To M. "I Was Still There"

M.,

You may never read this.
You may never want to.

That’s okay.
This letter is not a demand. It’s a record.

You’ve told me that my love for you feels transactional. That because I talk about paying for your phone, your health insurance, your subscriptions, it somehow proves my love is conditional.

What you don’t see is that mentioning those things isn’t about guilt.
It’s about proof; proof that even in the dark seasons where we didn’t talk much, where anger built up and walls went up between us; I was still there.
I never stopped carrying you. Even when it hurt.
Even when you blocked me.
Even when you said words sharp enough to draw blood.

I wasn’t perfect. I never pretended to be.
There were years where my own depression made me quieter than I should have been.
There were years where survival took every ounce of my energy, and what was left of me at the end of the day was paper-thin.

But I was still there.

When you needed a phone to stay connected? I was there.
When you streamed your favorite shows at 2 a.m.? I was there.
When you needed medical care you didn't even know you needed? I was there.

I chose to love you even when love didn’t look like warm hugs and cheerful check-ins.
Sometimes it looked like working overtime.
Sometimes it looked like paying bills before groceries.
Sometimes it looked like fighting against silence and fear so that you could grow up with choices I never had.

I didn’t disappear.
I didn’t quit.
I didn’t “make you earn” my love.

I carried you through fire, even when you thought I had let go.

And yes I made mistakes.
Yes I have regrets.
But none of them were about loving you.
They were about not knowing how to show you better.

I hope one day you will see the difference.
I hope one day you will understand that survival love is still real love.

And even if you don't
I will still love you.
Because I was always, always there.