Keeping the peace can cost you connection

Politeness can cost you relationships

Originally published in my Substack: First Draft Thoughts with RV Mendoza.

“Do you want a cookie?” she asked. I barely nod my head no.

Nothing was wrong. Lunch ended. Plates cleared. The moment passed the way it always does, unnoticed but heavy.

That familiar numbness crept in. The one that tells me to disappear politely.

My mom asks a lot of questions.

“Do you want this? Do you remember that? Do you need anything to take home? How many bananas do you want?”

I get snippy when I’m overwhelmed. I don’t want to be mean to my mom, so I answer with clipped and numbed “yeses” and “nos”.

It’s gotten better over the years, but after visiting my parents, I often dissociate. I try to stay warm and kind, the loving child I know I am. I push through the regression…the angsty teenager creeping back in.

I feel awful snapping at someone who’s being thoughtful and generous. So I flatten myself. I numb out to keep the peace.

I hate that version of me.

I don’t want my last moments with them to feel cold or robotic. I already carry enough anxiety about final interactions with my mom.

So I tried something new.

I told her that when I get asked a lot of questions in a row, I shut down. That I want to stay kind, so I go quiet. I kept it anchored in my experience, using what I’ve learned about nonviolent communication.

I’d been scared to say this. Usually I’m too numb in the moment to speak clearly. All I want is to be with her, but she’s often thinking ahead. Packing. Preparing. Making sure.

We wanted the same thing.

She was trying to give. I was trying to connect.

Something softened between us. I felt tethered to her in a way I hadn’t before. Like the connection I’d been protecting was finally visible.

I didn’t have a solution. I just wanted to be witnessed. That turned out to be enough.

We figured it out together.

We landed on something simple. When it was time to go, we’d go through all her questions at once. On purpose.

It changed the vibe of the entire day.

We talked about mental health. She asked about trauma. She wondered if she or my dad had done something wrong.

I told her no one gets through life untouched. Everyone carries something.

I told her therapy made me happier. That it helped me want more from my life. That healing isn’t about blame. It’s about responsibility.

That way of thinking came from my parents.

Masikap. They taught me to problem solve. To be diligent. To take ownership. Those values are why I can tend to my mental health now. Even if I inherited some pain from my parents, I inherited many tools too.

They taught me I was worth the effort.

I told her something I hadn’t before. I’m on anxiety meds.

It felt safe to say because I felt understood.

I left feeling closer to her than I have in a long time. She wasn’t a parent I had to manage. She was a teammate.

The conversation clarified the difference between peace and connection.

I spent years keeping the peace. Soft answers. Making myself smaller. Swallowing my experience so no one felt uncomfortable. It looked considerate. It sounded polite.

But it wasn’t connection.

Keeping the peace kept things calm. It also kept me at a distance. It protected the moment while slowly thinning the relationship.

That day showed me something else.

Connection comes from letting yourself be felt. From naming what’s happening inside you before numbness takes over.

I didn’t lose my mom by speaking up.

I found her.