Family, Egos, and Lessons

Every family gathering has its rituals. Food. Small talk. Nostalgia.
There is love and care at the center of it all. Beneath that, the full range of human emotion is quietly at work. Jealousy sits beside affection. Opinions are offered as facts. There is the urge to be right and the need to be seen.
We gathered for four days, long enough for patterns to surface without being named. This was a family I’m connected to through a past marriage—one I still share a relationship with, even now.

Person A, the host, was cooking when she held up her HexClad wok, pointing it out almost casually. Nonstick and other cookware, she explained, weren’t really safe. This, she said, was a better option, though expensive.

She mentioned she had bought a full set and added that I had bought one as well.

I said my old cookware was due for replacement anyway. It felt like a reasonable choice.

What felt truest, though, was simpler: I bought it, and I was happy with it.

I saw no reason to extend the conversation.

The next morning, I woke early and went for a walk. When I returned, Person B told me she would have joined me, except she had already been awake.

“I was researching HexClad,” she said.

There were lawsuits, apparently. Complaints about coatings peeling. Claims of false advertising.
She wasn’t planning to buy it. She didn’t need new cookware.

My mind began to analyze the situation. Who researches something they don’t intend to buy? Why offer all of this to someone who already has?

It felt less like sharing information, more like delivering a verdict.

I caught myself before responding.
“Oh really,” I said, and moved on.

When Person A appeared later, Person B repeated the entire analysis. I watched the two of them, animated and invested, arguing not so much about cookware as about something less visible. Each seemed intent on correcting the other, proving that their judgment carried weight.

The day before, the roles had been reversed. Person B had shown a Burberry jacket her son had gifted her. Person A reacted coolly, saying it probably hadn’t cost that much, while Person B suggested it might have.

A different object. The same undercurrent.
Status. Validation. Quiet score keeping.

These patterns appeared repeatedly during the gathering. What seemed like ordinary sharing often carried undertones of competition and subtle judgments. This wasn’t confined to Person A or B. Hints of this behavior were threaded through many interactions. They appeared in small gestures and fleeting exchanges.

As I watched these dynamics unfold, I couldn’t help noticing myself in the mix.

Dropping references to my solo travels.
Letting slip how carefree I’ve become.
Quietly signaling growth, independence, ease.

My mind was analyzing, drawing conclusions, noticing impulses to react, consciously choosing not to. Even as I restrained myself, my ego quietly took pride, pleased that I was above it all.

And then, something else in me quietly witnessed it all, observing both mind and body.
There was no urge to correct it.
No conclusion to draw.
Only the awareness of my ego rising, even in moments of silence.