When you look closely at most religions, philosophical traditions, styles of psychological therapies, and even healthy friendship groups, you see that they all share the common feature of talking as a form of healing. The confessional, the therapist’s couch, the shared introspections, and the long phone calls all seem to serve the same core function: they act as an outlet, a way to let go of our troubles, a springboard for our ideas, or just an opportunity to process the complexities of life. There are of course differences in the beliefs, practices, and surrounding doctrine, but the practical reality is that healing comes when we talk.

Despite everything that happened, I loved my father and still do. To this day my biggest regret is not connecting with him more. I do not forgive him for what he put my brother and me through, but I regret not trying to get to know him on a deeper level, particularly as an adult. When I talk about my childhood, people always say something along the lines of:

“But you were just a child and he was the adult. He should have done more; it was his fault that your relationship fell apart.”

Yes, he was the adult and I was the child. But that truth does not change my role and my actions towards him. I still made the choice to limit contact. I still made the choice to become emotionally distant. I still made the choice to stop seeing him altogether for years. Despite all that he was and all that he did, I still played a role in our relationship, or lack thereof.