What is a conversation, really?  It must, of necessity involve at least two persons who are speaking. But do they have to be speaking at the same depth?  Can it qualify if one participant dominates?  What if there is something really obvious to be said, and the person who should say it doesn’t say it, and the other person knows it’s useless to bring it up without the other?  Maybe the other couldn’t handle the answer to what should be that important question?  I don’t know. Maybe it’s enough to be kind and as present, on as authentic a level as possible.   I hope so. 

I called my parents today. I said I had five minutes or so, which led to almost ten. I hadn’t spoken with them for a year and three months. The really odd thing was that they seemed to continue on as though nothing had happened. All that worrying I did about not being able to answer their questions was completely wasted. I didn’t really want them to ask questions I couldn’t answer yet, but it was surreal to be so superficial after such a long time. I guess a part of me is always going to yearn for a healthy relationship with them. And yet, I think what I’d better focus on is to have the healthiest relationship possible with people who’ve chosen to remain in the same emotional and cognitive snares they’ve dealt with since childhood. It may sound like I’m being hard on them. As far as I can tell they’ve had opportunities to grow but haven’t taken them, but I don’t know what’s in their hearts. Truly, they both carry deep wounds with them everywhere. It’s just that I’m not responsible for making those wounds feel better. It isn’t my job to make them feel happy and secure. It’s my job to be responsible for myself, my responses, my emotional and mental health. It’s my job to figure out how to draw boundaries and keep them, even if it makes them unhappy. It’s my job to know how much and what I can give without doing damage to myself. 

For now, that means they’re going to receive intermittent 5 minute phone calls on speaker phone from my therapist’s office. After my call today I spent 2-1/2 hours with my chiropractor. My whole back seized up. I’d say that’s all I can do, but doing it was kind. It was considerate of my mother’s upcoming birthday. I was as present as I could be with people who didn’t say anything of consequence, except that they loved me, which I really appreciate. They could’ve been real assholes about it, so oblivious isn’t all that bad, I suppose. My job is me. Their job is them. My job is me. Their job is them. 

Maybe we never get to relate in such a way that I receive as well as give. Maybe this will be until the end. Maybe that’s okay. All right, it sucks, but I have been profoundly blessed by people who truly care about me. I have amazing, two-way people in my life, and we give and receive from each other constantly. It may not be the same as having that relationship with parents, but it’s far from a negligible gift. 

I’m going to let Mom and Dad be Mom and Dad. My needs are met elsewhere. I can give what is healthy for me to give and learn to say “no” to things I legitimately cannot do. That will be the hard part. I’ve always wanted to make them happy, and it’s time for me to give up on that. They haven’t realized I’ve given up on that yet, and that will cause a few internally charged silent moments, I’ll bet. Still. They’re going to have to get used to it. I’ll give them light conversation-ish as I’m able and that will have to be okay.