One More Half Hug
Society asks us to consider others and do our part to keep things chugging along with as few disruptions as possible.
Don’t talk with your mouth full of tater tots.
Offer your seat to someone else who could use the rest.
Definitely don’t microwave fish in the break room.
These things are niceties that generally ensure the comfort and care of our fellow humans.
But sometimes, society and systems ask things of us that are not comfortable and require us to bury parts of ourselves in order to maintain the comfort of others (which is often deemed more important than our own comfort).
Folding Chairs and Healing
My family has been through many iterations in the last 15 years and is in fact, still iterating.
It’s been a kaleidoscope of divorces, friends who became family, emotional and psychological abuse, belly laughter around a full table, building of boundaries, and a slow thread ripping of generational yuck.
Now on higher ground with an adequate vantage point in adulthood, I feel safer and sturdier, and recently accepted an invitation to unpack some heavy things. A family intervention of sorts.
There was red wine, a chocolate Costco cake, and an expanse of emotions and perspectives in the room. We are Italian after all.
I could say many things about this evening and the lifetime of events that lead up to it and someday I’m sure I will, but today I want to share one specific story from that night.
An hour or so into our talk, one of my family members shared her perspective from the night of my grandfather’s wake, which occurred nearly three years ago to the day.
At the time of his passing, I was not speaking to my father. My grandmother, distraught after her husband’s passing, grabbed me with both arms and begged me to forgive him.
I had forgiven him, though I knew that she did not in fact mean forgiveness and instead was imploring me to resume my role. Put on a smile and keep the family together. It was all she knew, after all. Forgive and forget and resume life as normal.
The family member recounting this story then shared that her hope in that moment was that I would “just” offer “some kind of hope” to my grandmother and give my father just one hug, even a “half hug.”
The words that came out of my mouth in response shocked me, as I am not often eloquent real-time.
“What you are suggesting is that this is the only instance I was ever asked to bury myself, deny my own valid hurt and fear and play a role. What you were asking was not one half hug, but one more half hug. I have given many half hugs in my life. I have put on a smile because it’s Christmas. I have wiped my tears because company was coming over. I could not, and will not, give one more half hug ever again in my life. I will never again deny my own reality to maintain the status quo that harmed me. Never again.”
I told my grandmother at the wake, “I love you and I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that,” quietly and firmly in front of a packed funeral home of people who likely assumed my tears were those of grief, when they were instead tears of anger, overwhelm, and relief.
Relief that I was finally acting in alignment with how I felt, and stood firm in the hardest of moments.
My family member responded with a sort of “agree to disagree” sentiment and I understand it but no longer feel the need to win anyone over.
My truth is just my truth.
You Deserve Comfort, Even and Especially When it’s Uncomfortable
If you have ever also conceded and given a half hug to a coach who gave you the creeps because you “didn’t want to be dramatic” or said “I’m fine things are good” when your insides burned like lava in your chest but didn’t want to bring anything other than joy to Thanksgiving, you’re not alone.
We do the things we do, ignore our insides, in an effort to keep ourselves safe.
To ensure that we don’t ostracize ourselves from the knowable and predictable and the therefore somehow safe enough.
To spare feelings, due to a misplaced emphasis on the feelings of others rather than the feelings within us.
But what if instead we let our own feelings and voices be the ones we considered most?
What if we turned around and walked against the whirlpool of “this is how it is” and disrupted the current?
Five years ago, I walked against the current. Legs burning, with waves of “but, he’s your dad” pushing against me at full force, I kept walking.
I am lucky to be a part of a family that is eeking the doors open, knowing that the only way to heal is to understand how the hurt happened in the first place.
I’m continuing to evolve, to learn and strengthen and emphasize what feels right instead of what looks it.
I’m guarded, but hopeful.
I will pop up a folding chair from time to time and have a sit-down-hash-out with cake and anger and laughter and accountability, and I will leave an empty chair in any space that aims to resume a “this is how it is” current.
And you can, too.
Let your voice be the one you listen to, and let others grow alongside you or stay put while you continue to walk your path.
May you give and receive whole hugs today and everyday forward.
May you iterate as many times as needed until you land on a way of life that feels right to you and those you love.
And may some thoughtful soul bring the cake.
Yours with love,
Emily Rose // Miss Magnolia
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