A letter to my parents (now that I kind of get it)

 Some things hit you slowly.

Guilt, gratitude, the quiet weight of growing up—


they don’t come crashing in.
They show up in the silence.
This is one of those moments.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I don’t really know how to start this without sounding like a walking cliché—but here it goes: I’m sorry.

Not for one specific thing, but for the slow, drawn-out collection of little things. The eye rolls. The slammed doors. The silences at dinner. The snide remarks about how "out of touch" you were. I thought I was right about everything. I thought you were just being dramatic or annoying or unnecessarily strict.

But now, standing awkwardly in the middle of my twenties, I get it—at least a little more than I did back then.

I get what exhaustion looks like after a long day, only to come home to a moody teenager who thinks the world is against her. I get what it feels like to stretch a budget, to carry responsibilities no one else sees, and to be scared of making mistakes that ripple into someone else's future.

I get how much love it takes to say "no" when "yes" would have been easier.
I get how much restraint it takes to not lose it when your kid is being a little... well, a lot.

And I feel this quiet, creeping guilt sometimes—like when I cook for myself and realise someone did this for me, daily, without applause. Or when I’m broke and still trying to show up for people, and I remember how you never let me feel that strain growing up.

There’s so much I took for granted. So many things I didn’t know to appreciate because I hadn’t lived them yet.

I’m still figuring things out. I still mess up, and I still don’t call as often as I should. But I carry more softness now. More understanding. More remorse.

This isn’t a dramatic confession. It’s just a small offering—a quiet thank you wrapped in an overdue apology.

Love,
The slightly less clueless version of your kid.

And if you’re carrying your own quiet kind of remorse—
you’re not alone.
We’re all just trying to say sorry in the ways we show up now.