I don’t think my father will ever be able to say the sorry I need from him to heal, so I wrote it myself, conveying it as best as I could based on what I know his capacity to be. “Every time you’ve tried to talk to me and make repairs, you’re asking for a lot of vulnerability. I can’t fix the past. I can’t fix how I’ve been. But admitting fault would mean I also have to work on myself in the future.”

I’d spent so much emotional effort not wanting to become my parents, especially in scenarios where my under-two-year-old child was present. Yet, here I still was, screaming at the top of my lungs in our kitchen instead of looking for common ground, practicing empathy, literally using any of my other emotional skills.

Sometimes the reason I only share the good stuff is a lot more benign. And some of it is middle-of-the-range-benign with little ways to control it.

It’s often a video where someone explains how being more positive can “cure” (yes cure is a keyword in this case) depression and anxiety, or one proclaiming that really Soy, Dairy, over-the-counter Tylenol, Gluten is the main problem. The solution is always so simple. Don’t you want to “live without Depression”?

By sixteen, I was desperate to understand, no, to predict what might cause a minor “hey, that’s a silly thing to do!” versus a full-blown fight. If I could predict it, I could prevent it from happening by being perfect. If I couldn’t predict it, and I got into trouble, I’d always feel shame. I felt it was my job to solve every emotional mystery. To have known better and been one step ahead. And anyone in my family being upset meant I failed at it.