A letter to Mr. B

Dear Mr. B,

I’m sorry I’m not the person you wish I was.

I started reading the book, Good Inside. To believe that “we all, at our core, are compassionate, loving, and generous”, that we are all “good inside”, which allows us to “be curious about the ‘why’ of their bad behaviors”. But more often than not, I do “put frustration and anger in the driver’s seat”. I do operate “with judgement rather than curiosity, criticism instead of understanding, punishment instead of discussion”.

Sometimes, I am able to see. I see that inside your withdrawal is tiredness and overwhelmness of trying to be an adequate worker and a good husband and dad. That inside your coldness is a protest for your efforts being undermined. That inside your impatience is months and even years of patience, waiting for me to change for the better, running out.

But I don’t know how to be rid of my own baggage and my needs. I’m not relaxed as you want me to be. And I want a hug. A thank you even when you are tired. A comforting word when you need your space. A commitment to return. I want to believe you see the goodness inside me, but often I’m not sure. I desire the confirmation, so I reach for it, I force it, I lash out. On the way I forget the goodness inside you.

Sometimes I feel like we are two people passing each other. We are so close to seeing each other in the eyes. And now and then, we have a glimpse of it - we laugh, we vibe, we emit warmth. But more often than I wanted, we simply speak our own language, and pass. We sigh, we struggle, we blame. We forget the goodness inside each other.

Mr. B, I’m sorry I’m not the person you wish I was. I don’t have enough strength to be content, to be steady, to raise you up. Maybe I’m not good enough. But we have to believe that we are good inside, and we are trying. We have to remember.

Yours,

M