On a recent Sunday morning, I called a meeting to nurture a challenging conversation, in a relationship where my stellar communication skills pretty much always fail me. I wonder if talking to your parents when they think you’ve fucked up gets easier after 27. Stay tuned.
Our relationship as of late has been pretty tense. Wrought with layers of deep hurt brought on by words that can’t be unsaid, actions that can’t be undone, energies that can’t be un-felt. The dialogue on that humid Sunday morning across our family table was a long time coming, long overdue in fact. In many ways, I’ve been readying for it for close to two years. That’s two years too long, but hey, human - guilty. Work in progress - also guilty.
As I sat across the table from the two people who brought me into the world, I asked what they wanted to get out of our conversation that morning. With a shrug of their shoulders, they more or less both expressed the same desire. A solution. What I know about us is that even with the best of intentions, we can be defensive and stubborn with each other, and from there a total shut down occurs pretty rapidly. In wanting to alleviate suffering for all of us, I knew that there was only one way to move forward if we were going to land without crashing...
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