Lessons yet to be learned
I forget how uncomfortable my parents are with emotions.
As far back as I can remember, I was informed that crying was a sign of weakness. The best thing to do is to stop crying, because it doesn’t solve anything. My father would often bark this at me until I stopped.
I vividly remember him at the front door of my first house when I moved out to London. He welled up and it was the first time I’d seen that. It might be the last. I feel sorry for him. That moment crushed me.
What an outrageous thing to instill in someone. Don’t show your feelings. Why? Because you’re uncomfortable?
I can’t remember what I’d done, but one night as my mother was tucking me into bed she started crying and I asked her what was wrong. She said, ‘These are happy tears. You don’t understand now, but one day you’ll know why people cry when they’re happy.’
Today I tried to talk to my mother. She sensed I had something I would like to discuss and did the old ‘spit it out, you’re making me nervous’, routine. For the first time, I asked her to calm down and not make it about herself. She couldn’t.
I got tearful, and she called for my father. What a great technique. That’s one way to stop me.
I wish I could be myself around my parents. I wish it didn’t take months of slowly breaking them in to every idea I have. Months of debate about whether I know what I’m doing. For how much I love them, I spend an awful lot of time dutifully trying not to disappoint them. So far, only a few things have been worth the hassle.
I tried today, but twas not meant to be.

