grandparents we lived with, money issues, or mother-in-law/daughter-in-law problems.

Honestly, there was a lot I didn't understand as a young child, but I could at least understand that my mother was suffering.

In my own childish way, I thought that by listening to my mother, she would feel better. So, back then, I tried my best to listen to those endless complaints.

But I cannot deny that it was honestly painful to see my mother's face twisted as she spat out those complaints.

I didn't want to be hated by my mother. I wanted her to smile.

I did two things for that purpose.

Trying my hardest to play the 'good child' and listening to her complaints.

Having grown up while continuing to play the 'good child,' I felt a sense of difficulty in living somewhere inside me. However, I lived blaming myself, thinking it was my own problem and no one else's fault.

But one day, a column I happened to read caught my attention. It said, 'Your relationship with your mother affects your difficulty in living.'

There were many points that rang true, and at that moment, an intense emotion like anger struck me. Unable to sit still, I picked up the receiver and called my parents' home.

And I threw all the feelings from those days, which I had never expressed before, at my mother in words.

Why did you always make me stay home alone?

Why did I have to listen to you badmouth my grandparents who loved me so much?

I was just reading my favorite books, but I was scared of being yelled at!

I think my mother was confused and surprised by the sudden call. My voice was trembling as I told her while crying.

Without waiting for my mother's confused and stuttering reply, I hung up the phone as if slamming it down.

For about half a year after that, we continued to have awkward days where we acted as if nothing had happened, only speaking about necessary matters when we did contact each other.

However, one day, I was caught off guard by a phone call from my mother.

'Why don't you come home?'

My heart was suddenly moved by those words.

There was no particular reason, but I prepared to go home, thinking, 'It's about time I went back.'

I arrived at my parents' home and went to the kitchen to take a breath. It was the same as always. I picked up the kettle. At that moment, my mother, with a troubled expression, said quietly,

'I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry about when you were a child.'

I turned around, my eyes wide. I couldn't believe such words came from my stubborn mother...!

But because my mother said 'I'm sorry,' I felt as if the 'child me' inside was being hugged by my mother, and before I knew it, my mother and I were hugging each other and crying.

I will never forget this day for as long as I live.

I was a difficult child, and my mother wasn't perfect either. We were both clumsy and couldn't express our feelings well. We just kept missing each other like that.

But now, being able to understand each other like this makes me happier and prouder than anything else. I'm glad I was born as my mother's daughter. I truly feel that from the bottom of my heart.

Of course, even now, there are times when my mother irritates me. I'm sure she feels the same way. But now, we can both express that to each other in a healthy way.

Mom, thank you for giving birth to me.

The Healing Form of "Writing"

It's been 37 days since I started writing on note, and time has flown by.
Writing has become my healing, and my writing has become someone else's smile, sometimes warming their heart.

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I write about "how to write notes that get read" and "tips for posting" every day, and I've started receiving many wonderful comments.

When I receive comments like these, I feel from the bottom of my heart that 'I'm so glad I wrote this!' and it makes me think, 'I'll do my best again tomorrow!' so I am truly grateful.

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Sometimes, like this [Break Series], I want to take time to embrace myself by gently writing down things that were deep in my heart.

Today was fun, too. Thank you.

These articles are also being read.