“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I cut him off mid-sentence.
This conversation escalated quickly from the Nice-to-Meet-You’s and handshakes we just exchanged minutes before.
“She knows,” Mom chimed in as defense as she waved casually in his direction.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t not say anything,” he explained.
I’d said the exact same thing to so many of my friends over the years, how could I be upset with him?
“No, I feel you.” I insisted with three seconds of eye contact before he smiled back.
I forget sometimes that family doesn’t automatically equate to judgmental.
Sometimes folks really do just care for you.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Dad called to me from the kitchen as I had been trying to slip out the side door. His eyes were so genuine. He’d done this every time, and each time I had to force myself to hold his warm eyes.
Force myself to accept the reassurance, accept the affection, accept the connection, accept the generosity.
I’ve been working so hard on not being cold and distant while I’m internally melting away like a candle forgotten in the kitchen.
It’s okay to want to feel loved.
Queen of rejecting nourishment my soul needs, simply because I’d gotten this far without it.
“They’re a hoot,” he told me moments later at home from across my patio table.
I beamed proudly, “I’m just happy they were looking to adopt a 31-year-old daughter.”
I’ve been working so diligently to break the habits I formed while enduring the treatment I did not deserve. Working to accept the love I’m given, instead of rejecting it out of discomfort. Working to believe people when they show me who they are. Working to believe people when they show me how much they care. Working to accept that not everyone has a hidden agenda. Not every interaction is a test.
“If they didn’t want to, they wouldn’t.” Stephanie told me last month.
She was right. They wouldn’t. But they want to, so they do.
I’m not angry at you for the things you didn’t do for the little girl that relied on you the most. I’m not angry at you for missing the mark on the things other people’s parents effortlessly picked up. I’m not angry at you for allowing me to fend on my own much sooner than I should have had to. I’m not angry at you at all.
I am grateful that you did not have an influence in raising the person I am today,
because that girl would not have been a phoenix.
Wild Little Hare 