This summer I went to Trinidad and Tobago for my cousin’s wedding. The wedding was a trip and it’s not the focus of this entry, who I saw while there is. My stepdad (I call him dad because he’s amazing) was eager to see my cousin Jenelle who we hadn’t seen in years since she moved back home. The rest of family wasn’t too excited. I would like to say I was an exception to this and was overjoyed but honestly, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to see my cousin. 

When I was younger we didn’t get along. At all. You see, my mom often fell into the trap that I’ve noticed some parents fall into. She often compared me to my much smarter and much skinner cousin. In addition to this my cousin was mean to me. She called greedy and said I was a glutton. I liked to snack but I don’t think I was ever a glutton. Anyway, we didn’t have the warmest bond and even though I’m an adult now I wasn’t thrilled at the prospects of seeing her again. But we did. 

Dad’s enthusiasm won the day and it turned into a really beautiful meeting. She received us warmly and I had prayed before hand that I would simply be my warm, adorable self (who could resist that?😉). I took a ton of photos of us and promised to send them to her, which I did. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t get them. My other cousin told me later on and asked on her behalf if I could resend them. I promised I would. As I’ve mentioned before I’m prone to procrastination. This factor added in to my hesitation because of the past delayed things even further. 

Long story short, I recently sent the photos(to the right address this time). She thanked me for sending them at last and of course I caught the passive aggressive undertones because of course, I’m passive aggressive too. Despite that I responded telling her that I made a mistake with the address and that I hoped she liked the photos. 

Here’s why I’m telling you all this. It dawned on me tonight while I was eating pizza and listening to Christina Perri, she probably has no clue how theose childhood scars have affected my adulthood. No clue how anxious I was about seeing her again or how worried I was about how she would respond to such a lengthy delay in sending a few photographs. She’s moved on with life and I’m, well I’m left holding the bag. 

I would like to say that this revelation has led to a speedy recovery and I’ve dropped these weights but it’s not so does one quickly overcome incredibly painful memories. All those lectures on why I couldn’t be more like someone else, inadvertently reinforcing my own ideas that I would be better off being someone else, how does one simply shake that off? Honestly, I don’t know. I simply hope that this is one step in my recovery. 

Now I’m off. Going to to listen to some Sara Barielles and escape the weight of living in someone else’s gravity.