A friend told me today, “every family is like a soap opera,” which is probably true. He’s a smart guy so I’m pretty sure he knows what he’s talking about. It made me feel better to a point, but I’m still reeling from this whole Dad situation.
I am confrontational. I say things that people don’t want to hear. I get that.
I am emotionally impatient. I try to avoid sweeping things under the rug because they always come back, usually with a vengeance.
I want to deal with things when they happen. I want to nip it in the bud. I want it done and over with. Not swept away and “forgotten” only to be dredged up and piled upon.
I want to talk about miscommunications, misunderstandings, mistakes, and missteps. If I don’t see the other side and they don’t see mine, the problem will become chronic, I promise you.
I believe in accountability and responsibility. I will call people out on it, whether they like it or not. Generally they don’t. That’s fine.
I am overly honest. I am straight to the point. I am hard to take. I know this.
But to call me hateful, and to say I am mean-spirited is just plain imaginary. They are daggers of untruth for the sole purpose of inflicting pain (mission accomplished) and the words of a man with nowhere to go, with stones enough only to run away.