Tiny Buddha

Tag: reconciliation

  • Healing Without Reconciling with My Mother and Learning to Love Myself

    Healing Without Reconciling with My Mother and Learning to Love Myself

    “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we’ll ever do.” ~Brené Brown

    Several years ago, I wrote a heartfelt letter to my estranged mother, articulating my deep feelings about her perceived lack of empathy and care. My intention in writing the letter wasn’t to ignite conflict; it was to sincerely share my perspective.

    Rather than lashing out with blame, I expressed my profound sadness about feeling parentless and the struggle of raising myself without parental love and guidance, something I desperately needed at times.

    I bared my soul, detailing the emotional turmoil our relationship has had on me as an adult, and expressed the longing for connection that always seemed just out of reach.

    After completing the letter, I did something I thought at the time was a bit reckless: I mailed it. Now looking back, I realize it was a courageous step toward advocating for my emotional health, confronting my truths head-on.

    I had no expectations and was prepared for any outcome, including silence, which often felt like our norm. However, mailing it felt like a cathartic release and was undeniably liberating.

    Months passed without a response. I had kept my expectations low but remained hopeful that perhaps she would reflect on what I had shared and gain some insight into our dynamic. Then, almost nine months later, I found myself at a family gathering out of state, and she was there. I had a vague notion that she might show up, but I hadn’t put too much thought into it.

    A rush of panic enveloped me, especially knowing my children didn’t even recognize her. My husband supported me, rubbing my back to help me through the initial shock of seeing her after so many years.

    As conversations swirled around me, I felt an odd sense of being at an event together yet acting like strangers. Though it wasn’t much different from before, I had openly shared a vulnerable part of myself in that letter, which she never acknowledged receiving.

    During the gathering, we barely spoke; our unresolved past loomed between us like an unbridgeable chasm. As the event was wrapping up, my family and I collected our jackets to leave, and then she walked over to me.

    With a sincere expression, she said, “You were right, and I’m sorry.” That was all that passed between us, and then I left. As I walked out the door, a wave of sadness crashed over me, not just from the validation but from the acknowledgment of our painful reality.

    In that moment, I recognized that while the deep understanding I’d once yearned for might never materialize, that exchange marked a significant turning point in my healing journey.

    Through this process, I learned invaluable lessons about boundaries—how to say no without guilt, to stop explaining myself, and to recognize when emotional distance is an act of self-respect rather than rejection. I discovered that safeguarding my emotional space was not just essential but necessary for my well-being.

    Although my connection with my mother remains the same, my inner transformation has been profound.

    I still grapple with sadness that my children will not know their grandmother, leaving me with a wound that is still healing. However, I have learned the art of giving and receiving love in healthier ways. I prioritize open communication with my children and partner, ensuring that their feelings are validated, something I wished for during my upbringing.

    Not everyone is fortunate enough to have their experiences acknowledged. Many of us carry the weight of unvalidated pain, silently wishing for recognition that our feelings matter. The journey of writing a letter reinforced the power of self-love as a transformative force, even in the absence of answers or sincere apologies.

    Self-love for me is about nurturing inner compassion for myself and understanding and recognizing the validity of my feelings, independent of external validation.

    The seeds of self-love began to flourish in my twenties with small acts of kindness toward myself, moments of self-forgiveness, and the courage to question the beliefs I’d carried since childhood.

    It was a crucial period when I started to challenge the idea that my worth depended on pleasing others, and I allowed myself to feel fully—to name and honor my emotions without shame or self-censorship.

    During this time, I began seeing a therapist, which offered me a safe space to examine how my sense of worth had been shaped by my mother’s unpredictable affection and the silence that shaped me when it was withheld.

    Books like Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson and The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown helped me understand and reframe these patterns, guiding me toward self-compassion and a more stable sense of self-worth.

    With the support of a nurturing chosen family and the continued guidance of therapy, I’ve been able to unravel beliefs that no longer serve me—such as the idea that my worth depends on others’ approval, that my emotions should be contained to keep the peace, and that love must be earned through perfection or compliance. Letting go of these patterns has allowed me to reclaim my sense of self and to honor my feelings as both valid and necessary.

    As I contemplate this recent encounter with my mother, I see the evolution of my perspective since I began advocating for my emotional well-being. I’ve come to understand the delicate balance between expectations and reality—the longing for a different kind of relationship coexisting with the acceptance of what is. It’s a balance that asks me to hold compassion for her limitations while still protecting my own heart.

    Each lesson I’ve embraced about self-love has become foundational—learning to set boundaries without guilt, to speak my truth, and to treat myself with the same tenderness I once reserved for others.

    These shifts have reshaped not only my relationship with myself but also how I engage with the world around me. Now, I give and receive love in healthier, more meaningful ways, ensuring that my relationships are grounded in mutual respect and appreciation.

    This healing journey has profoundly shaped my approach to parenting. I aim to teach my children the significance of setting boundaries and advocating for their emotional well-being, rather than simply seeking to please others or maintain peace at all costs. They see a mother who is honest about her feelings and who takes care of herself instead of abandoning herself, which serves as a powerful lesson that goes beyond words.

    While my relationship with my mother may never be what I hoped for, it has guided me toward a fuller sense of self and a more authentic, balanced way of loving. And I’m committed to continuing on this healing journey. I’ve unearthed the strength within me to heal and evolve—strength that exists independent of external acknowledgment.

  • Dear Parent of an Estranged Adult: What Might Repair Your Relationship

    Dear Parent of an Estranged Adult: What Might Repair Your Relationship

    Dear estranged parent,

    I know it’s not easy to feel cut off from your child when you still feel love and maybe even remorse. I know you might feel confused about why your adult child is so upset, and you might even feel angry and wrongly accused.
    Perhaps there’s some truth to that. I don’t know why your child cut ties with you, but I can share a little of my own experience and then offer some tips that might help, regardless of your unique situation.

    So why did your son or daughter cut you out of their life?

    I can’t speak to the specifics of your situation, but I can offer you some insights from my own experience and I can talk about common themes expressed by my community of estranged adults.

    Before I go any further, I need to remind you that everyone remembers and experiences the same events differently. For example, you might remember the fun family trip to Disneyland where everyone was together and had a good time, but your son or daughter might remember getting yelled at or you and your spouse fighting.

    I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings but simply to remind you to be open to the possibility that your child may remember or may have experienced events differently.

    I tried to have a relationship with my parents for many years before I made the hard decision to cut them out of my life. I would seek validation for my academic accomplishments, but all they would notice were the mistakes I’d made, and they would repeatedly highlight them.

    I’m not saying I was perfect, but a little love and affirmation would have gone a long way. Each rejection left me feeling hurt. I questioned my self-worth and became depressed. Still, I tried to maintain a relationship with them, despite the fact that it took a toll on my health.

    I showed an interest in my mother’s life, and every time I came back to visit, I did my best to be helpful around the house and attend to their needs in any way I could.

    My parents would criticize me repeatedly, even in front of friends and family members, and I was left feeling smeared and demeaned. All of my actions were met with judgmental negativity.

    If I tried something new, my father would list all the reasons why he thought I was going to fail, while my mother would take sadistic joy in my failures. My parents never wanted anyone to see the good in me or even to allow me to see the good or the potential within myself. I was always a failure in their eyes—a common theme among estranged adults.

    My parents also repeatedly failed to respect my boundaries and at times would list off reasons why I could not have the ones I had set. They often guilted me for having boundaries or even basic needs.

    My parents never admitted the hurt they caused me. They never admitted the years of abuse and neglect. It was always somehow my fault. They were also unwilling to listen or allow me to have a productive conversation about my feelings. Again, I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I didn’t deserve to be treated in the manner I was during my formative years.

    Each time I would invite them to come visit me or take an interest in my life they gave me a list of reasons why they couldn’t come or why I was not good enough for them to bother caring.

    Each interaction cut me deeper, causing me to get depressed and shut down.

    When I got engaged, my father listed all the reasons why he thought my relationship would fail, and my mother expressed frustration at the thought of having to help me plan a wedding. I couldn’t force them to care, and the tremendous emotional effort I was making was taking a toll on me. I felt I had no choice but to accept that the relationship I so desperately wanted would never be and let go.

    For me, this was the right decision because it freed me from the bondage of hope that one day I might be good enough and it allowed me to live a meaningful and happy life.

    I must reiterate that there is a reason your son and daughter has cut you out of their life because no one would make this decision lightly.

    If you care about rebuilding a healthy relationship with your estranged child, these are some steps that you can take.

    Realize that people remember events differently and be open to seeing their perspective.

    Sometimes we remember things so differently that we’re inclined to deny the other person’s reality. Please don’t do this, as it will only create walls and cause them to recoil and pull away.

    If your child says they did not like it that you pushed them into doing sports and only cared about them winning games, don’t shut the conversation down by saying “You were good at sports.” If your child says that you always criticized them about their weight, don’t tell them that you were trying to help them lead a healthier lifestyle.

    Listen and try to understand their point of view. Simply allowing them space to share how they experienced their childhood can help them feel heard and respected.

    If it helps, keep communications in writing to start.

    Oftentimes, it’s hard to really hear what someone is saying when you feel attacked, accused, and emotional. If conversations are upsetting both parties, try communicating by e-mail so that you can read and reread what they have to say in order to digest the message being communicated. Try your best to understand their experiences and empathize with them whenever you can, and odds are they’ll be more willing to do the same for you.

    Avoid being critical.

    You may not agree with your child’s lifestyle or their actions, but repeatedly criticizing and voicing your disapproval will only cause them to pull away. Don’t call them names or make reference to their past failures. Work on being supportive and providing them with validation whenever possible.

    This might be hard to do if you feel they’re being critical of you. Criticism tends to shut people down—on both sides. But replacing criticism with validation can help heal old wounds.

    Be self-reflective.

    It can be hard for anyone to take a critical look at themselves and examine their actions in order to admit that they’ve harmed someone. This can be a painful process that forces you to see yourself in a new light. Sometimes, as painful as it is, it has to be done.

    This doesn’t mean that you are inherently bad. Most people parent as they were parented and repeat harmful patterns without realizing it.

    It takes tremendous courage to examine yourself and admit that you caused pain. Remember you don’t need to do this alone. Seeing a trained counselor or psychologist can help you understand yourself better.

    Take responsibility for your actions.

    Many estranged adults, myself included, never felt we got the apology we longed for. If you have wronged your adult child, even if you feel you were a good parent on the whole, own up to your mistakes and apologize. This simple act will go a long way toward rebuilding the relationship.

    Respect boundaries.

    It can be tough to honor a firm boundary when you feel an urget need to talk things out. But you can’t force someone to hear you until they’re ready. If your son or daughter has said that they don’t want to see you for the next month, don’t show up at their door. This will only leave them feeling intimidated and disrespected and cause them to pull away.

    Be willing to change your behavior.

    If your son or daughter has described behaviors of yours that bother them, make a conscious effort to change. Show them that you are capable of taking their constructive criticism and applying it. Listing off ways that you think you have changed isn’t enough. Your actions need to speak for themselves.

    This is, of course, a two-way street. Adult children are also capable of doing things that upset their parents. And in a perfect world, they’d hear you and make changes too, if necessary. But you can’t control their behavior—only your own.

    Understand that distance isn’t always permanent.

    Sometimes we need to take a break from family and friends in order to heal from childhood trauma and focus on our own health and well-being. This is a natural part of the healing process. If you have been asked to give your son or daughter space, honor their request.

    Never use guilt.

    As harsh as this might sound, your adult child doesn’t owe you anything. By inflicting guilt on them—telling them they should have a relationship with you because you’ve done and sacrificed so much—you invalidate their feelings and exert power and control that could cause them to pull away even further. It’s far better to create a new relationship from a foundation of mutual understanding than try to force one on a foundation of guilt and shame.

    Don’t try to buy them back.

    If your child asks you not to send gifts or give them money, don’t. You might think the gifts are a way to repair the relationship, but this never works and only breeds resentment. Estranged children can also see gifts as a means of exerting power and controlling, forcing us to feel obligated to have a relationship we do not feel comfortable having. Relationships can never be bought.

    Offer to go to therapy.

    This can feel intimidating at times, but your willingness to go will send a strong message that you’re open to rebuilding a healthy relationship. Many times it can be easier to talk about sensitive subjects in front of a trained neutral third party that can help us work through our emotions and misunderstandings. If your child declines your invitation to go to therapy, see a therapist on your own.

    Allow for growth and change.

    Some of the healthiest relationships we will ever have grow and change as we do. Don’t expect your child to like the same things or act the same way as they did before; this is simply not realistic. You must adapt and grow as they do and be open to the fact that the relationship may change.

    If all else fails, work on accepting the situation.

    Not every story has a happy Hollywood ending. Sometimes all we can do is accept the choices other people have made, let go, learn from the experience, and move on with our lives. If your child insists that they cannot have a relationship with you, respect their choices, as painful as this may be. Don’t contact them repeatedly. Remember that nothing in life can be forced, not even relationships.

    I’m not saying that parents are solely responsible for healing broken relationships with their children. We have to do our part too, but often we’ve tried for years only to feel invalidated, disrespected, and rejected.

    Had my own parents done any of these things it might have been possible to reconcile with them and work together to heal.

  • Don’t Wait to Open Your Heart: There Is Only Time For Love

    Don’t Wait to Open Your Heart: There Is Only Time For Love

    “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.” ~Iain Thomas

    Looking back, my most cherished childhood memories can be traced back to my rosy mother.

    Intricate forts in the backyard with Spice Girls playing in the background. Sleepovers using Limited Too’s finest sparkly lotion, eyeshadow, and lip gloss. Rainy afternoons filled with friendship bracelets and Lisa Frank activity sheets. Children and teachers showing off their wild side at my mothers’ signature talent shows at the local theatre. Arts and crafts in a room surrounded by floral couches and mauve wallpaper. Flea market field trips to select the perfect charm bracelet. And, loads of buttery birthday cakes with the words Be With Your Dreams written all over them.

    Sadly, we grew apart during middle school when she abruptly uprooted our sunlit lives in exchange for a nomadic lifestyle. After traveling with her to two states, I grew tired of the “new kid” title and moved in with my father.

    With each of her subsequent moves, my resentment morphed into a towering boulder that blocked her love to seep through. Our tug-of-war relationship continued for six years into early adulthood.

    I still remember the day that everything changed.

    I was at a work conference when I received an unexpected call from her. I grudgingly called her back in a crowded hallway.

    “What?!” I said in a pompous tone.

    She whispered, “I’m so sorry to hound you but I need to tell you something. I have cancer. ”

    “What do you mean?” I said as my throat sealed.

    “I’ve been diagnosed with ovarian cancer—I am so sorry.”

    A few days later, I visited her home in Key West, Florida. I can still picture her galloping towards me as I exited the puddle-jumper. She had a mop of loose curls, a wide smile, torn army green cargo pants, and a swollen belly that resembled pregnancy.

    For the first time in years, we bonded without the heaviness of the future.

    We became giggly movie critics. We strolled the shoreline in search of magical conch shells. We frequented our favorite Cuban restaurant and oohed and aahed over zesty soup. We bought vintage aqua blue tea sets for future tea parties. We swapped stories that were once forgotten.

    Instead of cowering in embarrassment, I encouraged her roaring laugh in public. I embraced her hippy lifestyle as we basked in the sun, with Key Lime Pie sticks in hand. I co-directed one of her renowned talent shows featuring local YMCA kids. Her trailer became a treasure trove filled with wispy white pillows, the aroma of velvety hazelnut coffee, and new beginnings.

    With each day that passed, the towering boulder of resentment I once had dissipated into raw love.

    She didn’t have standard health insurance, but she saved black pilot whales in her free time. She didn’t have a steady job, but she made others smile as she sold handmade bottlecap jewelry at Mallory Square. You see—if you’re fixated on expectations of who someone should be according to your standards, you can’t love them for who they really are.

    My mother once wrote me:

    “Those stressful days are gone, and I don’t think I’ll ever see them again. I don’t have the meetings and high-powered days like I used to. I drift to work somehow gazing at the blazing sun, aqua blue ocean, hibiscus blossoms, and the marshmallow clouds. I wear island dresses in the endless cool breezes with my hair in a wet bun. Most of the time, I hide my bathing suit underneath it all so I can hit the beach right after.  I’m dreaming of my toes in the sand, laughing, giggling, and snoozing while listening to music and chirping birds. Remember, life is beautiful. You need to find your happy – promise?!

    My mother appreciated every moment, even if the highlight of her day was glancing through a window in a sterile hallway. She described the hospital’s cuisine as divine. Although she could barely walk, she somehow dragged her flimsy wheelchair through sand, just to inhale a whiff of the salty ocean air. And at every opportunity, she looked up at the clouds in awe of being alive.

    As her soft body turned into brittle bones, I learned the importance of her famous motto, Be With Your Dreams. She taught me how to live an idyllic life filled with nature, wonderment, and positivity. She proved that having a raw, openhearted approach to life was superior than any cookie-cutter mold I once envisioned for her.

    In my mother’s last days, she shared tenderly, “Britt, I think of how I left you behind sometimes. I know I wasn’t a perfect mother, but I’ve always loved you so much, baby girl.”

    I waited for that moment for fifteen years. And in that moment, I felt nothing. Zilch. Nada.

    Time was the only thing I longed for. As tears streamed down my face, I wondered how many more memories we would’ve had, had I learned to appreciate her for who she was years ago.

    Most of us wait to resolve our conflicts “later.” The unfortunate part is that minutes and days turn into months and years. There’s a good chance we’re missing out on a relationship right now that could change our entire lives. So…

    Open the door to your heart and choose love. Be kind instead of right. Remember the good times. Let go of pain disguised as indifference. Take responsibility for your part. Stop the judgment. Be the bigger person. Forgive the small things.

    For goodness sakes, say or do something! Pick up the phone. Write an apology letter. Drive to their house. Plan a trip. Text a nostalgic memory.

    Don’t you see… there’s only time for love. And, who knows—if you’re lucky enough, they might just show you how to Be With Your Dreams.

  • 4 Things I Learned from Being Possessive and Controlling in a Relationship

    4 Things I Learned from Being Possessive and Controlling in a Relationship

    As she stood there watching the puppet show, our eyes locked. I was instantly attracted.

    After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes torn between the desire to talk to her and the fear of rejection, I mustered the courage to introduce myself.

    She gave me a smile, then without saying a word, walked away.

    “What just happened? How can such a beautiful lady be so rude?” I stood there in disbelief, overtaken by embarrassment, pretending nothing had happened.

    Two weeks later, as if by pure serendipity, a mutual friend reconnected us. That was the beginning of a relationship I could only dream of.

    Oh boy, did I misjudge her! Her attractive appearance was an exact expression of the beauty of her soul.

    One year and a half later, we were dating. Yes, I spent one year and half chasing after her. I guarantee a minute spent with her would convince you it was well worth my while.

    They say it takes longer to build a castle than a chicken coop. One and a half years must be the foundation for a skyscraper that not even the worst storm could break.

    For about a year, it felt that way. We were inseparable. Both our parents gave us their blessings. We moved in together. We even made wedding plans.

    It was like a relationship out of a fairy tale. We had every reason to believe we would live happily forever after. Life without each other was inconceivable.

    But there a problem… I was excessively possessive and controlling.

    I couldn’t stand my girl talking to another guy. I had the passwords to all her social media accounts. Whomever she was talking to, I knew. If she had to meet a male friend, I was present.

    Little by little I was withdrawing from her emotional bank account, as Stephen Covey put it. Worst of all, I was taking more than I was putting in.

    As a fervent Buddhist who believes in “letting go,” she was very tolerant. That gave me plenty of room to throw tantrums, ruminate, and blow the littlest issue out of proportion.

    Well, patience has its limits. After three and a half years, she had reached hers. I had emptied her emotional bank account.

    It was over. She had broken up with me.

    I was so clingy that I wouldn’t even accept her decision. I spent eighteen days trying every trick under the blue sky to get her back, to no avail.

    How did that happen? We’d spent so much time building our relationship, cherishing and loving each other. What went wrong?

    The eighteen days that followed were like a living hell. I suffered panic attacks, lost my appetite, and couldn’t sleep. Life became meaningless. I was at a breaking point.

    On the eighteenth day after the breakup, when I realized she wasn’t coming back, I had a reckoning. My desperation suddenly gave way to a wave of frustration, anger, and shame.

    As I was engulfed in deceit and embarrassment, I made a solemn decision to never again get rejected by a girl for being overly possessive, irrational, and intolerant.

    Such a momentous decision! I didn’t know if that was even possible and how I was ever going to reach such a lofty goal.

    That breakup and the three years spent self-examining taught me the big four lessons I am about to share with you.

    Are you in a relationship? Does your overbearingness prevent you from spending quality time with your partner? Are you ready to make changes?

    If you answered yes to all three questions, you are reading the right article. Hopefully, you won’t have to lose a partner and spend three years in self-introspection to find out you need to make changes.

    First thing first, love thyself.

    I know that sounds cliché, but I couldn’t find any fancier way to put it..

    Enjoying the company of your partner starts with you feeling good in your own skin. I’m guessing you would agree that one cannot love if they don’t possess it.

    A lack of self-love will cause you to center your entire being around the other person. And just like any host-parasite relationship, it will eventually fail. Your partner can’t let you feed off them indefinitely.

    Self-love is not selfishness. Loving yourself first doesn’t mean disparaging the other to elevate yourself. It’s acknowledging and embracing yourself while selflessly attuning to your partner’s needs and whims.

    Forget the “other half” mantras. Neither you nor your partner is a half, each of you possess their unique interests, weaknesses, strengths, and aspiration. It’s only when you both commit to each other, while staying true to your individuality, that genuine love happens.

    If I had espoused that idea then, I would never have considered suicide when my ex left me. I had based so much of my life on her I just couldn’t find meaning outsider of her.

    Learn to trust or you lose.

    Trust is the pillar of every human relationship, especially romantic ones.

    My lack of trust in my ex had nothing to do with her but rather with my deep sense of insecurity. I had the recurring thought that she would leave the minute she met someone better than me.

    Not only did my baseless fears cause me my peace of mind, they also created a wedge in our relationship.

    My trust issues caused her to lose all sense of vulnerability and safety around me. The only option she had was to confide in someone else.

    To learn to trust, I had to remind myself of this simple truth: We can’t control someone’s thoughts and actions. The best we can do is to give them the benefit of the doubt.

    Now, I choose to respect and trust my girlfriend unconditionally. Not only is she more willing to open up to me, I also enjoy a dramatic increase in self-esteem.

    Forgive and forget.

    Do you know those people who catastrophize and ruminate long after they got hurt? Well, that’s my past self!

    I did this every time my ex did something that displeased me. It didn’t matter if she apologized, I would internalize it and bring it up every time we were in an argument.

    For the last two years of our relationship, I made her life miserable. Imagine someone who never forgets even your most trivial mishap and uses it to attack you every time you’re wrong.

    Ironically, I learned to forgive and forget during the eighteen-day period while I was trying to get her back out of desperation.

    After flowers, long letters, and constant phone calls failed, I thought I could use religion to get her attention. That idea brought me to Google searching for “Buddha’s quote about forgiveness.”

    I came across this wisdom by Buddha: “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”

    As I copied and pasted the quote in a text message, I realized it was more relevant to me than her. I had an instant awakening.

    Instead of sending the quote to her, I decided to internalize it and use it for myself. How many times have I burnt myself by holding to anger? That was a genuine eye opener.

    When I started to remind myself of the danger anger poses to one’s mental health and peace of mind, not to mention its disastrous consequence on our relationships, I became more tolerant and accepting.

    Understand that nothing is guaranteed to last forever.

    I learned the hard way that no matter how well things are going between you and your partner, they may leave you at any time.

    When you accept the temporal nature of everything, you can stop clinging and worrying about the future and simply enjoy what you have in the moment.

    This means we must balance enjoying the company of our partner, while accepting the relationship might not last forever.

    Ironically, accepting that they could leave might decrease the odds of them leaving any time soon because people feel a lot happier when they don’t feel suffocated or controlled.

    —

    Today, I understand my ex breaking up with me was a blessing in disguise.

    Would I change things if I could go back in time? Not for the world! I grew more in the three years following our breakup than I had in the twenty-one years before that. Why would anyone trade that?

    Exactly three years after that breakup, I got into a new a relationship that’s been going strong for almost two years now. I know when to invest in myself and when to give my girlfriend my undivided attention. I respect, trust, and give her all the affection she deserves.

    I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t worry. I seize the day, prepare for the worst, and hope for best.

    Did I reach my lofty goal to never again get rejected for being overly possessive? Geez, I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. All I know is that if my girlfriend leaves me tomorrow, it won’t be because I was being intolerant, overbearing, and bossy.

  • Before You Reach Out to That Person from Your Past: 3 Things to Consider

    Before You Reach Out to That Person from Your Past: 3 Things to Consider

    “You don’t have to rebuild a relationship with everyone you’ve forgiven.” ~Unknown

    It’s natural, when you’re hurting and lonely, to want to reach out to people you’ve been close to in the past.

    Especially if there’s unfinished business with someone. And especially given the added isolation that comes with a global pandemic.

    Whether or not you do reach out is entirely your prerogative. For what it’s worth, I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad idea to try—in most cases, a “Whoops” is better than a “What if…?” Whatever the result, you’ll learn something. It might be an unpleasant truth, but it’ll help you, one way or another.

    But, before you draft that text message, or email, or even pick up the phone, I also believe there are three things to consider:

    1. Why are you reaching out? What’s really behind your impulse?

    If you’re only doing so to take the edge off your loneliness, think again.

    If the relationship with the person you’re thinking of contacting has broken down, there’s probably still some hurt there. For them and for you. Contact will re-open that wound.

    Perhaps a long time has now passed, and any pain is vastly less profound than it once was. But let’s not kid ourselves—if things got so bad between the two of you that you haven’t spoken for months, things are pretty bad. There’s going to be something there.

    The benefits of reaching out have got to outweigh the possible hurt that comes from doing so. And the only way that can happen is if you genuinely miss that person. In short, the person, and that relationship, has got to be worth the pain that might initially come from speaking to them.

    So, ask yourself, honestly, do you really want to speak that person? Is it really them you miss, or is it just the connection you once had with them?

    Are you, in fact, just lonely?

    If, upon reflection, you realize it is just solitude prompting you, don’t reach out. It’s really not fair to either one of you. The pain won’t be worth it. It can’t just be about you, or what you’re currently feeling; the other person has to genuinely matter to you.

    Don’t let them be collateral damage in your war against solitude. Because that’s all they’ll be, a casualty.

    Your loneliness will pass. Like desperation or the need to get something off your chest that feeling is, in most cases, a temporary one. It will abate. And, when it does, so will your need for that person.

    I’ve been on the receiving end of this more than once, and it’s not nice.

    A former partner once contacted me out of the blue. It had been a turbulent relationship; during the time we’d spent together, our lives had both been raging dumpster fires, and we’d never been able to quell those flames adequately enough. Eventually, our relationship was consumed by them. But I still felt there was still something there. Despite the final rites having been administered, I knew I had never truly given up hope.

    Initially, I was beyond happy they’d reached out. I didn’t know if anything could be salvaged, but I was willing to try.

    However, after a short time, I knew my hopes were unfounded.

    A few days after we began speaking, this person began to drift away. They even told me directly that they weren’t feeling desperate or lonely anymore, but I had already guessed that; their waning interest was obvious in the way the messages started drying up, in the manner in which they suddenly avoided the big topics, which we’d freely discussed up until that point.

    I had served a purpose, and I had taken an edge off whatever they were feeling.

    And once I had, I was let go again—I was no longer needed.

    Because it had never been about me; it had been about them and what they were temporarily experiencing.

    I was hurt but not indignant; I’d done it myself before, and it’d be hypocritical to damn them.

    But, overall, there wasn’t a good enough reason to have those wounds re-opened. Reconciliation is a long, painful process; it can’t be built on loneliness. It only works if both people genuinely want to reconcile and be back in each other’s lives.

    If you’re in the same boat, try to find a healthier way to feel connected. I know, I know… loneliness is vile, debilitating. And not an easy thing to tackle. As someone who has battled loneliness for a long time, I am in no way denigrating the devastating impact it can have on your mental health.

    But being aware that you are lonely is a good first step in doing something about it. Knowing that you don’t really miss a particular person, that you just miss people per se, is a foundation. It’s something to build upon.

    However, if you’ve seriously thought about this, and it is genuinely them you miss, then there’s something else to consider…

    2. What do you want to achieve by reaching out?

    In the same way you need to be clear about your reasons for reaching out, you’ve also got to have a firm idea about what you want to achieve.

    It’s okay if all you want to do is try and re-establish contact with the future hope of reconciliation; there doesn’t have to any grand, overly complex plan in place beforehand.

    But there does need to be something, some sort of objective. And it’s got to be realistic based on the relationship you had. If it was a fundamentally unhealthy or codependent relationship that took more than it gave, then expecting all of those flaws to be resolved in one message is simply ludicrous.

    Perhaps you simply want to see if there’s a chance that something has shifted, and that there’s a glimmer of repairing the damage. It’s a small something.

    And you need that something.

    If all you’ve got is, “I don’t know; I don’t know what I want to achieve,” then it is probably the loneliness talking, or another random impulse, and stepping back is the right thing to do.

    Don’t jump into this with no idea about what you want. There’s going to be some hurt, some pain—think about what you hope to achieve by (potentially) re-opening this particular wound.

    If you’ve done that, and the answer works, then there’s only one more thing to consider…

    3. You might not get the response you want.

    Although you might view that past relationship and the other person involved through rose-tinted spectacles, they may not view you and the relationship in the same way. Just because you’re feeling conciliatory, it doesn’t mean they do. They might be perfectly happy with how things are, thank you very much.

    Plus, if it’s someone you haven’t spoken to for some time, you won’t have a clear idea about what’s happening in their life. There’s a global pandemic unfolding around us—people have lost livelihoods and loved ones.

    Your message may arrive while they’re in the middle of dealing with something huge. A message out of the blue from you may be the last thing they need.

    There’s also the simple fact that people change. Not many, but some of us do. And that can be confusing.

    Again, I was recently on the receiving end of this.

    And, again, it was that very same former partner.

    Time had passed since our last abortive communication. And, by this stage, I wasn’t so amenable to their approaches. I still had feelings for them, but those feelings had changed, mutated, in line with the work I’d done on myself in our time apart.

    Simply put, I’d moved on.

    As a result, I now saw that person completely differently. Whereas there was once a deep affection, now there was a solid realization that my own mental well-being was better for having removed them. The sad truth was that I just didn’t miss them anymore.

    Sometimes you need someone from your past to re-emerge to show you how much you’ve changed. I was very aware that, six months earlier, I would’ve been much more open to their words. I simply wasn’t any more; I was happy with how things were.

    The affection (or connection) was gone, and I just wanted to keep moving on.

    I couldn’t give them the answer they wanted, and they didn’t take it well. It wasn’t the happiest of experiences, but it did teach me that this was something to be aware of if the roles were ever reversed.

    If you’re not feeling strong enough to face a response that isn’t overflowing with kindness, a flat refusal, or worse, no reply at all, don’t do it. You’ve got to embrace the possibility that this isn’t going to go as planned.

    And you’ve got to be in a place where you can emotionally deal with that rejection.

    If you are, it might be worth the risk. If you’re not, don’t do it.

    —

    These are strange, lonely times. Reaching out may seem like an entirely natural thing to do. Maybe you’ll get the chance to rekindle an old relationship.

    Or maybe you’ll discover that the relationship truly did die a long time ago.

    It’s always worth taking the risk, but make sure you truly want to, and that you’re prepared for any response, good or bad.

    Reaching out—it can be a chance to reset a relationship, or to deliver the final rites. Both of which can be useful, and you might learn something invaluable.

    Most of all, paradoxically, it might give you both a chance to finally let go.

    And that’s something always worth doing.

  • Family Estrangement: 3 Stories and the Advice You Need to Hear

    Family Estrangement: 3 Stories and the Advice You Need to Hear

    “Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.” ~Cecilia Ahern

    This post is written by three people from different parts of the world who came together to share their story of family estrangement and their choice not to reconcile.

    To the outside world, it seemed none of us were neglected. Our parents were well-educated. We grew up in decent homes, were given good educational opportunities, and had financial support. We looked like we came from perfect families, but….

    Jen’s Story

    On March 24, 2019, I received a chilling text from my sister that Grandma was found unconscious in her home and rushed to the hospital. Her pancreatic cancer had progressed, and it seemed the time Grandma had left was like grains of sand in an hourglass.

    From that moment on, all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell my grandma I loved her, to hold her hand, and to share how grateful I was for all of her love despite being estranged from my parents.

    Without thinking, I quickly jumped into action. As my husband helped me book flights and accommodations, I canceled appointments and made arrangements to make up the work I’d miss so I could spend my grandmother’s final breaths with her.

    At the airport, I made notes about all the things I wanted to tell Grandma. Would I get to see her, or would I be too late? While these thoughts raced through my mind, my sister continued to text me a very grim picture. My thoughts punched me in the stomach as I reminisced over the ways Grandma had made my life wonderful.

    When I was growing up, Grandma was the parent I looked up to. She always had a creative solution for everything. I called her when I felt down, when I needed advice, or when something good happened in my life because she always shared my joy. I always felt encouraged, and so I truly aspired to be like her.

    Because I was so focused on reminiscing on our wonderful times, I didn’t stop to consider the reality of seeing my parents again. At that point, I had not seen them since 2004, had grieved the loss of them in silence as if they had died, and had tried to heal the wounds of an abusive childhood.

    When I entered my grandmother’s hospital room, her eyes were closed, and she looked very gray. I took this moment in, just being alone with her, and then suddenly she opened her eyes. I could see her face fill with so much joy, but then just as quickly it suddenly turned to intense rage.

    “You are the last person I wanted to see!” she exclaimed, pulling the blankets around herself. “What if you run into your mother—what if you upset the family?”

    I was stunned. I hadn’t thought of any of these things because my mind was so focused on her.

    “Would you like me to leave?” I whispered.

    “No dear, I am glad that you’re here, but I don’t want you upsetting the family.”

    My grandmother was right. I hadn’t taken the time to reflect on how I would respond to seeing my parents again, what I’d say, or how I’d choose to engage with them. I also hadn’t considered how they might engage with me.

    No sooner than I realized this, suddenly, my mother walked past my grandmother’s hospital room. Without thinking, I rushed over to hug her. I asked her if she was okay with me being there, and we had a short, respectful conversation.

    But, after our interaction, I began to feel physically ill. My body tightened, and I found it hard to breathe properly. Feelings of deep longing washed over me, and I found myself fantasizing about having a supportive adult relationship with both of my parents again.

    Later that day, in a flight of emotion, I called my parents and had a decent conversation with my father. I gave him my phone number and told him I would be willing to reconnect again. Looking back, I see this was a detrimental mistake—a mistake that filled me with hurt and longing.

    During my visit, I noticed when I was not with my grandmother, I became preoccupied with false hope. A strong desire came over me wishing my parents would call me. I was hoping they’d also apologize for the hurt that they had caused me over the course of my life, and that this time, maybe things would be different. I fantasized about my parents taking an interest in my life without judgment.

    Had I really taken the time to reflect on how I would respond to the situation away from the emotion of the moment, I would not have gotten caught up in false hope or fairy-tale notions of reconciliation.

    I would have thought back to why I made the choice to cut off contact with my parents in the first place, and that door would have forever remained closed. I would have accepted that behind that door is a past that has shaped me, that continues to haunt me, and still has some power to hurt me in the present if I were to open it again.

    Magdalena’s Story

    My phone pinged in December 2019 notifying me of a text message. I jumped a little, and then even more so when I realized that the message was from Dad. I pressed the “Read” button cautiously:

    “Is it possible we can meet up face-to-face to talk about this situation?” the message asked.

    For a moment, I thought it sounded like a reasonable request, but then all of a sudden, a million emotions raced through my body like fear, hope, anger, longing, and worry.

    Prior to receiving Dad’s text, I had become increasingly aware over the years that my relationship with my parents hadn’t been healthy. My parents’ reactions to challenges had ranged from threats of suicide and physical threats of violence against my partner and me to emotional manipulation.

    Since I had become a parent myself, it became abundantly clear that my ideas on parenting clashed with theirs, which is not necessarily uncommon; however, I became more aware of the dysfunction within our family and decided to do something about it by choosing limited contact in March 2019.

    As I sat there, pondering Dad’s text, I considered lots of scenarios: Could things be different this time? Could we possibly compromise? What could I do to make this easier? But, I also noticed just how cautious I was because, sadly, previous attempts at reconciliation had disintegrated badly into unsolved drama, severe insults, and horrible disrespect.

    I regularly felt my parents diminished and ridiculed my concerns. Their sense of entitlement was always so overwhelming, which simply made balanced discussions impossible.

    Over the years, I’d been patient with my parents’ dysfunctional behavior and my mother’s mental health, which had significantly deteriorated, but she refused to admit it. My therapist has highlighted several times that, while having a mental health problem is common, it doesn’t excuse poor treatment of others, and therefore, my mother will always be responsible for her actions, both good and bad.

    Meanwhile, my father has clearly crumbled under the weight of my mother’s emotional instability, yet he continues to support her unhealthy and dysfunctional behavior as a means of safeguarding himself.

    Again, I thought that if I agreed to respond to his text and meet, I would resolve not to engage in any provocations, but rather calmly listen to what they have to say while attempting to positively direct the focus of the conversation. As I sat in trepidation, I felt somewhat hopeful yet wary.

    I decided to respond to my father’s text and ask to meet somewhere public to minimize the risk of great drama. My parents agreed and I started to feel hopeful.

    Unfortunately, it became clear almost immediately that my mother had an alternative agenda. Almost immediately, she told me I am a disgrace and my own children will one day turn on me as I have on her. She called me an evil witch and a marble-hearted fiend.

    The insults she bombarded me with slipped out of her mouth easily and effortlessly leaving me to shake while lowering my head. It was obvious she hated my cool response, and it felt like my father was clueless as to what was happening in front of his eyes.

    True-to-form, my father accused me of insulting my mother due to my silence. I explained I had genuinely come to meet them with the hope of starting to build some bridges, and that it felt like, just as my father and I were starting to make those tiny steps, my mother decided to deliver some killer blows, which ultimately derailed everything.

    My father told me I am a waste of space and I never had any intention at reconciling at all. Together, they both agreed they’ve created a demon while dramatically walking out of the café. That pretty much concluded the “peace negotiations.”

    I sit in a shocked state again. I question, why did I do this to myself again? The answer is, I had fallen prey to my dreams of wanting joyful Christmases with my whole family, as well as wishing for simple picnics in the garden where I had played as a kid.

    Now, I just feel stuck. I realize I miss not having parents with all my heart but, I can’t have any contact with them because it is too damaging. It’s time to acknowledge that while relationships can be difficult, healthy relationships don’t play out like this.

    CJG’s Story

    “Could there ever be a genuine chance of reconciling with my parents,” I asked my therapist in January 2020.

    He reminds me, “If you want to reconcile with your family, remember there’ll always be a ‘hit’ for every kiss you get. So, keep in mind, it’s kiss-hit, kiss-hit.” Taking that in, I say, “I’m just too old to take the hits anymore. I only want kisses.

    I’ve been estranged from my family since 2018. It’s been an ongoing vacillating back-and-forth of wondering how it would be to reconcile. Estrangement has been the hardest decision I’ve made, but choosing not to reconcile is harder. Despite this struggle, I’ve chosen to remain estranged.

    I didn’t think I was unloved as a child because my father was extremely affectionate, said “I love you,” and attended my sporting competitions. Nightly, my mother made sure my homework was done correctly, and we sat down as a family to have homemade dinners cooked by my grandmother or mother.

    My household felt every bit “family,” but it was also a place full of tension, unsaid thoughts, extreme stress, debilitating confusion, radical rage, and countless secrets.

    Growing up I overlooked the weeks my mother would ignore me for no reason, despite me begging her to tell me how I could fix whatever I’d done. I’d apologize profusely while sobbing and pleading with her to speak to me so I would feel loved again.

    Instead, she prided herself on knowing she could ignore an eight-year-old child without any reason. Suddenly, she’d just start talking to me as though nothing had ever happened. And, like most children, I’d forget the pain she’d caused over those weeks.

    Nightly, my father watched the Playboy channel on the family television. He’d rush me and my sibling off to bed very early so he could get his fix.

    Most nights, I’d have nightmares, groggily walk down the stairs in hopes of some comfort, but would be yelled at instead because I’d caught glimpses of the explicit images my parents were watching. Confused and not soothed, I’d walk back up to my room and wet the bed. The following morning, my father would shout and degrade me for yet another bedwetting incident.

    I’ve always been mindful not to shame my parents. I was trained to “never air our dirty laundry.” Yet, it never dawned on me just how much “dirty laundry” we actually had. I didn’t realize what they were so afraid of and why it was imperative to condition us to ensure we were never exposed. I just assumed all the stuff happening in our home happened in everybody’s else’s homes, too.

    Parents like mine are more concerned with what the “neighbors think” than how their children feel. They work hard keeping up appearances rather than emotionally supporting their children. They live out the fantasy of having the perfect family while destroying it with double-standards, hypocrisy, betrayal, and cognitive dissonance.

    I was actively a part of this family-fantasy till 2018. I ignored physical and emotional cues, as well as frightening memories for years, to be loyal and loving to my family. I focused only on the “good times” and suppressed abuses, covert sabotaging, and extreme enmeshment.

    I feel heartbroken and ashamed this is the truth of the family I grew up with and wanted to know for the rest of my days. Despite admitting these truths, I’ll always love them, and that’s what makes it hard not to reconcile.

    Our Advice to Readers

    If you’re struggling over reconciling, you’re not alone. Your parents helped make this inevitable choice with you through whatever behaviors they exhibited that ultimately brought on the estrangement.

    Some advice to remember:

    Keep your “why” handy. Write a list of reasons you feel can’t have a relationship with your family. Review this “why” list often. Your “why” may include displays of stonewalling, silent treatment, feeling physically ill after contact with them, severe abuse, covert sabotaging, betrayal, gossiping, enmeshment, and triangulating, for example.

    Leave out the “shoulds.” If you’re saying things like, “I should reconcile with my family,” or, “I should reunite because society tells me I should,” then try to feel twice.

    Feeling twice is tuning into your body rather than your logic. Here are some ways to help you do that: Close your eyes, place your hand on your stomach or heart. Notice your body’s cues when you think of reconciling. Are your palms sweaty? Is your heart racing? Do you swallow heavily? Do you feel a sense of dread and panic or do you feel a sense of joy and fulfillment over reconciling?

    Take your time. It can be hard if you have a family member who is ill, aging, or dying, but it’s important to remember that estrangement did not happen overnight. You made this choice after years of ongoing toxicity and dysfunction. So, go slowly with this process, too.

    Be realistic about what could happen if you reconnect and envision honestly the best- and worst-case scenarios. Take time to reflect over a period of weeks. Consulting with a therapist can help, as this process can bring up feelings of pain and longing.

    Ask what’s “value-added?” What’s the emotional value added if you reconcile with your parents? What’s the value added if you don’t?

    Tune into the truth: Do you see any evidence that the person or people you’re estranged with have grown? Do your values and their values align or not? Will reuniting with them compromise your healing plan?

    Lastly, make a list of non-negotiables. Reconciliation can only happen if your family agrees to committing to your list and understands the consequences if they violate your deal-breakers.

    We have all walked away from our families of origin, let go of the hope for fairy-tale ending, and fought to discard society’s romanticized notions of reconciliation. We have found peace, our health and well-being have improved, and we all lead happy, meaningful lives. You can too.

  • 7 Courageous Steps to Reconciling a Struggling Relationship

    7 Courageous Steps to Reconciling a Struggling Relationship

    Back to Back

    “Peace is not absence of conflict, it is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means.” ~Ronald Reagan

    I have always had a tumultuous relationship with my mother. One filled with conflict, anger, and struggle.

    After years of non-communication, miscommunication, arguments, and fights, I realized it was time to reconcile what was left to whatever degree we were both capable.

    I had to let go of the past and get honest with myself—because whatever I was doing on my end was not only hurting our relationship, but also killing me from the inside out.

    I was crying out for resolution with my mother, not because I didn’t think I tried hard enough in the past, but because I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.

    This didn’t mean she would accept my feelings, or that we would suddenly become the best of friends. It was an opportunity to become the best versions of ourselves for this relationship—whatever that meant—whether we spoke every day about the weather or just on major holidays to say I love you.

    Now here I stand with a mother in my life and a relationship to go with it.

    And to be honest, it’s not the mother-daughter relationship I always wished for. But I am content and at peace with what we have now rather than what we didn’t have before.

    It’s a place where we can co-exist peacefully while respecting and loving one another.

    It is a relationship, and it took courage.

    Some relationships aren’t meant to be reconciled, and that’s okay. But that is a choice each of us must make. You must ask yourself, is this what I truly want? 

    The following seven steps contributed to the reconciliation of my relationship, and I hope they do the same for yours.

    1. Stop lying to yourself.

    If we lie to ourselves about what is okay and what is not, we are setting ourselves up for a major letdown.

    If something is not sitting right with you, don’t ignore it. Acknowledge your feelings, then promise yourself you’ll do something about it.

    My strained relationship with my mother was unsettling. I needed to acknowledge my feelings and make a plan of action to address it rather than ignore and repress.

    Once I became honest with myself, I felt a responsibility to confront the uneasiness inside. Doing so gave me a greater sense of control over myself rather than the issue having control over me.

    2. Be bold and make a move.

    Being assertive is a way of holding yourself accountable to the promise you made, and it’s the first proactive step toward letting the other person know you want resolution, not dissolution.

    I made the first step in contacting my mother. It wasn’t easy. I swallowed the big pill of pride I had in the bottom of my throat and trusted myself.

    I didn’t know if she would be receptive to me, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

    Making the first move to repair what’s broken isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of complete courage.

    3. Expose your guts.

    Being vulnerable is a way to display that you’re coming from a place of peace and honesty. It’s not always easy, but if a relationship is worth it, it won’t be as hard as you think.

    Stay committed to avoiding defensiveness. Tell yourself that you may experience some, along with resistance from the other person, but that’s okay.

    When speaking to my mother, I expressed my pain. It came from a pure place where I was able to be completely transparent to her in such a way that she could meet me for the first time, yet recognize all that was familiar to her.

    I was honest, loving, forgiving, and vulnerable; it was the only way to show my true self.

    4. Get vocal and keep an understanding ear.

    I confided in my mother about the effects our falling out was having on me. I say confide because I never told anyone else. No one else in my world could relate except my mom because she was hurting too.

    Listen to the other person. Just as you have your own perspective and experiences, so does the other person. There are no wrong or right feelings, so you must put yourself in their shoes.

    As hard as it was to hear the pain I had put my mom through, it gave me the clearest vision of what she had been experiencing. We were given an opportunity to understand and forgive each other.

    5. Make a deal.

    Be willing to give as well as take.

    Compromising is a fair and expressive way of giving your relationship love and attention.

    It doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your values or beliefs.

    It simply means that when both parties are asking for something, you’re both willing to give as much of yourselves that you are comfortable with, as well as take what you need in order to be happy.

    Just as I told my mother what I needed from our relationship, and what I would and wouldn’t stand for, she did the same. We compromised and agreed to give to each other in places where we felt we needed more support.

    6. Set your limits.

    A common misconception about boundaries is that they are meant to keep people or feelings out. That’s far from the truth.

    Boundaries are there to show respect to yourself and others.

    If something makes you uncomfortable, a boundary is set to tell others that it’s not okay to cross. You wouldn’t want to intentionally cross another’s boundary knowing it makes them uncomfortable, so why would you allow someone to do that to you?

    One of the biggest obstacles my mother and I had to overcome was our lack of boundaries. We ran all over each other as if respect didn’t exist—because, well, it didn’t.

    Once I established my boundaries, I felt safer. She communicated her boundaries, and it was as though a respect was born between us.

    Setting boundaries is key to earning and giving trust, which is the foundation of all healthy relationships.

    7. Follow through.

    The action of the relationship, especially when reconciling, is crucial. Trust has to be rebuilt, so the action needs to be seen as well as the words being heard.

    My phone calls and texts to my mother might seem like a minimal action to some, but for us, it’s major. It’s far more than we had in the past, and it’s what we said we would do, so we do it. It holds us accountable for keeping this relationship moving forward and not stagnating.

    Whatever the action, if you can make time to be fully immersed in your relationship when you’re together, it will create a sense of security and keep you moving forward.

    It’s worth it; now go for it.

    Relationships can feel like marathons, especially the difficult ones. They can feel like a race you can’t ever seem to win, but that usually means the techniques you’re using aren’t working.

    It’s okay to fall, fail, be wrong, get mad, and be frustrated. We are human. And as humans, we thrive and survive off of the relationships we make and maintain throughout our lifetimes.

    Give yourself and your relationship that chance to succeed. It’s not easy. It’s painful, it’s exhausting, and it’s humbling.

    But, man, it’s worth it.

    Imagine yourself running around the same track engulfed in a thick layer of fog for months, or even years. That’s your struggling relationship.

    Imagine how exhausted you feel. Imagine how you’re blinded from seeing anything else around you because you’re in the thick of it. Those are the issues in your relationship.

    But if you keep pushing through by following these seven courageous steps, it will pay off.

    Now, imagine yourself committing to that action and one fine day, after all your hard work, you run from the wet, pale fog into the warmth and light of the sun.

    And for the first time in a long time, you can see clearly all around you.

    You stop running and just breathe.

    That feeling of relief is the feeling I felt after reconciling with my mother, and it can be the relief you feel when you reconcile your struggling relationship.

    Back to back image via Shutterstock