I’m sorry. I’m sorry that sometimes I panic in the middle of the night. I’m sorry I choose not to wake up, but instead complain the next day. I hate to wake you when you’re sleeping so soundly and peacefully. I’m sorry for my anxiety. I’m sorry it makes us have to leave parties early, run out of stores when the panic becomes too much, avoid certain social situations because I just can’t manage. I know you’re a social person and I’m sorry to put that damper on your social life. I’m sorry my anxiety makes my worries overcome me. I’m sorry I can’t handle our dear little one being sick. I know you don’t see it as me being a bad mother, but I feel like a failure every time she wants me and I shy away from her feverish body. I keep hoping that one day I’ll be the mother who scoops her up, unfazed and holds her close. I’m sorry I worry about you getting sick and it drives me to push you away.
I’m sorry when the anxiety makes its way into depression. I’m sorry when I get to the point where I no longer want to eat, causing all sorts of other issues. I’m sorry that even though I’m how old(!) I still sometimes want to cut myself to appease the inner 14-year-old drama queen. I’m sorry I’ve questioned whether you would be better off without me. As if, I could/would be able to run away. Where would I go? What would I do without you to counter balance me?
I’m sorry I get headaches as much as I do. I’m sorry I leave you to fend for the little one. I know you always tell me you understand, but know that I truly am, from the bottom of my heart, sorry.