Are You Happy?
Family Isn’t Always Toxic. Sometimes, It’s Just You.
It was supposed to be a perfect moment.
My brother David had flown across the world to visit us in Vietnam. It was everything I wanted: a reunion in a place I love, with a person I love, during a chapter of life that I’ve fought hard to build.
My wife and I were settled. The place was beautiful. The food was cheap. My linen shirt was, for once, not damp with sweat. Everything was lining up. And then David said something unforgivable.
“So hey… are you happy?”
That’s it. That’s the whole thing. We were waiting for our takeout, leaning against our motorbike like a couple of locals who knew what they were doing, when he casually dropped it.
And I spiraled.
Because when my brother [who has never fallen short of fully embracing my bold moves in life] asks a kind, normal question, what else is there to do but to let my unresolved emotional backlog decide it’s go-time.
Now, I’m sure normal, emotionally well-regulated people might take that as a moment of connection. A check-in. A kind prompt. A brother being a brother.
Me? I heard:
“You’re flailing.”
“You’ve made a mistake.”
“This whole expat-linen-shirt-life thing?
"It’s a performance.”
“You’re not fooling anyone.”
Let me be clear: David said none of those things. Not with his words. Not with his tone. Not even with his eyebrows, which have been known to be expressive.
When Love Feels Like Judgment
So what happened?
Humans have spent the past decade collectively unearthing the language of trauma and toxicity. It’s powerful and it’s necessary too. There’s been real liberation in learning we don’t have to carry the dysfunction of our families forward. That boundaries are real things and that our peace matters.
But there’s another piece I think we miss. Sometimes the toxic dynamic isn’t out there. It’s not your aunt. It’s not your dad. It’s not even the cousin who posts cryptic Facebook statuses.
Sometimes… it’s you.
My brother David is one of the most generous, curious, deeply decent people I know. He’s the kind of guy who asks how you’re doing. The kind who shows up, tries to listen hard, and actually wants to hear you talk about your feelings. He’s been that way our whole lives.
And still. There I was. Assuming he doubted me. Assuming he didn’t get it.
Why on earth would I assume he was questioning my choices instead of, you know, just checking in? Why? Because some part of me still wasn’t fully sold. Not on the choice or the life I’ve built.
But on myself. The work, as they say, is mine.
Sometimes the Problem Isn’t Your Family. It’s Your Filter.
David’s question wasn’t the problem. The problem was the filter I ran it through. A filter built from years of self-doubt, internalized expectations, and moments where I wasn’t sure I deserved to be this far away, this happy, and this free.
It’s like my nervous system still thinks happiness is a scam I’m running and my brother just found the receipts. But it's not exactly "status quo Stephen," as I tend to look at it. Something is different.
I caught it. Maybe not in time to save the moment. I spiraled… but I noticed the spiral. And when I came back down to earth (after a large bowl of phở and a slightly-too-sincere apology), I could see it for what it was:
Not a rift or a toxic moment. Just a loving nudge landing in an unready body.
What I’m Learning About Receiving Love
The Truth is I want to keep doing the work so I can keep receiving that love. David’s question wasn’t a judgment. It was an invitation. To pause, check in and maybe, even for a second, say:
Yeah. I actually am. Or: Not quite. But I’m getting there.
And isn’t that what we’re all trying to do?
When the Spiral Becomes the Teacher
Not all spirals are signs something’s wrong. Sometimes they’re just smoke signals from old wiring. But when the wiring sparks, and the love is still standing there [steady, curious, and undeterred], you start to trust the ground beneath you again.
So David, if you’re reading this, next time, ask me again. And maybe this time, I’ll just say “yes.”
Love you. Maybe more than you know.
