I know you’re the youngest, but try and be the wisest!

Even when I was a kid, my brother was a handful. Which led to my parents invariably saying, “I know he’s the eldest, but why don’t you try and be the wisest.”

Over time that became code for: “We know it sucks. We know he sucks. But it’s easier for everyone -okay, for us- if you just suck it up.”

I didn’t even notice.
I didn’t know any better.

I did, of course, become an Ace Spiritual & Emotional By-passer. Finding the bright side, the silver lining, the worm hole: second nature. Nay, first nature.

And I never questioned that.

Until recently.

A few months before my mum passed, I had begun preparing for ‘the day’. We all knew it was coming and I knew I wouldn’t have the bandwidth to deal with everyone’s grief – and my own – and handle the funeral.
So three months before – not that I knew it at the time – I put everything in motion.

And nobody wanted to talk about that.

I got it. They needed to be in denial just a little bit longer. And I didn’t argue with that. But it was hard, because I felt singularly lonely in my grief.

So one night I confided in my best friend.
Hot tears. Anger. ‘They! They! They!’

My friend stopped being my friend that night.
Because that was the last time I trusted her with my story, my feelings.

She responded with impatience. Accusing me of not being more understanding. “Everybody grieves in their own way!” she pointed out, indignant. As if I’d somehow short-changed her.

Her words instantly shut me down. They felt full of blame. As though I had expected the others to be on the same page with me.
I hadn’t. Only her.
I felt she should have commiserated with me, rather than berate me. I felt I had the right to speak freely in front of her. To be seen in my pain.

Fast forward to today, and to another conversation. Two sentences in we were talking about my mum.

She passed 14 years ago last month.
And for 14 years I thought our conversations would improve with her passing.

They didn’t. Not until last month – after which I finally began to get closure around certain things.
Because my mum finally responded with accountability.
Or maybe I just refused to listen anymore those moments when she didn’t.

And that’s where today’s conversation comes in.
“Perhaps it would help,” my coach said, “if you acknowledge that she did the best she could. That X and Y were her way of loving you.”

I froze for just a moment. I hadn’t really been talking about X and Y. I had said that my mum had finally been willing to take responsibility. To say: “I’m sorry. I should have protected you.”

My coach’s words naturally hit a nerve.
But this time I didn’t take that lying down: “What you’re saying isn’t new. I know where she came from. I know her past. I know she did the best she could. But right now she’s in a place where she can be accountable. And that’s what I want.”

By the way, my mum has been giving me that now. It’s why the topic came up.

My point: the other immediately suggested spiritual bypassing. Didn’t blink once. And it was the same message all over: “I know you’re the youngest, but try and be the wisest!”

This isn’t about forgiving or letting go.
It’s about the right to be angry.
And it’s about me claiming that right.

Because I am allowed to work through my anger.
I don’t have to swallow it or go around it.
Just because I’m ace at finding the worm hole doesn’t mean I have to.

So yeah.
Just wanted to get that off my chest.
In case you know the feeling.

You don’t have to swallow your anger. Or your pain. Or anything else.
You’re allowed to work through it.