of family and other open wounds.

I'm having a hard time lately. My parents have decided they're furious with me for reasons I don't understand and don't think are as serious as they do. All my life I've tried not to make them angry except for a few times when I was a teenager when I pretended I didn't care. But I do care. I still care. I hate it when they decide they're not speaking to me. It makes me feel like I have a hole in the center of who I am.

They're not bad people. They work hard and they try hard, but it's like their idea of who I am supposed to be never added up to who I actually am. And every time they're reminded of this they get angry. This time it's different. This time, I'm a parent too. Granted, they've been doing it for twenty four years longer than I have, but I still know what it feels like to love a child. I know that Leila and I will eventually have disagreements, even fights, but I also know that my job is to love her no matter what. My love for Leila is boundless and unconditional, and I will try to remember that at all times.

My mother's father, my grandfather, would occasionally get mad and her and inform her he wasn't speaking to her and I remember how it made her feel. She would be so sad and empty. I remember feeling protective of her and angry at him for hurting my mother. I wonder if she remembers this. I wonder what it is my parents see when they think of me. It's taken me years and years not to see myself as deeply flawed and awful. But I know I'm not. Years ago, my counsellor made me draw up a list of ten things I liked about myself. It took me hours, and I'm pretty sure one of them was, "I like my impeccable taste in Star Treks, TNG forever!"

I want to make peace with my parents. I want to prevent this from happening in the future. I want Leila to know her grandparents. But if I can't  have that, then I want to find the strength to let go, to know that I am good person whether or not my parents tell me.