The apology that will never come, and how it’s ruining your future

I did something absolutely foolish about three months ago. I had a good reason for doing it, but it was still quite foolish. Does that make sense? It did at the time but nearly cost me a beautiful relationship.

For this next paragraph is heavy, but I’ve since healed from it. It was a painful teachable moment that I chose to use to empower myself and others.  

Context: I didn’t realize how important hearing “sorry” was for me. Until I messed up.

Scenario

You’re having pillow talk with the best thing- sorry- human- sorry- man that has ever happened to your life. You are both committed to open and honest communication, no matter what it is. As two emotionally mature grown-ups, you’ve set up boundaries and guardrails so that the other person feels safe talking about what goes on in the deepest or darkest corners of their minds and hearts.

And then he asks, “Why did you go to his place?”

The case of the ex

From where I am seated, I am owed an apology, not just from Confused Brother in Mother’s Armpits, but from the other armpits he’s been under. My mental health was used to desecrate my character so that they don’t have to be accountable for the bullshit they put me through.

By the time, you, a woman who’s also been in a shit relationship and went back home to your parents with a child, tells me, “Here we wash our onions before we cut them” it becomes very apparent that there are conversations going on in that household about me behind my back. The total lack of respect for me as an individual.

Rant: The fuck you think raised me? What are you saying about my mother? Do you even know me? What the fuck you mean you have to wash onions after peeling them and before you cut them? The fuck you think I am stating such commonsense bullshit to me? What? Because I have been to Thailand and the closest you’ve been to a plane is JKIA to pick someone? See that? Assumption. But you suddenly think that I am too bougie to understand the art of cutting onions as a Kenyan and Kikuyu? What? Is it the schools I went to and how I speak and my career that has you so intimidated that you’d pull that line on me? Fucking hell.

Also, there were carrots, tomatoes, cabbage etc. that needed chopping but let’s give her the onions. Like a real OG, I did not tear up. Also their counter is lower than ours so that helped lol

Oh! And his mother looking me up and down and sneering whenever she saw me. Offering breakfast and snacks that featured barely ripe and clearly not fit for human consumption watermelons and stale peanuts that even her son didn’t touch.

Or throwing sachets of coffee on the table, spite and disgust on her face because, like her son, I take coffee and not tea.

And now to the son. How a conversation about me not wanting to cook turns into a lecture about how I don’t respect his parents is beyond me. I don’t like your mother, deal with it. It is not about respect, it is about her behavior, and where I come from, we don’t kiss ass. I was told by a good friend that I have balls of steel. No, what I have is self-respect. I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. My parents are the yardstick I use for respect and boundaries. If they respect me, and, you don’t guess what’s going to happen?

You will be featured on this blog as an example of shit not to put up with.

Boundaries, those are important, but he had none with his parents. At 31, they would call him every morning. And no, those conversations did not end with “I love you” but more of, what else can we place on this donkey of a son that we have that is willing to do anything for us because the other one doesn’t want shit to do with us?

I now respect his brother for all the times he did not pick up his phone or was offline. He didn’t want to deal with all that shit. Or so I think. I don’t know. He could have been fighting his private demons that his family couldn’t understand.

Why am I saying all this?

Because everything changed when I went to a psychiatric facility and them realizing it was my second time. I still remember this stupid question, “Why didn’t you tell me you had an issue?” Because taking medication while I was with you and saying I am bipolar was  just something I did for fun…

Here’s the thing. They were nice to me before that. And then the monsters came out to play.

This is me making it clear to people like them that being a shitty human to a person, once you learn their mental health status, makes you the scourge of the earth. And a hearty fuck you for that.

I am already going through shit. I am dealing with parents who hardly understand what I am going through but are doing their best even if it means praying and soaking me in anointing oil. I am already dealing with a sibling convinced I am a toxic bitch, and another, quite ironically, thinks I am dramatic. I am dealing with self-hatred, and fighting not to end my life on a bad day. I have panic attacks and chronic anxiety, along with depression. And then you treat me like shit over faulty mental wiring I have nothing to do with.

Another hearty fuck you.

I am sure my parents and whoever else benefited are enjoying that KES170,000 (ish) dowry down payment they made. And yes, I found that out more than a year after the separation. Let’s call it, “my bad!” money.

Back to me trying to sabotage the relationship that grounds me…

Also, the relationship that helped me not end up in rehab. We shall talk about the 5 bottles of liquor that used to fill my dustbin every week some other time.

So I took my foolish ass to his place thinking that I would get an apology. Like a proper apology. Note, it was not for the purpose of getting back together.

Not marrying a man because of his mother is a thing. Like that woman… Let’s say the endless stories of women who’ve been terrorized by their mother in law flashed before my eyes. Also, not marrying a man who is intimidated by your background, character, personality, intellect (we are learning more each day), common sense, love for peace and cursing, among other things, is not ideal. They will psychologically try to break you down, question your mental stability, assassinate your character, and when all fails, get physical. I have seen this script in my backyard.

So you can see why it was foolish of me to go over expecting an apology?

The apology that will never come

I am sure there’s some people reading this and going, “Bitch, where is MY apology??!!” You know what, you are right to ask that. It is likely I don’t know that I owe you one. It is also likely that I burned that bridge, scotched the earth, and set you on fire because when you get on Wambaire’s bad side you get the full hell spa treatment.

So this pillow talk turned into my explaining what I have on this blog. And it was followed by an apology because I should never have done that in the first place. I was wrong to do that. I could have gone for counseling instead of chasing ghosts. I could have called him. I could have done so much instead of going to his place. It hurt him, and rightly so, because that was a betrayal. Shall this amazing man have to worry about the case of the ex?

No.

I will never get that apology. That is fine. I am okay with that now. It hurt me for so long but now I see it. I am better off forgiving, letting go, and hopefully, finally forgetting. That’s while watering my garden. Loving my future husband and father of my children with my all. Checking up on my tribe and being there for them. Focusing on what is flowering and not the weeds that, quite honestly, should have been in a furnace by now.

Now to you

What apology are you wanting for that, deep within you, know will never come? They could be alive or no longer with us, but stop to ask yourself, “How is this potentially ruining my future?”