I don’t like being in a state of conflict with people. It leaves me feeling unsettled, apprehensive, and uncomfortable.
Five weeks ago, I said something to someone. It had been tumbling around in my head for over twelve years. It was 100% true. It was about them. It was something they had done which was indisputable.
The action became life-altering and permanent.
Every day for these twelve years, I have lived with the knowledge of my son and his life completely changing due to someone else’s choice to do the wrong thing intentionally.
My son has lived with disabilities ever since that day, and that choice — profound disabilities which require him to live in the care of someone else for the rest of his life.
Photo by Romain Virtuel on Unsplash
I remember telling a trusted friend in a moment of frustration that I was within a hair’s breadth of blurting out that indisputable and painful truth that changed so much of life for us.
This friend knew the facts. Dave knew the truth. He understood why I wanted so desperately to say it. He understood the pain in my soul watching my son struggle mentally, physically, and emotionally for these last dozen years. Dave’s response to me that day was, “I get why you would want to say it. I would want to say it. But will it make it better?”
It wasn’t going to make things better. So I stuffed it down.
I knew better. “Mark, forgive.”
“Just accept it, Mark.”
“Let it go, Mark. No good can come of it.” I knew better.
But I didn’t release the thought from my mind or the person from the responsibility I hung over her head.
And I didn’t, because I wanted to blame somebody. My mind, and my heart at times, wanted somebody to be responsible.
Yet, I didn’t want to dump on her. There was a part of me that didn’t want to blame. I didn’t want to resent and be bitter.
If I chose to say something, it would likely bring more conflict into our relationship that I needed to be workable for Josh. A mutual interest neither of us was willing to walk away from; we would be tethered together for years. Most likely our entire lives.
And then, one day, I got triggered. Something happened, and my fear for Josh’s future jumped into overdrive.
I chose to say it.
I said it with conviction. I said it with passion. I said it with an intensity that could not be shrugged off, misunderstood, or forgotten.
I said it to hurt. I wanted her to feel my pain, frustration, and anger over a senseless choice she made out of her bitterness toward me.
It was out.
I didn’t feel good after I said it, and I couldn’t take it back. I felt instant regret but had no recourse.
Even though it was true, it created more conflict. It made for more tension. It fractured the part of our relationship that was workable. And it was eating me up just as much as before. It was like battery acid flowing through my veins.
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Two weeks later, I sat in a room with a dozen people. Intelligent, wise, caring, and trustworthy people. It was a quarterly mastermind. We got together to help each other figure out the challenges we were going through. I chose to throw this one out there.
Not a softball problem.
They asked questions. Not who is right or wrong questions. These were thoughtful and probing questions. The questions came from their hearts as they sought the best information for the best possible outcome.
After the questions, they offered possibilities. Those possibilities also came from their hearts.
Could the relationship be mended? Was forgiveness a possibility? Is it possible for a new beginning?
All of their suggestions pierced my heart. A conversation would need to take place between her and me.
Today I had to sit in an hour-long meeting about our mutual interest, our son Josh, and his future of limited possibilities as a result of her choice was on the table.
But I couldn’t continue to live in this daily discord and fractured relationship. I had to do something to create a new and better outcome.
We walked out of the room, out of the building, and through the parking lot in silence. I thought I should say something, but I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation.
Photo by Felix Koutchinski on Unsplash
We got to the end of the parking lot, and I stopped to let her cross in front of me to head to her car. When I paused, she paused. She reached out, hugged me, and said, “You are a good father.”
I said, “I’m sorry for hurting you with what I said.”
She said, “Me too.”
Here is where I would say, “It wasn’t easy.” But that wasn’t the truth. It was easy. It was a handful of words that, at least, for the moment, changed both of us.
I had to change. I had to change. I had to open my mind and heart to make space for something different. Something better.
Things won’t be perfect, but they will be better.
Here’s to a new beginning.
Mine and hers. And our son’s.
Keep the Faith. Love Wins.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Jonathan Cooper on Unsplash