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Crossing stories
Crossing over to love, dispassionately
I looked across at my father, sitting
stolidly in his armchair, debating how to respond to his angry outburst.
Feeling like an errant 5-year-old, I replied, “I respect your point of
view and when you can talk to me without shouting and we can have an adult
conversation, I will come back. But, until then, I don't want to speak any
further.”
I was shaking with fear and sadness, but I left the apartment.
I was 21 years old. I had recently moved out of home and the physical
distance between him and me had helped me to clarify that I truly was an
adult and I no longer had to cower while he emotionally beat me into
subservience during our conversations. It had taken me nearly five years
of therapy - different therapists, social workers, psychologists,
psychiatrists - for me to realize that I was in control of my own life and
hence, I could choose my own actions and subsequent reactions'. I did not
have to be beholden to other people's bad behavior or lack of caring. I
could choose to disengage.
To recognize that I deeply loved him was an enormous leap. I crossed the
divide when I knew that loving him and being bound by his negative
behavior were two entirely different things. I could love him and I could
view him dispassionately. All of that was OK. Difficult, but OK!
Everything changed after that - he tried to argue with me, I chose
distance, tough love if you will. And he finally began to treat me like an
adult. We had meaningful conversations and interactions for the remaining
years of his life.
Brontyb
►next
story: coming soon
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