135. Inheritance

My father was a man who lived his life by a strict set of standards and ideals. He possessed a disciplined and logical mind that I like to believe I inherited from him. Likewise, my mother is a gentle, loving woman, and I like to think that my compassion and need to nurture comes from her. While I would love to believe that becoming a mother aided the growth of my loving and caring side, I fear that the subsequent decision to give William up has only served to fortify the cold, distant part of myself. I'm not entirely certain where this hardness comes from or why I've allowed it to infiltrate the very core of my being. Perhaps my father had it and I was merely fortunate enough to have never seen that side of him.

I'm aware that I convey an image of cool, somewhat icy detachment. There isn't anything I can do to change the way others perceive me, but I would like, just once, for someone to see me as I really am. I know, without a doubt, that desire - that need to be seen as more than some uptight, humorless, unfeeling shrew - is all my own and inherited from no one.

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