What We Don't Know About the People We Live With

I found an old hard drive recently.

There were years of pictures on it, along with some videos I hadn't seen in a very long time. One of them was from when I was pregnant with my older daughter. I'm filming my partner, and they're talking about expecting her and how happy we are.

My daughter knows she was wanted. We've told her. She knows we love her. None of this was new information.

But watching that video was different.

She could see it. There we were, before she was even born, visibly happy that she was coming.

I've been thinking about that ever since, because I wish we had more of those little windows into each other. Not necessarily old videos, although apparently keeping random hard drives for years does have its benefits. Just some way of seeing what was actually going on inside another person at a moment when we weren't there.

We spend an enormous amount of time with the people in our families. I know by the energy when one of my kids walks in the room what the mood will be. I know my daughter's thing with her lips when she's closed off and done talking. I know what someone's breathing sounds like when they don't agree but aren't going to say so.

And still, we really don't know what it's like inside them.

We're still separate people.

The stories we make up about each other

I can look very competent when something needs doing. I'm a sex educator, so gender and sexuality are subjects I'm comfortable talking about. I can find information, make the call, figure out the next practical step, and be clear about what I think needs to happen.

None of that necessarily tells you how I'm doing.

But I forget that this works in the other direction too. I can look at my partner being quiet or one of my kids going about their day and think, Am I the only one worrying about this? Is nobody else thinking six steps ahead? The provider we still need to find, the name change paperwork, the conversation with the principal at school. And all the things. There's a restlessness in my gut that doesn't seem to be happening in anyone else's.

Maybe I'm not the only one. Maybe they're thinking about the same thing and just not saying it.

Or maybe I actually am the only one worrying about it.

That's possible too.

And from the outside, those two things can look exactly the same.

I think we do this constantly with the people we live with. Someone is quiet, so we decide they're fine. Someone doesn't bring something up, so apparently it isn't on their mind. Someone is getting things done, so we assume they have it under control.

We take what we can see and fill in the rest.

We don't automatically know what's happening with our kids either

I think this is especially easy to forget with our kids because we know so much about their lives. Or at least we think we do.

We know about the appointment. The school situation. The thing their friend said. The relative who still gets their pronouns wrong. We may be thinking about what is happening politically, what might happen next year, or what needs to be decided three months from now.

And they may be thinking about all of those things too.

Or they may be wondering what they're going to wear tomorrow.

The same goes for siblings. Having a transgender or nonbinary sibling may be something they think about a lot. They may worry. They may be angry about something happening in the world. They may have questions they haven't asked.

Or this may simply be their sibling, while they have friends and school and their own problems and approximately 400 other things happening in their heads.

We don't automatically know which one it is.

Unfortunately, some things are easier to see

There is another side to all of this that is slightly less flattering.

Even when my family can't see what I'm worried about, they can sometimes experience the effects of it. I can be distracted, tired, or impatient.

Sometimes I get snappy, and I know I'm being unfair almost as it's coming out of my mouth.

That's the really annoying part.

There's this little voice in my head going, What are you doing? This has nothing to do with them. Stop.

And I know it's right. I'm aware of what's happening. I want to stop.

But sometimes it's like being in a car that's already going down the wrong road. I know I'm on the wrong road; I'm trying to hit the brakes… and for some reason the damn brakes aren't working.

So there I am, fully aware that this is not where I want to be going and apparently still driving.

And obviously, not every time I'm irritated has some deeper meaning connected to my child. Sometimes I'm irritated because I'm irritated. Sometimes somebody is simply annoying me.

But we can keep what's happening inside us private without actually keeping all of it to ourselves.

The people around us may not know why we're somewhere else. They just know we're somewhere else.

And of course, that means I have to allow for the possibility that this is happening with them too.

Maybe we check the story we're telling ourselves

I don't want my family to talk about everything. Really.

I don't need access to every thought my kids have, and they certainly don't need access to every thought I have. I also don't think the answer is sitting around the dinner table processing how everybody feels every time something happens.

I would not survive that family.

And asking How is this for you? doesn't necessarily get me anywhere either. They may not want to talk about it. They may not have the words yet. Or it may just be the wrong moment.

But if I notice that I've started filling in the blanks, I can at least own that part.

I can say, Look, I've got this story in my head that you're really worried about this and you're just not saying anything. Is that actually true? Or am I getting this wrong?

Maybe I am wrong. Maybe the person I assumed was fine isn't. Maybe my kid is struggling with something totally different from the thing I've been carefully watching. Or maybe everybody really is fine, and I'm the only one who's been running scenarios in my head.

Also useful information.

And sometimes I don't ask anything. With my kids, there are those moments when everything is right and suddenly something comes out that wasn't ready before. It can happen out of nowhere. You stop what you're doing and you take it, because you know it won't stay open long.

I don't think we're ever going to completely know what it's like inside the people we love. We have a hard enough time completely understanding ourselves. Expecting to know another person in their entirety seems a little ambitious.

But every once in a while, we get one of those little windows. Sometimes it's an old video on a hard drive you forgot you had. Sometimes someone tells you that the story in your head is completely wrong. And sometimes they start talking when you weren't expecting it at all.

And then somebody needs a ride somewhere, or wants to know what's for dinner. And life continues.

If you want someone to ask how you are doing. Not what needs to happen next, not the appointments, not the logistics. That's what the Anchor Call is for. It's free, it's 45 minutes, and it's a real conversation.

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Visual Transparency: All images in this article were generated via DALL-E to illustrate the concepts discussed.