Now that I’ve gotten into medical school, I’m unsettled by the amount of time I suddenly have on my hands. It feels like a fast-moving train has come to an abrupt halt. It’s this abrupt halt that forced some revelations.

I’ve been seeing my caretakers with softer eyes. As one recently told me, “now that you’re at the end of this long journey, you’re able to think more clearly and let go of things that no longer serve you.” Letting go, in this case, of the complex feelings that I held towards the adults in my life.

Amma, I’m noticing her hunched back and grayer strands. Her callused hands as she hustles between the kitchen, corporate life, and care-taking for her mother and mother-in-law. I notice the tiredness surround her eyes, and yet her willingness to still make something for me after a long day of work. I’m noticing that she’s trying after our conversation, to be better, to meet her children where they’re at, to not force us to love but rather allow us to love at our own pace. She messes up constantly, but I’m noticing that I’m not as cruel or quick to scold.

Nanna, the man I thought was physically and emotionally unbreakable, has officially broken. His back has given out and his heart almost followed, but a newly-placed stent has caused him to have his own little “abrupt train halt” moment. He has finally accepted that no family is perfect and ours is far from perfect. He’s realized that his kids may have more wisdom to share than he once thought. Friends are important, friends become safe spaces and should become safe spaces. More importantly, he’s a man who has realized that emotional strength does not come from giving pieces of yourself away, but rather from feeding yourself with love, acceptance, help, joy, and more. He’s a man who has realized that therapy is not just for his daughter, but also perhaps, for him. I’m noticing that in many ways, maybe Nanna has become more unbreakable as he himself is learning to live within his mind and body.

And then there’s Nani, the powerhouse of a woman who raised me. Who I actually thought was unbreakable. I now see her, trying to battle her own body, struggling to compete with her once-upon-a-time youth and youthful engagement. She can no longer cook a curry in one sitting; it now takes multiple. Her once, although invisible, biceps were filled with strength. Now it’s covered with left over marks from numerous injections and blood work jabs. Her smile is still the same, but her face has lost its radiance. Some docs blame it on her kidneys, others blame it on her joints, a few blame it on her psyche. Who knows?

As I view these three adults, who were and still are my guardians, I’ve discovered the circle of life. Perhaps we’re all just big babies living in adult bodies. I’ve learned to adopt Dr. Gabor Maté’s principle that our adult behaviors, actions, and feelings are a product of our childhood experiences. So I’m softer now, seeing the adults as scared, abandoned children who’ve worked relentlessly to build a life for themselves.