Mental illness is a terribly frightening and frustrating experience. At times, when I was in a particular dark place, I would lash out at anyone who was nearby — which, unfortunately, often was my mother.
But, amazingly, my mother never held it against me. She continued to love and protect me.
Sometimes she would apologize for “aggravating” me, which would immediately strike my conscience. Then, when I apologized, she would kindly say, “It’s okay, I understand.”
My mother taught me by example what a love that “keeps no record of wrongs and is not easily angered” looks like. She has been the single most important person in my healing process.