Dear Eric >> I have years of writing under my belt.

During a recent family visit, I spent a lot of time hearing about grown kids’ accomplishments. I asked questions and was a good listener. At one point, my husband read a story he’d written, and the family praised his efforts to the moon.

Meanwhile, no one asked about my writing.

I suppose I was subconsciously annoyed that my husband got so much praise and attention. Telling a story about him, I started it out in a way that made him look bad. Everyone shut down and shut me out. When my husband told me I’d hurt his feelings, I apologized to him, and to everyone the next morning.

I realized later that this felt familiar — my feeling low and needing to bring someone down to my level. My father often belittled me to show himself in a better light. I see him as the childhood trauma I’m still trying to recover from, six decades since.

How do I move past this pattern? Any advice you have to help me break free of this childhood issue would be gratefully accepted and adopted.

— Wanna Change

Dear Change >> As a writer, you well know that a character is often tripped up by the flaws that they’re unaware of and unwilling to change. But you aren’t a fictional character, and you’ve made two fantastic first steps by recognizing the issue and deciding to switch courses. You’re cresting the hill on the plot arc and heading, hopefully, toward a happy resolution.

Continue to process the ways that your father’s treatment has affected you, in therapy, if possible, but also through journaling. Identifying the traps that have been laid for you will help you find tools for avoiding them, removing them and making new patterns.

Look into a writer’s group, locally or online. We all need praise, encouragement (and sometimes commiseration). Being in the company of other writers will help you right-size your expectations of your family and also, hopefully (with the right cohort) help you feel seen.

The next time you’re with family and you’re feeling that itch to be recognized, remind yourself that the accomplishments of others don’t diminish your efforts. And don’t be afraid to ask your family to listen. “Can I tell you about a piece of writing I’m excited about?” is a way of opening up a conversation and letting people into what can be an isolating craft.

Dear Eric >> I’m not close to my 88-year-old mother. For all of my life we have not gotten along. I never fit into her “mold” for me. I have made the decision not to have any type of communication with her yet again for eight years now. I’m better without her and her melodramatics in my life. I feel that it’s hypocritical of me to attend her service when she does pass. That is my decision. I have no “wonderful” memories to reflect on. My goodbye is my goodbye. Your thoughts, please.

— Distant Daughter

Dear Daughter >> This is your decision. Your siblings are operating inside their own narratives and relationships with your mother. They may want — or even think they need — you to co-sign their version of events in order to properly grieve. That isn’t the case. You don’t have to create wonderful memories where there weren’t any. And your memories, good or bad, don’t change their memories.

Sometimes, especially when a family member dies, we feel that we need everyone to gather around one shared story of a life. When family members don’t, it can create conflict that’s often exacerbated by grief.

Your siblings will need to work on releasing you from that expectation. In turn, try to release them from needing to see or affirm the story you’re in. You don’t have to get dragged into debate, especially before your mother’s death. So, if and when the subject comes up, respectfully but firmly decline to engage.

Even though, as you write, your goodbye is your goodbye, I’d recommend talking about the feelings you have now with someone you trust and who can listen to your truth.

Send questions to R. Eric Thomas at eric@askingeric.com