I always thought I knew my mother.
She was a woman who could stretch a dollar further than anyone I knew, but also a woman who made every moment of my childhood feel like a lesson in scarcity. I grew up watching him sacrifice everything from family time to the occasional indulgence, all in the name of salvation.
Sometimes she seemed to care more about money than we did. But after her death, I discovered a secret hidden deep within the pages of her old diary—a secret that changed the way I saw her forever. What I found made me question everything I thought I knew about her and myself.
 My mother’s relentless desire to save money and her extreme frugality cast a long, dark shadow over my childhood. Despite the fact that we lived comfortably – my father was a regional manager and my mother worked as a nurse – she was consumed by the need to pinch change. Her constant money-saving habits filled me with deep resentment, especially when Dad and I just wanted to enjoy the little joys in life.
My father, Henry, was the person I loved the most. He died tragically when I was seventeen, it devastated me and strained my bond with my mother even more.
Then when she drained my college fund, I swore I could never forgive her.
Years later, when she died, I came across her diary. Through her pages, I discovered the hidden truth about my mother’s struggles with my father’s secret gambling addiction. She raised money to pay off his debts, sacrificing her own reputation. One entry read: “I had to take Carina’s college fund… It was the only way to keep us from losing our home.”
It was clear to me that she was doing everything in her power to protect me, even if it meant making herself the villain. My feelings of resentment turned to regret and I finally understood the depth of her love.
As I sat with the journal in my hands, the weight of all my anger and resentment seemed to lift and be replaced by a deep sense of understanding. My mother’s actions, which I once thought were selfish and cold, were actually acts of desperation and love. She sacrificed so much to protect me from the harsh reality of our situation, even at the cost of her own reputation in my eyes.
Although her choices left scars, they also revealed the depth of her commitment to our family. Eventually, I realized that the love she had for me wasn’t always expressed the way I’d hoped, but it wasn’t any less real. My journey of regret and forgiveness began at that moment, and while I could never take back the past, I could honor her memory by accepting the truth of her sacrifices.