We’re taught that when someone from our past contacts us, we should feel and show some warmth. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed or how things ended. At the very least, we’re expected to be gracious.
But when someone I hadn’t spoken to in over six years sent me a package of food last Christmas, I didn’t feel warmth at all. I wasn’t gracious either. I felt deeply insulted. And let’s not even forget the randomness of that gesture, too. I mean, food? Out of the blue? Please!
My first thought wasn’t “Aww…how sweet.” It was, “How dare you?” Six years had passed. Those weren’t just years that went by because life happened. Something real was going on then, and they knew it. I needed my friends’ support more than ever. During all that time, there was nothing. No calls, no check-ins; all I got was crickets. I made several attempts to reach out (yeah, I know…crazy!). I wanted to check in and make sure they were ok. After all, life doesn’t revolve around me. But I still got silence. And that silence became the norm.
And lo and behold, out of nowhere, this person sent me a Ziploc full of homemade spring rolls a few days before Christmas. Delivered by their family member. There was no note or context, nothing. I was like, wait. What?! Not even worth a flimsy note? Damn.
I didn’t know what to make of it. Did they think I was hungry? Or did they think spring rolls without a message would miraculously erase those six years of silence? Ah, it must have been a mistake, right? Come on, now. It must have been.
In the past, I would have swallowed my feelings, written a long text to thank them, trying to be the bigger person and make peace at my own expense. Heck, I probably would have initiated a coffee date, pretended those six years of silence didn’t happen and mistaking crumbs for care. I thought that being easy was the only way to keep connections alive. Boy, was I wrong.
I looked at the Ziploc of spring rolls and thought about how awkward the whole situation was. I realised then that responding would be a lie. Oh yes. It would be a total disrespect to me, myself and I. And a whooping let down to my personal growth.
That old role, you know, the one that turned small gestures into care and explained absence as a misunderstanding, was a coping mechanism I had already phased out and relegated to oblivion. You see, survival strategies never announce that they’ve expired. They cling on for dear life, hoping you won’t notice you’ve outgrown them.
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t out of pettiness, though I can be petty. But from where I was standing, any reply would drag me back to an old version of me I no longer recognise. I didn’t need to make a big scene or send an awkward “thank you” text I’d most likely regret. All I needed to see was that the old role no longer fit who I am now.
I’ve come to understand that growth isn’t always a big, obvious life event. Sometimes it’s the small moment when you realise you can stop playing a role that kept you stuck for years and choose something that actually respects who you’re becoming.
I explored this in depth in The Identity Bracelet, where we examine the roles we take on to protect ourselves and learn when to shed them slowly or let them go altogether. Boundaries aren’t always about others. Sometimes it’s noticing which part of you is trying to take back control, and deciding whether you still need its help. And sometimes the most authentic thing you can do at a given moment is nothing.
Ok, that’s it.
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