This picture below is of me and my dad. The picture was taken almost a year ago in Boquete, Pamana. Then, we got to see him quite a lot. Since January 1998, I’ve seen my father once every few years. It’s hard not being around my family; well, no that’s not true, I lied. It’s infinitely easier than being around them. To be honest, I planned it that way. I had so much to sift through, so many layers and layers of wounded identity to unscramble, that living far from my family was my solution. It gave me the distance to clean my soul, to free up trapped pain, to reflect on truths that I carried from childhood that no longer served me, and to learn to be a new me. Being far away (exact-other-side-of-the-globe far away) was very safe for me. It created a super-thick padding within which I could incubate and heal.
I used to blame my parents for everything. I had lists and lists of reasons why they ruined my life. Maybe you do too. I don’t blame them for anything, now. That took oh so many hours of therapy. I know, I know, I know that my mom and my dad did the very best job that they could in life and in raising three kids. Today, I can only thank them for being so brave, determined, and dedicated in dodging all that life threw at them. Tons of therapy; a world of therapy to be able to say that. (I guess my kids will need it to, right?)
This post was written while with my father in Panama. I was shocked, at the time, to know that my soul still harbored so much pain deep within. And here, it all shoots out.