For most of my life, I gave certain people a free pass.
My parents were among them.
My sister was too.
Looking back, I realize how difficult it was for me to be honest about the relationship we had.
There were moments of kindness.
Moments when she was loving to my face.
But there were also moments that left deep wounds.
Today, we no longer have a relationship.
That was my choice.
It took me more than sixty years to arrive at that decision.
Not because I didn’t see what was happening.
But because I kept explaining it away.
I kept making excuses.
It is confusing when someone can make you feel loved one moment and deeply hurt the next.
As children, I remember not feeling especially close to my sister.
She lied about me.
She stole from me.
Even then, trust was difficult.
As adults, things only got worse.
Instead of listening to my own experience, I found reasons to justify her behaviors.
I questioned myself more than I questioned the behavior.
That was familiar.
It was what I had learned to do.
For years, I believed it was my job to understand everyone else’s pain while setting aside my own.
I became everyone else’s keeper except my own.
The hardest part of healing has not been letting go of the relationship.
The hardest part has been admitting the truth to myself.
That I was hurt.
That some wounds don’t heal simply because we keep forgiving without acknowledging their impact.
Choosing distance was not an act of revenge.
It was an act of honesty.
Perhaps for the first time in my life, I became the keeper of my own heart.
And maybe that is what love sometimes looks like.
Not holding on at all costs.
But having the courage to protect the peace we have worked so hard to find.
