Open Letters

Let the Healing begin

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At 60, I’m finally facing the pain I’ve carried for decades. It’s a heavy load, one I was taught to ignore because my emotions didn’t matter. “Just let it go,” they said. “Others matter more.” In my family of four, I was the “fish child”—the odd one out, swimming in a current of expectations and unspoken rules, never quite fitting in. My mother’s death left a void, and my father’s grief turned the holidays, once a time of warmth, into a season of extra chores and shared misery. If he hated the holidays, we had to hate them too. Growing up, I learned to bury my feelings. My father’s selfishness—his insistence that we bear his pain—came with emotional and sometimes physical abuse. I was taught that tolerating this was the price of connection, that love meant enduring. But it didn’t. It left me disconnected, not just from him but from myself. Now, I’m unlearning those lessons. My emotions do matter. I don’t have to accept abuse to feel close to another human soul. This blog is my act of healing—a space to name the pain, to honor the fish child who deserved better, and to reach out to others who’ve lived similar stories. If you’ve ever felt invisible in your family, told to “let it go” while your heart ached, know this: you’re not alone. Your pain is real, and it’s okay to feel it. Healing starts with seeing yourself, with refusing to carry the weight of someone else’s misery. I’m 60, and I’m finally free to feel. To those reading this, I hope my words help you take that first step toward your own freedom. You don’t have to tolerate abuse to be loved. You are enough, just as you are. MeganR Pronounced Me-Goner as me gone from the abuse and living a happy life.

Own Your Error

Dear Readers,

Family dynamics are a messy, beautiful puzzle, aren’t they? We’re bound by blood, shared memories, and sometimes, the weight of unspoken expectations. Today, I’m peeling back the curtain on a moment three years ago that left me equal parts amused and frustrated, involving my sister, Vivian Ligas Normandeau, and a conversation that took a sharp turn into the land of irony. Vivian’s birthday rolled around recently, and as I reflected on our relationship, I couldn’t help but chuckle at a detail on her resume: “accountability” listed proudly as a skill. It’s a bold claim, one that implies owning your actions, right? Yet, when we spoke 3 years ago for the last time, the conversation veered into familiar territory—blame, grudges, and a disconnect that’s been simmering for years. Let me set the scene. Years ago, Vivian told me not to call her. Her reason? She couldn’t relate to me because, at the time, I wasn’t married. It stung, but I respected her boundary, stepping back to give her space. Fast forward to now: Vivian is divorced, and in our recent chat, she asked me who’s to blame for not keeping intouch ending. I didn’t hesitate—I said she is. Accountability, after all, starts with looking in the mirror. I reminded her of her earlier words, how she’d pushed me away because of my marital status. Her response? “You know how to hold a grudge.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. Before I could say more, she hung up, blocked me on every platform, and, in a twist that felt almost poetic, proceeded to hold a grudge against me for calling her out. Here’s where it gets rich: Vivian’s resume boasts accountability, yet she deflected blame onto me for our strained connection, ignoring her role in setting it in motion. It’s like listing “communication” as a skill while mastering the art of the hang-up. Her actions—cutting me off, then accusing me of holding a grudge while she blocks me—paint a picture of someone wrestling with the very skill she claims to embody. It’s not just hypocrisy; it’s a missed opportunity for healing, for owning our parts in this fractured bond. This isn’t about airing dirty laundry for the sake of drama. It’s about the broader theme of my blog, Open Letters: healing through self-advocacy and learning from past mistakes. I’ve spent years reflecting on how I’ve capitulated to keep the peace, swallowing hurt to avoid conflict. But this time, I chose honesty over silence, and it cost me a connection—at least for now. Vivian’s reaction shows how hard it can be to face accountability, especially when family ties make the stakes feel higher. So, I’m turning to you, my readers. What would you do in this situation? Have you ever called out a family member’s contradiction, only to face their defensiveness or a slammed door (or phone)? How do you balance holding someone accountable with preserving a relationship? Do you let the grudge fester, or do you keep the door open, hoping for reconciliation? I’m not perfect—I’ve held my own grudges, and I’m learning to let them go. But I’m curious: how do you navigate the messy dance of family, blame, and forgiveness?Drop your thoughts below. Let’s share stories, insights, and maybe a little wisdom to help us all heal and grow. After all, as Open Letters reminds us: let the healing begin.

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