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My endless search for wisdom put me on a direct collision course with realizations that I’ve been running away for quite some time now. Avoiding it is so easy when I convince myself that there are places I need to go and things I need to do before I can address it. At least that’s what I tell myself but there’s a dissonance that comes with living this way. And I’m not okay with that anymore. Since I’m on a journey of feeling my way through these emotions rather than thinking my way out, I’m deciding to lean in. It’s also my ego being afraid to admit that I’ve been wrong for so long but I’m also becoming okay with that as I go along. So, what I want to talk about today is the “OG trigger”, my parents. Ah, I can hear them saying, “Beta, we told you so, you never listen”. Yes, I indeed don't but isn’t it beautiful that I’m coming back home now?
If you know me well, you already know this but if not, let’s just say I considered myself coming from a broken home. My parents split up when I was fourteen then again when I was sixteen and this time for good. As the consequences of their separation ensued, I felt my teenage angst expand to decibels I wasn’t aware that even existed at the time. The arguments over custody and money made my siblings and I feel like products on a shelf. There was no “heart” in the discussions, no acknowledgment of our pain and it all seemed so unnecessary. Each side of the family, once closely knit, were now speaking to each other with the cold and calculated demeanor of attorneys. There was no time to grieve because the “adults” had to sort everything out, as is customary in a Pakistani household. It felt devoid of emotion. Our folks reeling from their own failures did not have time to entertain how we felt about the situation, a realization of retrospection that I can now appreciate.
I thought to myself, “we would never be a unit again”. Any possibilities of future “family vacations” withered away. Holidays would be spent apart, one half with mom and the other half with dad. It can’t get worse than this, I thought. Oh, was I wrong. The distance and time away didn’t help the dust settle. In fact, it’s quite hard for the dust to settle when everyone involved felt like a victim. My parents, the extended families, us – the whole damn lot. They were both emotionally unavailable for us, so we all rebelled in our own little ways. I can only speak for myself but the only way I could escape from the downward spiral was by leaving home, at least mentally. My friends became my refuge, somewhere I could feel accepted for being myself. I was fortunate enough to have some of the most amazing people I’ve ever met around me at the time, some of them are my best friends to this day. You know who you are.
The dust only settles when we accept that we aren’t forever victims. There is no larger conspiracy to methodically hurt us. There are no heroes and villains in real life. It’s just people with a whole lot of unresolved trauma and emotions reacting in ways that doesn’t do their heart any justice. It’s when I accepted the humanity of my parents is when I was able to have so much empathy for my parents that even now sometimes, I can’t hold back the tears. That doesn’t mean I’m denying the emotional onslaught I experienced amidst their divorce but more importantly, it means that I could feel distraught and accept no one else is at fault. That’s such a hard thing to believe when you’re young but our brains aren’t seasoned enough to hold the duality of this view, so we need someone to blame. What is true now though is that I can accept and hold the duality of my experience. I love my parents, but I also know that I’ve been affected by the things I experienced growing up in a divided household. I no longer see it as coming from a broken home but a unique experience for which I can now say that I am grateful even if I would never wish it upon anyone, child, teenager or adult. With all that being said, I’m no longer a little boy, angsty teenager or an adult who struggles with hyper-independence and I see how life has impacted the lives of my folks.
Before the divorce, my mom used to sing each of us to sleep. One of my favorite memories of my childhood. She had plenty of friends and activities planned throughout her day. She always was trying to invite family and friends over (which annoyed us as kids) but showed her generosity. After the divorce, she became a young single working mom. She took a job at her dad’s psychiatric hospital and quickly became a managing director. In her time there, she managed seven different hospitals and an addiction ward. She was responsible for making sure the patients were receiving adequate care but still made sure that we were well fed and received a respectable education. I remember her working ten hours a day without a fail, never taking any vacations or days off, even if she was sick. She was also taking care of her mother at the same time. Holy-fricking-crap! She had an insane amount of responsibility thrust upon her yet she was always ready to do meaningful charity work and invite family over for a for some laughs over tea. She loves doing that. Of course, she wasn’t emotionally available when we were growing up but that’s totally understandable. She’s one heck of a lady!
Before the divorce, my dad was a workaholic (still is). Even though he was ex-military, he wasn’t the traditional soldier. There was a softness to him. He’s always encouraged us to be open and honest with him. He wanted to us to be best friends and even though it wasn’t always possible, I used to be able to go to him and tell him about anything that was bothering me or upset me. After the divorce, I could see the guilt in his eyes for a very long time. He felt like he let us down and failed as a father, he’s told me as much, years later. Despite that, he’s a proud and principled man. He does his best to live by the principles he believes in. He’ll go to ridiculous lengths for his family and friends (I still can’t believe it at times). He’s got a huge heart and would give up his house and health if it meant helping someone. Just like my mom, he was fortunate enough to be responsible for taking care of his mother in old age. He moved back to Pakistan just to be able to do that and I’m pretty sure that’s one of the things that gives him a lot of pride. He’s even survived a heart attack, quit smoking and now keeps up with his health every day. He’s truly a remarkable dude. Even though we didn’t live with him regularly, he made efforts to be there for us in his own ways. Always taught us that we must bear the consequences and own our decisions, even if they are uncomfortable. He’s always just wanted us to be self-sufficient.
I’m still young but now that I’m in my mid-thirties, I can see the crux of their teachings scattered everywhere I go. I’ve inherited their love of people, I feel like I’d go above and beyond for my loved ones. My faith may not be as strong as either of theirs, but it’s given me a blueprint in how to be determined and trust the process despite all the odds seeming to be stacked against you. Above all, their inner strength is something that I admire to my core. They’ve lost both their parents and have witnessed their own child (my little bro) become stardust, yet they carry on in life with humility, grace and compassion. Yeah, they aren’t perfect, but I don’t think I would have it any other way. I’ve been blessed with great examples in life, and both sit at the top of the pile for me despite everything that has happened.
It's strange to see them grow old too. I’ve always looked at the generational curses that I’ve inherited but now I’m seeing all the generational blessings that they have passed onto me. Recently, I moved away for a work opportunity and at the time, I thought this was the best decision for the present and future, but I also hadn’t anticipated the rising level of guilt I’d experience from being away from them. For sure though, it’s not a negative emotion but proof that I love my parents and just want them to be able to lean on me in their old age. They’ve been through so much and it’s something that would fill me with a lot of pride and gratitude. We all have our own journeys but I’m certain that we all just want our parents or primary caregivers to be happy and proud of us. The way we live is how we carry their legends forward, so I hope we do our absolute-frickin-best. Have a great weekend!