I don’t enjoy disagreeing with my mother. It makes me feel shaky, scared, anxious, fundamentally unsafe. I don’t think it felt safe, in the house where I grew up, to disagree.

So why am I doing it, here, in the early morning, with my bare feet out on the balcony in the autumn air, all by myself? My mum, sleeping 4400 miles away, is definitely not learning anything from the debate that’s raging back and forth in my own head. Am I?

My creative and problem-solving mind keeps thinking if I could just say the right thing, do the right thing, then my mother would act in ways that made me feel a greater sense of acceptance and comfort, and “Hurrah”, “Kumbaya”, “Hallelujah” we would arrive.

My mind wants to solve problems, and I know that’s a human thing. I also know this isn’t how relationships work. You don’t win. You can’t win. You don’t want to win. You aren’t broken, they aren’t broken, there’s nothing to ‘fix’. Relationships are games you just wanna keep on playing.