#68 – Who makes you want to explain yourself?

In April of 2022 I "broke up" with my sister.

I didn't realize it then, but our relationship had re-entered the realm of codependency after our parents had passed and my family and I had immigrated to the US.

When a sudden event snapped me out of my dream-like state, it became clear to me that I'd been lying to myself about our relationship––I'd thought it was "healthy" and "normal."

But it wasn't. And once I saw it, I wanted out. Self-protection.

I was driving through rural Portugal when her text came through. The sky was deep blue, there was a crimson house on the side of the road as I turned slowly onto the roundabout, and the trees were lush with green foliage.

I wouldn't read the message until I got back to my AirBnB. I'd arrived in Portugal that morning, intent on buying a piece of land for my husband and me and I wanted to savor my freedom. My power of decision. In a way, it felt like I was realizing my full self.

The unread message felt like a wild beast lurking in the dark. I was afraid of what might happen when I opened it. I feared its hairy hand would come out of the screen and grab my neck. Would I be able to breathe?

After the whole afternoon driving around with the realtor and eating the dinner I made for myself on the modest stovetop of the apartment, I sat down on a couch, the paper napkin still in my hand, and opened the message.

I read through it. It was long. Wordy. As it'd been customary in our family, the intention seemed to be to make me responsible for her feelings, choices, and life outcomes.

My first instinct was to explain myself.

I stood up, I don't remember why. Maybe to go sit at the table. I was planning my response.

And then I heard a "wait a minute" in my head. Why was it important to explain myself?

To show her that I was a good person?

To ask for her forgiveness?

To make amends?

My Ghost of Need to Prove was behind. It wanted me to reply with an equally wordy text, rebutting, line by line, her accusations.

I made the decision that no, I didn't need to prove anything to anyone. I wouldn't explain myself.

What I needed, if anything, was to forgive myself.

For if decisions I'd made had put her on (what she felt was) a difficult position, it'd never been my intention to cause her pain or distress.

What she was accusing me of, really, was of not being perfect. I accepted it. I'm not perfect.

I typed my response: "It was never my intention to cause you pain. I'm sorry that I did. I love you."

Then I spent weeks working on forgiving myself.

It had to be a "me" work. Explaining myself to her would have only added wood to the fire and reinvigorated my Ghost of Need to Prove.

That night in Alcobaça, Portugal, I took a quantum leap in my growth.

Where do you want to give yourself permission to stop explaining yourself?

Love,

Carolina