freaking parents, amirite?
I’ve been staying with my parents longer than expected… the storm in Texas has, for lack of a better word, trapped me here. And I feel my peace of mind slipping away on a daily basis, growing more agitated by the little (and big) things about them that frustrate me.
I wake up every morning convinced I feel better. And then I walk out my bedroom door and after a brief interaction, I am activated.
I don’t like being like this — perpetually frustrated by and resentful of my parents. But I also struggle to know what to do instead.
I had an altercation with my dad yesterday — I challenged a behavior of his and in typical fashion, he shut down. Instead of pushing the issue, I walked away, breathed, remained present in my physical reaction.
And today, upon further reflection, I shared resources with him on why I cared about his behavior and how it impacted the world around him.
And, shockingly enough, he was responsive, receptive.
Which is both gratifying and incredibly frustrating. That instead of simply listening to me, trusting my opinion and perspective, I have to constantly prove my validity to him. Because the article said nothing I hadn’t said before a dozen times.
But so it is.
Maybe it’s his male boomer energy that makes it hard for him to see me as an authority and is therefore more receptive to these “official” sources.
Maybe it’s more manageable for him to read about these things instead of dealing with a confrontation with me.
Maybe there’s layers upon layers at play that I’ll never understand and trying do so is pointless.
For now, I’ll celebrate this small victory. And I’ll take it as a lesson learned.
Because despite knowing my father for 30 years, I’m realizing more and more that we don’t know how to have hard conversations with each other. That for the first time, we’re meeting on an even playing field. And both of us are confused by it.
Educate, inspire, uplift — these are the words I’m trying to hold onto when it comes to bringing about positive change in others. But it’s freaking hard.
It’s hard when I have a family history of feeling dismissed. When my words, perspectives, and opinions aren’t enough. When I feel like I have to constantly prove myself.
It’s exhausting.
But it is the way that it is. And therefore, that is the place I have to start from.
Because I desperately want my parents to change. And nothing I’ve tried before seems to work.
So here’s to continuing to try — to trying new things and seeing what happens. To staying hopeful without abandoning myself. To loving myself through my frustration. And to believing there’s always a way even if I can’t see it.
