No matter how I build myself up (or down), my parents can break me with a word, a breath of air. When there are things bothering me that I'm not showing, that I'm maybe even ignoring in my conscious mind, a few words from my mom can have me crying in her arms. Crying is healing, it's amazingly cathartic.
And it goes the other way too. I don't get angry at most of the people in my life, but I can blow up at my parents with small provocation sometimes. I think they are my emotional outlet. They are the only ones around who I am comfortable enough to show everything. Even my best friend doesn't usually see my anger directed at her. But it often strikes me that this is a horrid way to treat my parents, though it means that I trust them implicitly.
There are certainly situations when I get angry at them and realize they are right later. For instance, when I’m trying to forget something, and they keep bringing it up. I’m trying to think of happier things and not dwell on the problem. But they’re trying to help me deal with the problem instead of running away. There has to be a balance.
I take that into account nowadays, and I argue with my parents a lot less than I used to. Even when I argue, I remember to take their advice later. I guess I’ve gotten past that rebellious teenager phase? Well, it only exists in America and the West anyways, so with my being perched on a hyphen, I guess I only ever made it halfway there. Either way, I'm glad I have a good relationship with my parents, even if it doesn't always show.
No comments:
Post a Comment