Here is a little phenomenological interpretation of why I cried during our meeting. A story of my dad’s is playing in my head. “When [your twin brother] didn’t know a word, he’d ask me, and I would say, ‘well, sound it out…’. If you didn’t know a word, you’d ask me and I’d say, ‘well, sound it out,’ and you’d say ‘no, just tell me!’ And then you’d go and ask [your twin]. And that’s why he was reading at two-and-half and you were a bit later, when you were three.”
So not having the answers, and not being given the answers, taps into my personal narratives of being inferior to my (literally) genius twin brother in my father’s eyes.
Also, I have PMT at the moment.
Thank you for your patience.