I don't know if this even counts as a confession, really. More like... just something I needed to get out, I guess. I’m starting to feel a bit old for this kind of late-night forum stuff, but here I am. My kids are all grown up and out of the house now, mostly, and I find myself with a lot of quiet time. Too much quiet time, maybe. My youngest, he’s in college now, studying something practical, thank goodness. Not like me. I always wanted to be an artist, you know? Just... make things. But that doesn’t pay the bills, not for a single mom with three hungry kids. So I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder. I think maybe I pushed myself too hard. For years, I just ran on fumes. Coffee, mostly. And the sheer force of needing to keep everyone fed and clothed. The kids were always doing something – school plays, soccer practice, art club, science fairs. And I wanted to be there for all of it. I really did. It felt important. More important than anything else. So when I started getting these stomach cramps, these sharp pains that would just hit me out of nowhere, I just told myself it was stress. And the coffee. Definitely the coffee. A little bit of indigestion, a busy mom’s badge of honor, right? My doctor, bless her heart, she kept trying to get me in for appointments. "Let's just take a look, Janet," she'd say, her voice always so calm on the phone. "It's probably nothing, but we should rule things out." And I'd always say, "Oh, I just can't, not this week. Little Timmy has his big concert, and Sarah has that presentation, and honestly, the thought of sitting in a waiting room right now just makes me want to scream." And I’d cancel. Every time. For years, it was like that. Always something with the kids, always a reason. I even remember one time, I had this really bad cramp, like someone was twisting my insides, and Timmy had forgotten his permission slip for a field trip. I just popped some antacids and drove it over to the school, waving and smiling like nothing was wrong. I was good at that, smiling through it. Now, all these years later, the kids are grown. They're doing well. And I have... all this time. And sometimes, late at night, when the house is totally silent, I still get those twinges. Not as bad, usually, but they're still there. And I think about all those appointments I missed, all those times I just brushed it off. I don't know what it was. What *it* is. And I'm scared to find out, honestly. But more than that, I just feel this... I don't know. A heavy feeling. Like I failed myself, somehow. Like I put everything and everyone else first, which is what a good mom does, right? But at what cost? I just wish I'd maybe taken a little more time for me, just a little. Just to see what was going on inside. I don’t know. I guess it’s too late now to really do anything about it. Just another one of those things you carry, I suppose.