“It was so hard to see. We wanted you happy and protected and so we saw how much it was easier for you if we made some decisions for you. At least at first, until you found your feet. So we did. We put you on a routine and we made you comfortable. And when we suggested a stage name, like you father’s pen name, you latched onto the idea. The separation helped. But then it went on like that for years. You leaned on us for protection and decision making.”
“And selfishly, we were glad to have you here with us still.” Dad smiled. “The three of us at home. You seemed to enjoy the restrictions, and your anxiety got better. The less choices you made, the better you got.”
“Because here’s the hard part of where we are going with all this,” Mom said.
“Okay.” I swallowed.
“We know now that we aren’t here to make your life comfortable. You weren’t living. You’ve become crippled by the fear of making the wrong choice.”
“And it’s understandable.” Dad smiled sadly.
“But listen, honey, we were young once and did some really crazy and stupid shit. The only difference was we didn’t have parents there to step in with money and concern. Does that make sense? What I’m saying?” Mom asked.
“But … the only good choice I made was to come home.” My voice cracked as I spoke. “Now what? What if I keep choosing wrong?”
“So? That’s life. You make choices and you move forward. No matter if they’re good or bad. Make them and commit to them. Because that’s how you grow and change.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than that. You don’t understand.”
I took a deep breath in. It was time to tell them everything. About camp and what I did to get that solo knowing they’d be ashamed of me.
After I’d finished, they shared a look. “I had no idea.” Mom looked to Dad who shook his head too. “We knew her death hit you hard. It makes sense, why you’d blame yourself. I probably would too,” my mom said.
“You would?” I asked.
“Of course. But it wasn’t your fault. You know that. I wish you had come to us sooner, but I understand why you were afraid.”
They squeezed my hands in tandem. I let out a long, slow breath. Sharing it with people who cared was like having more hands to help carry the emotional baggage that had weighed down my shoulders for so long.
“You were never a disappointment. Nothing has changed. If anything, it makes sense. In fact, it might be a good idea to make an appointment to talk to someone.”
I nodded because I had been thinking about that myself. “I will.”
“Good. We have always been proud of you. We have always loved the person you are. Please don’t think anything else. But you have to try. This half state of being, crippled by fear. That’s not living. That’s killing time.”
Dad glanced at Mom before saying, “Nothing great ever happens when you’re comfortable. I’m not trying to sound trite, it’s just a fact.”
“Why are y’all telling me all this now?”
“Because we see you living out of fear. You think safety is the most important thing but safety doesn’t always work. Fear isn’t always a good indication of risk. And failure isn’t always bad. We need fear to keep us from doing stupid things, but it’s hard to know when to trust it when it is the same fear that keeps us from making choices that could ultimately help us.”
“Well how will I know? How can I keep from making the wrong choice?” I asked desperate to know the secrets.
“Trust your heart. But more than that, trust that if and when you make a mistake or fail, the world will still turn. You will be okay. We will still love you. That will never change.”
“I love you guys,” I said as a tear spilled over.
“We love you so much.”
My dad released my hand. He pulled a letter with familiar handwriting from his jacket. “This is for you. Take it and read it. Decide what to do from there. Let it lead to action or put it away with the others and move on with your life.”
“But you make a choice,” Mom said. “And own it.”
I left the kitchen feeling lighter. The little girl in me had needed to hear everything they’d said. Unconditional love was always nice to be reminded of.
I took the letter and went to my room.
In my closet, I