Dear Lottie and Tom,
I read an article last year by a journalist I used to work with, titled ‘tough conversations’.
This guy writes about rugby league for a living. Rugby league is a tough game… in a tough, often blokey environment. He’s a well-respected scribe, knows his trade, and he’s good with words – ‘gooder’ than me.
His toughest conversation was when he told his Dad he was gay.
A conversation he’d played out for years in his mind, and one he admitted after, that he felt better once it was had – but a tough conversation nonetheless.
The seven stages of grief on The Well.
The article got me thinking about my own ‘tough conversations’ or to be more specific… the toughest.
And I didn’t have to think too hard, because I knew what it was.
Telling you both your mum had died, was, and will hopefully be, the toughest conversation I ever have.
Unlike Andrew, I didn’t have time to analyse, and potentially agonise over my tough conversation. Mine was forced upon me in minutes – not months, not years.
Yes it was surrounded by shock… and yes it was a gut reaction to a tragic situation, but it’s still something I remember clearly, something I’ve never doubted, and weirdly something that was and has become more empowering over time.
That might sound strange, but knowing you can handle a tough conversation, or potentially the toughest, opens a tiny little window of wisdom to suggest that maybe the rest of those conversations you’ve been putting off, or hiding from, aren’t actually that tough.