The Long-held Silence, and Beginning to Heal My Story

I’ve been sitting with something heavy these past few days – something that's become overwhelming, but felt quiet initially. 

An apology.

An apology that wasn't given in life – an apology that could have made a difference. But instead, an apology that came too late – and long after the little girl who needed it learned to stop caring, because that apology wasn't forthcoming.

There’s a particular kind of pain in watching yourself fall apart while realising that help was possible, if only someone had cared enough to see you.

A Lifetime Without Answers

It has taken sixty-two years to receive any recognition or acknowledgement of my disability, for what I experienced growing up. For many years I didn’t know I had cerebral palsy or autism. I spent much of my life emotionally struggling without conversations, acceptance, explanations, or the support.

There were decades of carrying the confusion that comes from silence. It’s still painful, but I’m learning to sit with it better now.

Only at forty-six did I discover I had cerebral palsy later discovering I had already been diagnosed.
Only at fifty-six did I learn I was autistic.
Only now, decades later, has the closest thing to an acceptance and apology appeared.

And although I understand that healing often takes place on its own timeline – I’d be lying if I said I don't feel the pain – because it's come too late.

When Apologies Come From Unexpected Places

My twin, passed three years ago, she was the first to “speak” in her new home, from the spirit realm. Her apology came quickly, contrite and full of awareness she didn’t have during her earthly life. 

It was a relief, and it has stirred painful memories, that in itself is grief.

Mum’s apology – the one I was hoping I was going to receive, came more slowly. Eighteen years. She was meant to nurture, to offer the support, the clarity, the reassurance that I would be protected, both in school and in life. 

Instead, she and my father held back and that silence shaped my inner landscape – the landscape I’ve spent trying to untangle for 15 years.

I have carried the mental strain alone. I have spent decades feeling out of place, quietly holding everything together behind a brave face.

The Complicated Relief of a Late Apology

So, yes the apology is welcome.
But it's also overwhelming.
Numbing.
Irritating.
Disappointing – but it's not a direct physical conversation – it's tinged with sadness for everything that should have been different.

Apologies that arrive after a lifetime can't rewrite the past, and they don’t erase the impact of silence. What they can do, is meet us in the present – in whatever fragmented or symbolic form they take.

Learning to Hold What Arrived Too Late

I am going to have to learn to hold that thread gently, without pretending it fixes everything or that it's fixed.

I’m hurt. It's painful. I’m trying to give myself compassion – the compassion I didn’t get, the trust that wasn't there growing up.

The reason I document my journey and talk about these things is because holding on to that much pain could make me sick. Writing allows me to release what my body has carried for far too long.

I’m finally owning my story – something no one can take away from me.

So, while the apology is welcome, maybe the true apology – the one that really matters – isn’t the one that has finally arrived.
It’s the one I’m giving to myself now:

Not everyone has spoken, and some silences remain.

Even so, the acknowledgement remains the same: that what I lived through was real, it has been painful and that I know – they know now – that I deserved more.

So, while not everyone has spoken, and some silences remain – it's still not the beginning.