When Understanding Doesn’t Fix Everything

I had a session with my mom today.

For the first time, I can say it actually went well.

Not surface-level, not forced. Real conversation. Real effort. Real moments where I felt like maybe… we were actually hearing each other. And that matters more than I can explain. I’m grateful she came. I really am. That alone spoke volumes. The fact that she showed up, that she opened up… that’s the version of her I’ve been wanting. The one who leans in instead of pulling away. The one who tries. And I saw that today.

But what I didn’t expect… was how much it would open up. Because today I learned something that hit deeper than I was ready for.

My mom didn’t grow up with affection.

She wasn’t held.

She wasn’t shown love in the way I’ve spent my life craving from her.

And suddenly… things started to make sense in a way that almost hurt more than not understanding at all. Because that means it didn’t start with me. That distance. That lack of softness. That absence of the kind of love I’ve always needed from her. It was there long before I was.

And if I’m being honest… I can see how it didn’t just stop with her. I can see how it showed up in me. In the way I’ve loved my own kids. In the ways I maybe didn’t give them the affection they deserved either.

And that realization?

It’s heavy in a way I don’t even know how to fully explain.

Because now I’m not just processing what I didn’t get… I’m processing what I may not have given.

And that’s a different kind of pain.

And then there was something else. Something I’ve always known… but never understood. My dad slept with my aunt. My mom’s sister. Even saying that out loud feels wrong. And for so long, I could never understand how my mom stayed close to her after that. How she could forgive something like that. How she could continue a relationship with someone who betrayed her like that. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But today… she explained it. She let me into her reasoning. Her perspective. Her way of surviving something like that. And for the first time… I understood it.

Not agreed with it. Not something I think I could ever do.

But I understood it. And somehow, that made everything feel even more complicated. Because understanding someone doesn’t always make it easier. Sometimes it just shows you how deep it all actually goes.

How much they carried. How much they normalized. How much they learned to accept… because they had to.

And now I’m sitting here realizing… The version of my mom I’ve been hoping for… the relationship I’ve held onto in my head… isn’t exactly what I’m going to get. Not because she doesn’t care. Not because I’m asking for too much. But because she can only meet me from what she knows. From what she lived. From what she survived. And that doesn’t always reach where I am.

And that realization?

It’s breaking something in me… and healing something at the same time.

Because there’s a quiet grief in that.

Grief in letting go of what you hoped for.

Grief in accepting what is.

Grief in knowing it’s not all bad… but it’s not what you needed either.

And I’m trying to sit in both. The understanding. And the ache.

Because if I’m being completely honest… The only thing I really wanted today… was a hug. A real one. The kind that says everything without needing words. The kind that makes you feel like, for a second, everything you’ve been carrying can just… drop. And it didn’t happen. Maybe she didn’t think of it. Maybe she didn’t know I needed it. Maybe she doesn’t even know how to give that. Maybe she needed it just as much as I did. Or maybe not. But I felt the space where it should have been.

And that feeling?

It stayed with me.

So now I’m here.

Grateful for the progress.

Proud of the conversation.

Understanding more than I ever have before. And still… a little heartbroken. Because growth doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it feels like this.

Like clarity… and grief… sitting in the same space

. ~Tj🩷