By Amaya Gayle Gregory
Somewhere along the line, caring about others, any others beyond our immediate family, and not always them, went out of vogue. I am puzzled by the wanton willingness to kick people to the curb. I shouldn’t be. I walked away from a son nearly 6 years ago. God, has it been that long? I chose to forgo a relationship in hopes that taking myself out of the picture would engender change, even if that change meant I would no longer be a part of his, or my grandson’s life.
I would guess that his version of what happened and mine are miles apart, just like the left and the right, the good guys and the bad, the bad and the good, the difference being a function of which side of the divide you stand.
Now I could say, I’m the good guy but that’s a story, not even mine. It’s just a story that others might tell who know a set of facts, facts which are debatable in today’s world. Honestly, I think they have always been.
I finally forgave my father when I had boys in their early 20s. I realized that my story about my dad and his story about his daughter were not even on the same planet. I saw him through my own feelings of unworthiness and there is no way I could see a loving father through that lens. I would always come up short, always be someone who didn’t make the grade. I could only see those bits of story that propped up my version of reality.
I forgave Dad, well really it was myself I forgave, or maybe it was life itself, when I realized that my son and I had totally different takes on his younger years. What a blessing our children are. They teach us thoroughly. What he remembered, what he blamed me for, I genuinely didn’t remember ever happening. I wonder now what actually did. I am guessing it isn’t aligned with either of our historical recollections.
In my version of the relationship’s divergence, I did not stop loving my son. I did, however, stop interacting with him. I took myself out of target range. I chose to not live out the same relationship with him that I’d had with his father.
The mind says, I could have done it better. I could have made it clearer to him that I was walking away, that I wouldn’t continue dishonoring myself with a relationship that required me to step on eggshells. I could have been more direct. I could have given him another chance.
But could I have? I didn’t. So it seems to me that I couldn’t have. I did what felt right and kind, loving and honoring to us both. I broke the co-dependent cycle the only way I knew at the time. I also left the door open, but not for the relationship as it was. Perhaps that was conditional love, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like the only loving thing to do.
So where am I going with this? Do we hold people accountable for their unwillingness to be compassionate? Do we allow people to continue to run amok and wreak havoc on other’s lives?
That’s what the left has not done for too many years. We’ve either stood by with mouths agape or struck out with demeaning, condescending words. Neither has been effective at effecting change. They have only made the other feel ridiculed, wrong, dishonored and created the world we now find ourselves inhabiting.
So is there a sweet spot, a way though the impasse?
I walked away. I have no idea if it effected change. I would think if it had I would know. I would have heard. I tend to think it didn’t or hasn’t. Every time I check in energetically, every time I intentionally open my heart and listen to the messages that are always present, the flows of life give me a strong ‘no’ about trying to reconnect. Maybe more time is required. Maybe that connection is truly severed and not to be restored in this lifetime. I don’t know. I will continue to listen.
It is natural to wonder what I could have done differently if I had the understanding of life that I have now? Of course, I didn’t and that’s definitely not a tool to beat myself with, but it is a valid inquiry into next steps, if not with my son, with the way I interact with my world.
It seems I would have calmly asked to sit down (something that was beyond me at the time, perhaps it was beyond both of us (how would I truly know), lay bare my heart and speak about our relationship as I experienced it. I would have listened to his version if he was able to articulate it for me. I would have shown him what was important to me, even if it made my voice shake and brought tears to my eyes. I would have shown him with my vulnerability. I would have let down my guard as completely as possible and exposed my compassion and caring for other’s feelings, his absolutely included. He would have known that his heart was vitally important to me and that I expected a relationship where mine was honored too. I would have been genuinely honest even though it felt crazy scary, even though he might try to gaslight me, even though he might tell me I didn’t do a go job of it with him, even though he might try to twist my words, even though I might stammer and sweat as I responded. I would have asked him what was important to him and listened until his words ran dry. They are his reality and even if they are not mine, that doesn’t make them any less real for him.
Honestly, I don’t know where we would have gone from there? How do you talk across the interpretational divide? That’s the big question. Two realities. Two totally different stories? At least we’d have gone beyond might and probably, through the fear and worry. At least I would have been real.
Who knows what could have happened?
Now I might not have gotten any answers. He may not have spoken any words at all. He has a history of clamming up, but then again, he might have and I might have learned something. It might have changed our story. My fear of overreacting, of making it worse, of seeing hate in my son’s eyes, of him seeing the dread, the love I feared was dying, in mine, prevented that from taking place.
And what did happen? Well, you know where we are now.
It’s the same place the right is with the left and the left is with the right. We’ve walked away from each other and don’t seem to be able to find our way back.
Calling each other names, rolling our eyes, and holding onto our righteousness hasn’t closed the divide. It hasn’t illuminated a way to a viable solution. If we want more than what we’ve got, if we can see that no one wins as it is, if we can feel the pain and suffering that is everywhere, it’s time to change the way we are being, the self-protective other-blaming ways that have done nothing by widen the chasm between us.
At least walking away, taking ourselves out of the fight, doesn’t add to the vitriol. It can be a time out, a go to your separate corners and think about what your next steps could be. It’s Switzerland. It’s neutral. It’s a breath, the pause, an opportunity to forgive ourselves for our unkindness and let go of the need to react before we reengage. If we can’t meet each other from the space of being, from the love that we feel even though it is buried beneath layers of story, maybe that’s a possible place to begin. We go to our respective corners and face the wall until we can.
Or … we can continue dosing ourselves with the endorphins of fight and flight. In case you hadn’t noticed, they are addictive. We’ve done that time and again. It’s comfortable. It’s our known. It’s our go to default, even though it doesn’t solve a thing. Isn’t it time we took it off our list?