What will my future relationship with my parents look like?

Dear Nicole,

Sit with me—Sit with you.  

Codependency, it’s a dysfunctional relationship, like a diabetic and crème bruleé.  You feel it coming every time.  Your eyes dart around the room inconsistently searching for a distraction, and your finger uncontrollably swipes the screen, unlocking an ether of bad habits. Your fork shatters the custard.  Recent calls: Daddy, Mother, always the formal for the latter.

You clear your throat trying to rid yourself of a world you choose not to let them in on.  The ringing ends, and I can tell the call is reluctantly answered. “Hello?”  “Yes..” he painstakingly murmurs.  Thinking to himself that it’s 11am on a Wednesday, and my adult child has called me three times already.  “What’s up, just ordered lunch, Chipotle again.” I force a laugh and my emotions lean over, as if checking to see if the water’s fine.   He strains out a response I’m never satisfied with and we spend a minute discussing my eating habits.  I can hear his life happening all around him through the mic, and I picture him, phone propped to his ear, one free hand. The other burdened.  The burden transcends through the call and I feel myself grow combative.  “Well, I guess I’ll let ya go, bye, love you.” Intentionally rushed. “Alright.”  I can feel the relief in his voice, and it sounds comforting, again.

You hang up. Round two: Mother.

Little conversations throughout the day, consistent as your midday chipotle.  One’s nourishing, the other destructive, perfect harmony. 

You will grow into a mature, healthy familial relationship, like a gangly teenager grows into their skin. I put the work in.  Not quite cold-turkey, more like Sunday’s Thanksgiving leftovers. 

It’s a habit where re-lapses are okay, even welcomed.  As most doctors will tell you, “the secret is moderation.” 

You live now for the rare occurrences when substance takes over the calls, instead of the swarms of emotional hornets circling the bear who confused them for honey.  Then wondering why the bear won’t have another look. 

It’s not the hornets fault, they look like honey bees;  the bear hasn’t changed his diet yet either, he’s still hungry for honey.

And, you still want crème brulee, but moderation is key.  Try every other day, it feels good, and tastes better. 

Like Diane Lane heard in Under The Tuscan Sun,  when you stop looking for lady bugs and just fall asleep in the grass, you will wake up and be covered in them.  Stop seeking out those deep, substantive life-changing discussions, they will come. 

Cue Field of Dreams reference—“if you build it they will come.” 

Spend time with yourself, on yourself.  I personally enjoy a good read, a short walk (as long as the sun isn’t fatal), or a productive Target-run (like that exists); I think you might like them too.

Talk soon, but hopefully not too soon.

~Nicole