How do I explain that the same three words I casually shout across the street to my friends are the very same three words my body refuses to say to my parents? “I love you”.
It’s strange, really. At 28, after experiencing so many different forms of love, through friendships, strangers, even learning to love myself (I think), I still find myself wondering when those three words will feel just as natural with my parents. A few months ago, they both read my book. One of the chapters is called “’I love you’ feels like a swear word”. In it, I wrote about everything I’d never managed to say out loud, and I remember thinking how painfully uncomfortable it was knowing that the two people I struggled most to open up to were about to read words that had never even left my mouth.
When my parents read my book it literally felt like they were granted access to my forbidden heart, to see what’s inside and then zip it back up. But I’ve always wanted for that to happen. I’ve always thought if I finally put my walls down and became the vulnerable person with them that I am with my friends, then the problem would be solved. That, or at least we’d have a conversation about it where we might cry, laugh and awkwardly hug it out.
