Connected, Not Connected
“We’re not friends. We don’t even like each other. Let’s be honest.”
That was one of the text messages that arrived and began a new reality. And if I’m honest, my brother is right. We are not friends. We never have been. I left home when he was 8. I planned to go back and get him. I never did.
We don’t like each other. This is also true, I suppose. If we need labels, I am the Golden Child and he is the Black Sheep.
I did almost everything I was supposed to do. I got good grades, put myself through university, and became a teacher - before I left it all behind to become an entrepreneur. Despite the fact that our father was an entrepreneur too, he always asked me when I was going to get a job. He kept his entrepreneurial streak as a side hustle. Virgos love security. And, even though I’m queer, I had a baby. She was the apple of her grandfather’s eye for the 12 years he was alive to know her. So, I have two strikes in an otherwise “OK” record of daughterhood.
My brother on the other hand, struggled in school because of learning disabilities, did not continue on to post-secondary education, has struggled with addiction, and is challenged with mental illness. Although he has been clean for 23 years, his life is difficult in a way I will never really comprehend. He has no kids, and he never really left home.
We have had our moments – playing pool at a hotel when I was a 17 and he was 7. The occasional game of ping pong when the apartment I was living in had a games room. I have gone to the odd AA meeting when asked. We all did. We have seen each other more since my daughter was born. Because that’s what families do. But we don’t really call each other unless it’s about mom, and we don’t spend time together unless we are under the same roof for practical reasons.
I would say we don’t know each other – not really. Which would be a necessary precursor to both liking each other, and friendship.
Had I been given the opportunity, my answer to his statement would have been “We don’t have to be friends or like each other. We’re family. Which means I’ll have your back.” But I didn’t get that chance before he announced he didn’t trust me, hurled a whole lot of accusations at me, shared some expletives, and then texted me to leave him alone.
I have never blocked anyone, until that moment. I thought it was strange. Cowardly even. After that text, it felt like self-care. It was a strange feeling; to know someone cannot reach you. And it took me a while to stop checking, and wondering how he was. But in time my nervous system relaxed.
There was also guilt: How could I have done it differently? What could I have said or not said? Why couldn’t I have been a better sister? But the ties that bind us are not made – they are expected. It’s different. So, while I was feeling sadness and guilt, I was not willing to be a punching bag in the name of blood ties. Not anymore.
In the meantime, I have unblocked him. And he has started speaking to me like nothing ever happened. But it did. And something broke for me. Trust, mostly. And the willingness to extend myself.
Connection is a tricky thing. We crave it. We need it. And the people that we have the longest history with, we often see across a wide chasm of hurt, misunderstanding, and lack of awareness. A chasm that is often too wide to cross, or too complicated to attempt.
We’re supposed to know each other because we’re family – and maybe precisely because of that, we often don’t. And you can’t connect with someone you don’t know.
Not even because you think you should.
