I have been watching (through my fingers and with breath held) as a friend as undertaken to remake her relationship with her somewhat estranged family.
She found, as all of those of us mildly estranged from our families do, that in order to fit back in as a member in good standing, we must give up on our claims of reparation. That is to say, we cannot hope to be right and regain our position. It is, in fact, an either or. Inside, you will have to pretend or accept the rewritten history where you wronged them, where you walked away petulantly, where you chose selfishly for yourself over the good of the group. There will be no apologies, other than the ones you will offer. Reconciliation is not really the appropriate term, but I struggle to find the right one.
So, she is living the rewritten history and has been welcomed back into the fold. (I can't help but imagine, though, that they keep a watchful, wary eye on her for signs of treason.) She enjoys the lavish motherly concern she was once denied, or should I play along and say that she once denied herself. She enjoys the sibling togetherness and familiarity you cannot always achieve with friends. She endures with little complaint the same indignities she once fled from.
I wonder and I question my judgement of her actions -- is this an accurate account or do I exaggerate because I won't trade righteousness for family warmth. Then again my family never offered that kind of warmth - real or imagined.
Mostly I worry for my beautiful, contradictory, talented, intelligent, indeed precocious - even in her 30's, and vulnerable friend. What happens to your soul when you rewrite history in this way? What redemption do you give up when you don't acknowledge that pain? How great is the loss when you deny yourself the right to be wronged?
Breathe.
Asking
2 days ago
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