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"And how does that make you feel?" She asked as she tapped her pen lightly on her notebook.
Minho swallowed roughly, feeling a bead of sweat forming on his brow.
He looked down at his hands. They were rough and dry. He rubbed them together, wishing he had some lotion or something.
"Well..." he said, swallowing again. "I guess... I feel like I'm not trying hard enough. Because... maybe I'm... Maybe I'm not happy." He said slowly and reluctantly.
"And why does that feel hard to admit?" She asked.
"Because I have a good life." Minho said, tears welling in his eyes.
The therapist nodded, waiting for him to expand on that thought.
He hoped she would say something, but there was this awkwardly long silence, forcing his thoughts to spiral. "And because if my family knows I'm not happy, they'll feel like it's because of them, but... I know it's not because of them. It's... it's just me." He said, feeling more anxious after the words left his mouth.
The therapist hummed and wrote something down.
She looked back up at him and focused her eyes calmly. "Do you remember the last time you felt at ease with your life?"
Minho looked up, hoping no tears would fall. He thought for a long time. When was it?
"I guess... I didn't feel at ease as a child. My dad would come and go. He loved me, but I didn't always feel that way. . . .
Because I was too young to understand why he had to go. But I know there were a lot of times when I felt happy as a kid. I didn't have much responsibility. And then.... After my mom died, I don't think there was any time I felt at ease or happy. I wanted everyone else to feel happy, so I tried to make it seem like I knew what I was doing. And I hated my dad and blamed him for everything. So, when he died too, I felt guilty. Because I was harsh with him, just like I have been with everyone." Minho said, feeling defeated.
The therapist again just waited.
Minho sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But. . . I did start to feel at ease again. When I was about 18 and I had lived with my older brother for a few years, and then we moved back to Korea. I started to feel more relaxed. My other siblings were a bit older, so they weren't as much work, and I wasn't really responsible for that much because my brother took care of me. And I felt good to be back home. Actually, I think that was the last time I felt at ease. But then, when I was about 23, they moved back to Canada, and I decided to stay here."
The therapist nodded again. "And do you feel like you lost some support after that?"
Minho took a deep breath, not really wanting to continue talking. He shrugged.
She hummed, trying to think of a different question.
"How do you think you've changed since they left?" She asked.
He looked down. "I think I became even less social. I used to talk with my brothers all the time. But now I hardly even talk to my family. They're all busy, and they were the ones who made the effort before. I guess I don't initiate conversations very often. . . So I've been told."
She hummed.
"And I don't really joke around much. I do sometimes. I try to be more light-hearted with my wife and my kids, but. . . . . Every time one of the kids does something wrong, I get upset quickly. And then it's hard to.... to bounce back from it. Sometimes I have to be stern with them, but I end up seeming cold to them, I think."
YOU ARE READING
Our Family
Ficción General*Sequel* What would it be like to be the patriarch of a family of eight boys? Christopher knows all too well. His parents were out of the picture at a young age, and since then, he's been in charge of the family. He's raised his brothers as if they...
