Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Wow.
Honey holds my gaze, a tenderness embedded in her round face that tugs at my heart. I’ve never thought about my parents, or anyone, like that. It reframes so many things.
“As my parents, they were …” I try to find kind words. They are my parents, after all. But each adjective that I come across that fits that narrative doesn’t truly capture the people I grew up with. “Missing, a lot. Tepid. Generous with everything but their affection.”
She puts her spoon in the bowl and sets it on the tray.
“Please don’t pity me,” I say, smiling. “I have a very privileged life, and I’m doing just fine. You can’t have it all, you know?”
She nods. “I’d love for you to meet my granddaughter, Brooke, some day. I think you have a lot in common.”
“Really?”
“Sadly. My daughter has many of the qualities you just described, and my granddaughter can probably relate to you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that she’s experienced what I have.”
“Sweetheart, we all experience something. How we come out of the experience makes all the difference.”
Her words echo inside my brain, committing them to memory.
I’ve often wondered what my parents went through growing up to make them the way they are. I didn’t know any of my grandparents since I wasn’t born until my mom and dad were in their forties. Their parents had passed away. What happened to my mother and father to make them so cold?
I pick at a piece of lint on my yoga pants and reflect on my experiences. The biggest effect they had on me is evident in my decision-making processes.
“You’re right,” I say. “The way I was raised had a huge impact on my relationships now.”
“In what way?”
“Well …” I force a swallow as my anxiety begins to shuffle its way into my psyche. “I’m confident and outspoken, but secretly, I’m always afraid.”
Honey picks up the remote and turns the television off.
“I’m kind of terrified to have a serious relationship with anyone,” I say, opening to Honey in a way I’ve never opened to anyone before. “It always feels like I’m the deal breaker.”
She shakes her head but says nothing. Emboldened by her encouragement—and by the way she truly wants to listen—I let the words flow.
“I’ve never admitted this out loud, but there’s always something in the back of my brain that worries that I’m going to disappoint someone, and that’s probably my biggest fear in the world. Of having to look into someone’s soul and see their disappointment in me as a human being.”
My chest tightens as Honey pulls the lever on the side of her chair and sits up.
“You have every damn right to disappoint people, Pippa.”
Huh? My heart beats quicker.
She steels her gaze to mine. “Disappointing people has such a negative connotation to it. But when you really think about it, sweetheart, disappointing someone probably means you stood up for yourself.”
Wow. My brain tries to understand—to rationalize—what she’s saying.
“If you never disappointed someone, then you’ve probably never made yourself happy either,” she says. “When I look back at my life at this age, the very few things that disappoint me are the things I did that pleased others and not myself.”
It makes sense … sort of. But it doesn’t take away the pain associated with losing someone—a boyfriend, my brother, my parents—because I didn’t meet their expectations.
We sit in comfortable silence. I use the quiet to think back through the years at all the things I’ve done to avoid feeling like my inadequacies stem from who I am as a person.
I joined the track team in high school because my mother was a track star. I went pre-med in college. I’ve dated men who fit their standards but lacked in mine.
My fear of failure—not on a success level, but on a personal one—has gotten me into more messes than anything in my life.
“Can I ask you a question, Honey?”
“Absolutely.”
I scoot to the edge of the cushion. “I have to make a decision, and I don’t know what to do.”
“I cook when I need to think, too.”
My lips twist into a smile.
“Go on, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I lied at work and said I had an ex-husband. Then I got a promotion. But the promotion kind of hinges on me and my ex taking a trip together, and now I don’t know whether to admit the truth or … fake an illness or say he refuses to go.”
My breath stalls in my chest as I wait for her opinion. Please don’t think I’m a bad person.
“Why did you lie?” she asks.
“Because this fool tried to get under my skin, and I let him. He commented that I was unqualified to help build relationships because I’d never been in one—and I lost my cool.”
She grins. “Oh, he hit on that fear of failure on a personal level you were just talking about. I see.”