“My childhood was long on structure and stability, but short on emotional expression. I rarely saw anyone in my family cry, and can’t remember that my father, who died unexpectedly when I was 18, ever laughed. Instead, I remember a lot of routine. Dinner was always at 6:30; grocery shopping happened on Thursdays; the garden was watered on Saturdays. In part as a result of that structure, I became a high achiever and seemed well adjusted.
But in my 20s, when emotions began to bubble up, I found my own feelings bewildering, and those of others outright baffling. The day my dad died I was at college, and I casually attended class before catching a plane home. At 25, when a close friend revealed suicidal thoughts, the best I could offer was a suggestion to exercise.
My disconnectedness scared me enough to send me to therapy.”
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