A little unstuck

For years I complained that he didn't understand. He didn't see my troubles or concerns, only called to share his own. I'm so tired of this, I told my mother. Why does he treat me like I have no feelings?

I tried, now and then, to shove my way out of the box of opinions I was stuck in. This relationship with hard sides of labels like stubborn, carefree, impetuous, incapable of understanding life's seriousness because I always get my way. This isn't me, I screamed from the inside. Look at this! Listen! Understand!

I've tried for years. Because it's hard to breathe in this space. Cuts and scars need air to heal, fears need to be let out not bounced back, and enabling all these things, I said, is an act of love.* If you don't see the broken-hurting-scared me, you don't love. Because how can you love without understanding?

I asked again today. Why don't you ask about my worries? "Because we've never talked about them," he said. "You were always good at what you do, the perfect student even in school." And so we returned to his stories, the struggles then and now.

Today, I finally heard what I'd missed all this while. Sure, it's a box. The air's stale in here, even a little cold and unfeeling. But somewhere inside, there's a perfect little version of my world where nothing bad ever happens and I always get what I want. And in this messy, scary, beautiful life, maybe I can learn to live with that.




*I still believe that's true. Maybe it's not the only.