People can surprise you. Sometimes, it's worth the risk because they might rise above your ability to imagine what they'll do. But I always ask myself, "Is there anything I can imagine that this person could say that would make things better." If the answer is "no," I often don't risk the encounter, because I know that there are things they can say that will make things worse. So, it might be worth the risk, but it's tough.
You have gotten the gift of being able to get on with things. That's incredibly valuable. My dad and I never got that. We could never get beyond the baggage. That was partly my fault, maybe, but you know, I don't regret it. The potential cost was always too high.
On the gripping hand, I did risk it with my mother. I asked her why she stayed with my dad after he threw her suitcase down the stairs and almost threw her down the stairs. There was a world of hurt in that question. Why didn't you protect me? Why did you let him do those things to us? Where were you? You were the adult, why didn't you---? And she said, "Lydia, it was 1965." And many things became much clearer. And bunches of forgiveness came from that. The other big piece, of course, was my asking her, when she asked me a particularly stupid question, "Do you really want to know the answer to that?" and she said, "No." It was the beginning of us building decent boundaries. Also invaluable.
You know, you got damaged. And I think your dad owes you an apology. But I don't know your family system well enough to evaluate whether this is a worthwhile risk, or if it would be better to rest on your laurels. It's a hard one.
no subject
You have gotten the gift of being able to get on with things. That's incredibly valuable. My dad and I never got that. We could never get beyond the baggage. That was partly my fault, maybe, but you know, I don't regret it. The potential cost was always too high.
On the gripping hand, I did risk it with my mother. I asked her why she stayed with my dad after he threw her suitcase down the stairs and almost threw her down the stairs. There was a world of hurt in that question. Why didn't you protect me? Why did you let him do those things to us? Where were you? You were the adult, why didn't you---? And she said, "Lydia, it was 1965." And many things became much clearer. And bunches of forgiveness came from that. The other big piece, of course, was my asking her, when she asked me a particularly stupid question, "Do you really want to know the answer to that?" and she said, "No." It was the beginning of us building decent boundaries. Also invaluable.
You know, you got damaged. And I think your dad owes you an apology. But I don't know your family system well enough to evaluate whether this is a worthwhile risk, or if it would be better to rest on your laurels. It's a hard one.
Many hugs anyway.