I’m quieter than I remembered, than I hoped. The stories I most want
to tell, the unbloggable things I still need to think through, I can’t
share because my family isn’t ready to listen instead of judge. I
can’t think things through with them.
So I dodge the barbs, change the topics of conversation, downplay what
I feel. I’m sad, but not for reasons they think I am. I’m happy, but
not for reasons they know.
It’ll be hard to learn how to trust them with this. I should talk to
them about it, perhaps. Tell them how I feel when they do what they
do, tell them that the consequences of their actions is that I am
discouraged from talking to them about stuff like that, explore more
constructive ways of interacting. I’ll try that. I want more than what
we have now.
They are still human and still learning, and I am still human and
When you realize that this is true for everyone and everything, it
becomes a little easier to practice loving kindness. It is still hard,
but it becomes a little easier.
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