Why It's the Hardest to Show Up For the People You Love the Most

Differences feel like insults. Mundane moments feel heavy. Forgive yourself and show up anyway.

Among the Planets (1961) by Helen Lundeberg

Last night my mother and my two aunts came over for dinner. We’ve spent the past week at the beach together and my aunts are leaving town this morning, so I made pineapple margaritas and ordered pulled pork barbecue. As we ate, it became clear that everyone was tired from a whole week of socializing in close quarters.

All three sisters arrived at the beach fully committed to doing their best, by remaining upbeat and cheerful (aunt #1) or open and honest (aunt #2) or helpful and self-sacrificing (my mother). They each had different strategies for what might keep things maximally optimistic, or soulful, or free of conflict. Notice that this meant that their goals were often in direct conflict: Keep things positive (aunt #1), tell the truth at all costs (aunt #2), or support whatever the kids and grandkids are doing (my mom).

Last night over dinner, as the strain of so much closeness showed itself in rolled eyes and exchanged glances, I tried to tell all three sisters that the beach trip was a real success this year, thanks to them. Every morning, aunt #1 would brightly say hello, compliment someone’s shoes, or gush over someone’s skill at jigsaw puzzles like they’d just painted the Sistine Chapel. Every afternoon, aunt #2 would sit on the beach, talking to a niece or body surfing with a great nephew. Every night, my mom would bite her tongue when small conflicts arose, gathering dishes and making jokes instead.

These women had to do a lot of heavy emotional lifting to get through the week. Each sister had to be generous and also cautious with her words, open-hearted and also self-protective, energetic and lively and also kind and tolerant. That’s got to take a lot of extra effort when you’re over 75 and you’ve been living alone for years. And even though they pulled it off, last night they didn’t seem to be feeling that satisfied or proud of their efforts.

They had reached that point (that everyone reaches now and then), when irritation with others starts to feel heavy and upsetting and inescapable. That kind of irritation makes you feel angry and guilty at the same time. You’re exhausted and all you can think is:

THESE PEOPLE ARE SO FUCKING CRAZY! GET ME OUT OF HERE!

This wasn’t true because they’re incredibly difficult people. It was true simply because they had conflicting goals for the week: Cheering everyone up is often incompatible with telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Helping everyone is sometimes at odds with fostering deep connections or looking on the bright side at every turn. So even though each sister was outperforming every second of every day, they probably felt irritated or thwarted or at odds with each other at times.

Moreover, people who grew up in unpredictable households together tend to experience strong emotions in each other’s presence. This can be true even when their values and goals are perfectly aligned. And when close relatives are under that kind of emotional stress, much of it subconscious, they often feel surges of shame and regret that have nothing to do with their conscious intentions. This shame almost always generates blame and anger and sadness.

In other words, life for a human among other humans – particularly other humans you grew up with – can be IMPOSSIBLY hard, even when everyone is doing their best.

So when you manage to get through a dinner or a visit or a vacation without becoming reactive, going off on someone randomly, eating yourself alive silently, or crying your eyes out in the middle of a conversation (all very natural reactions to such inherently heavy circumstances!), it’s important to give yourself credit for that. Hell, just NOTICING that everyone is under a different kind of stress for different reasons is so important, so good for your growth, and so helpful to your open heart.

When you know you’re doing your best — you’re noticing your feelings, you’re tuning into your body, and you’re also forgiving others for being who they are — it’s important to stop and say:

LOOK AT HOW MUCH I’M DOING RIGHT NOW!

Slowing down and noticing is an absolute triumph when you’re under stress. YOU DESERVE TO CELEBRATE IT. I know I sound just like aunt #1 now, applauding each puzzle piece that fits like it’s a goddamn miracle. But the one thing that sensitive, emotional people need more of in their lives is pride — pride in the efforts they make, pride in the patience and compassion they cultivate, pride in their determination to grow and learn spite of everything. So when you show up for family or friends or take on a work challenge in spite of great difficulties, you have to remind yourself:

I did my best, day after day. I showed up, even though I knew it would be difficult. I talked openly, even when I felt like running away. I bit my tongue, even when I felt like going off. And when I couldn’t manage a kind word, I spent some time alone in order to regain my balance.

Being a human among humans is always hard. I did my best.

***

I know that tomorrow, as my aunts are flying and driving home and my mother is returning from the airport to clean her house, they’ll all be thinking about each other. It’s impossible for those thoughts to be purely positive and purely loving. It’s not even natural to have only upbeat, cheerful thoughts about someone you know well and love with all of your heart in spite of great flaws – yours and theirs. Being human means being ambivalent, feeling regret over the moments you were less than your full self, feeling envious over what others have that you don’t, feeling worried about what comes next for all of you.

Showing up is enough. So take pride in showing up, every day. Forgive yourself for everything and anything that makes showing up hard for you. Show up anyway, over and over, and acknowledge how courageous that is.

“This could be the last time we see each other,” aunt #1 said to me over a puzzle one morning.

“We’re getting old,” aunt #2 said to me on the beach one afternoon. “This could be it.”

“We might not all be together again,” my mother said to me one night.

That’s true for them, but it’s also true for the rest of us. And ironically, the more someone matters to you, the more difficult it can be to stay close to them. Your shame and guilt and regret are activated by how much you care. Your differences feel more painful and aggravating than they would otherwise. Your flaws feel more embarrassing. Your sadness feels more real, more palpable, more like a personal failure.

Merely recognizing all of these difficulties is enough. Most people feel guilty and confused instead. And many people distance themselves from the people they love the most, just to avoid these unpleasant emotions.

Don’t protect yourself from the most important people in your life. Show up in spite of everything. This could be the last time. Notice the heaviness in your bones. Notice the afternoon sun on the grass. Notice the heavy sighs, the darting eyes, the efforts to be understood. Notice the dark clouds in the south at dusk, the dirty plates, the nervous laughter. Let it all in.

As my mother and her sisters started out down the gravel driveway after saying their goodbyes, their white hair glowing in the waning light, I yelled out, “Stop! Let me take a picture of you!”

So they stopped and moved closer together and smiled for the camera, and I thought, “This could be the last time.” Maybe they thought it, too. It’s very hard for them, but they love each other in spite of everything. It is enough.

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Thanks for reading Ask Polly. I wrote this about trying to smile more (and failing). I wrote this about how the most embarrassing things are the only things worth doing.