Is there a place for some back story?
My son and I have had a difficult relationship for many years. He was very judgemental toward me, every infraction, real or imagined was magnified into a massive offence. As my therapist put it, “guilty bitch, how do you plead?” All focus was on the negative aspects of my behaviour as he saw them.
It was rather like being a recalcitrant daughter, regularly summoned to the library by a stern
Victorian father. He told me I had forfeited all emotional support and compassion while he was a teenager. Twice, when I was very poor, I asked him for food and was refused. Time passed, when I
could, I helped he and his wife with university and living expenses. He praised my generosity. Things appeared somewhat better, we fought seldom, until he repeated his same stance on lack of compassion. I broke down. It took two years for me to recover. Several years later, after on again
off again contact, I gave up, let go. Folded my tent and slipped away. I would not talk to him for eighteen months, although he tried repeatedly. Finally, when it seemed he had some understanding of my point of view around how disrespected I felt, we began to talk again. It seemed as if he was really trying, he told me he loved me with all his heart, but I remained wary. Good thing, it wasn’t long before the lack of compassion reared its head again. I politely told him how I felt, and retreated.