"Why don't you spend time with us?" they say, "Keep your phone away at the table."
Parents say they want to talk — until it's about anything real.
They don't want to know about how their plans for your future make you feel.
They don't want to know your fears, hopes or dreams.
The things you're interested in — your favourite music, games and movies;
Or the things you've come to believe.
Sometimes it feels like parents don't want to get to know you as a person. They only see you in relation to themselves.
Or sometimes they do talk about music and games and movies, and it's even worse — because the conversations you want to have are serious.
And it's worse because it becomes very clear, that they don't want to have conversations that matter. That, god forbid, make them feel.
They want to avoid talking about all the times they yelled at you. No apology, no acknowledgement. Just glaze over those parts and pretend everything's normal. Neither guilt nor remorse.
And you're left wondering whether this thing you have a memory of actually happened, because everyone is acting like it didn't. And whether your anger is warranted, because everyone is acting like it isn't.
An unspoken decision: "Yes, we were harsh earlier, but we felt bad and are being nice now"
The implied demand: "...so be grateful,"
The undercurrent of a threat: "...or I'll get angry again."
And a push to move on: "Why do you bear grudges? Leave the past in the past."
All these little clues, that you learn to read in their body language and their eyes and their vibe.
And then they balk when you don't call them. Or jump at the chance to spend time with them — or even have a relationship.
It's weird, loving people you don't like. That you'd never choose of your own volition; that you'd never be friends had you met in the real world. People you're indebted to anyway, because they took care of you your whole life and changed your diapers and drove you to school, and what friend would ever do that?
Had they been overly abusive I would've cut them off without guilt; if I didn't know that despite it all, they really did love me, I wouldn't have cared about hurting their feelings.
Some people... you love them only because they are family. If they were a boyfriend, I would've broken up with them; if they were a spouse I would've divorced them. Alas, they are my parents, and I'm destined to love them. To give up a kidney for them if need be, but not any days out of my workweek.
I don't have these conversations with my family because I've come to realise that this is something they're not emotionally equipped to handle. Too much self-awareness would bring out memories not only of the mistakes they made with me, but also all the times adults in their childhood failed them; of all the ways they themselves were wronged; all the years they wasted because of choices they didn't know they had; and all the things they wish they'd done differently. So I understand; the flood of anger and regrets it brings to the surface must be draining.
But that also means that I'll distance myself from them, because for me, their misunderstood love is draining. And because this has to stop somewhere; someone has to start choosing differently — and I've decided it'll be me.
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