Healing is a process.

Is there a poignant way to admit you have a strained or nonexistent relationship with you father? Is there a compassionate way to say you harbor resentment, anger, or indifference towards you father? Is there a way to not risk vulnerability with regards to a father you may feel has not earned your trust? 

Today is Father's Day, and likely you reflected on your relationship with your father regardless of the health of that relationship. Perhaps, if you were willing to risk vulnerability, you would may vocalize feeling triggered. Because no matter how you rationalize or accept what is, part of you, however small, wonders what it would be like if things were different. 

I know because I know. I have a strained, nonexistent relationship with my father. I harbor varying degrees of resentment, anger, and indifference. I am afraid to risk vulnerability with my father. And, I know that these things impact me on real and meaningful levels. 

I am not a mental health professional, clergyman, or parent. I am a woman whose experiences as a daughter impact the way I exist and move in this world in both good and bad and large and small ways. I know that it does not serve me to rehash negative experiences or reenact them. I know that forgiveness, as cliche as it reads, IS a gift I give myself. I know that acceptance while difficult at times is a weapon in my wellbeing arsenal. I know that setting boundaries is ESSENTIAL as is managing expectations and addressing thought distortions. 

I am saying all of this to say that it is my firm belief that articulation is medicine, and I wonder how many people cannot find the words to say how they feel today. I wonder how many people are waffling between sadness and anger. I wonder how many people feel rejected, abandoned, unseen, and/or unlovable. 

To those of us with strained or nonexistent relationships with our fathers, I would like offer Daniel Beaty's words. "Yes, we are our fathers' sons and daughters, but we are not their choices." Let us change what we can change. Let us create connections that nourish us. Let us create lives that honor us. Let us love ourselves without condition or negotiation. Let us forgive knowing that we are deserving of the freedom forgiveness encompasses. Let us heal with awareness that we are worthy of wholeness.

Check out Daniel Beaty's powerful poem and recitation: 

https://youtu.be/RTZrPVqR0D8

Fidelius Charm

Will you be my Secret Keeper? There are parts of me only you can know. Will you hold my hidden madness? I entrust you with this unseen show. Will you be sacred space where performance ceases and being begins? I've lied too long, but now I want to unearth the truth within. Please be my Secret Keeper because I need this release like I need you. If you are my Secret Keeper, I promise to confide in you. I will bring everything and bear it all.

And both are true...

On Saturday, I saw an 8 year old cousin. I greeted Veah as one greets family, and she said, "Who are you?" I held this little girl when she was a baby, and she did not remember me. What followed her initial question was a hilarious conversation that could be summarized by Veah's assertion that I was a "stalker" because I know so much about her and she has no clue who I am. 

I laughed. I wanted to cry. I thought, "Time can be a bitch."

Today, I greeted my 84 year old Grandma as a granddaughter greets her grandmother. I asked, "Do you know who I am, Grandma?" She could not remember me. What followed my question was my name and statements about my relation to her. She held me when I was a baby, and I told her my name.

We sat. She fell asleep. I cried. I thought, "Time is a bitch."

I know that consistent contact with my nieces, nephews, and little cousins can help them remember. I know that I cannot prevent my Grandmother from forgetting. I also know that it is the privilege of lifetime to be loved well, deeply, and hard by a Grandmother. How privileged am I? How privileged are all the Gray grandchildren? 

My Grandmother naps as I sit and write. I laugh. I cry. I think, "Time is a gift."