Lillian Heckler Portfolio

may 2022

He sighs and pulls his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the red indents they’ve left behind. He is tired. He is tired of waking up and hearing her speak, watching her scrub at the dishes, and feeling her hot anger.

She looks at him from across the kitchen counter and unpacks his features. He is quiet, sharp, and handsome. His temper is short enough that she finds herself participating in arguments ten minutes prior to their beginning. She does not understand how to communicate with him.

They still love one another, I tell my friends. Sometimes it can get hard, I insist, but I know that it is not the truth. She has slept on the couch for all of the years that I have been alive.

When we were younger, my closest sister and I often imagined what our lives would be like if they divorced. I would go with mom—I could handle her attitude and victim complex—and she would move in with dad. Having a plan made us feel more secure; the fights were volatile and frequent. We were less than surprised when our mother sat us down to tell us that they were separating; it hurt more when they revoked the words within the next day. 

As children do, my sister and I watched intently as our parents yelled and screamed and threatened. We sucked it all up and committed it to memory, swearing that we would never fall into the same habits that we witnessed. However, their explosive relationship and emotional unavailability had already burned a fear of abandonment into our young minds.

Because of this, my sister and I find ourselves latching onto the male figures in our lives. We crave the support that we never received from our father, yet we are pulled toward those who mirror his actions. 

I can feel myself plunging into my mother’s behavior, settling for emotional stress because it is comfortable. I make so many excuses for the men in my life that my lungs turn inside out. I live with the bare minimum because sometimes, he loves me in a way that feels warm. 

There is no singular manner of relationship that exists between woman and man. Rather, there exists a formula: the treatment one accepts in his or her connections with the opposite sex stems from observed interactions. I am afraid that I am becoming my mother. I am afraid that I will fall in love with my father.