My father's reaction to the aforementioned situation is, "I think you just wanted to whine a little bit."
It can be rather intensely frustrating to be told how you're really feeling. Particularly by a parental unit--because s/he might be right. While I'm in the throes of confessing, I might as well confess to liking to whinge on occasion. As you might know. If you've been reading this blog for . . . at least a month.
But it might also be more a matter of what we're actually talking about. I can say I Don't Like Writing, but maybe what I really mean is I Don't Like the Discipline of actually making myself sit down and pound out a few pages. Once I start doing it, though, it's not so bad. I still have to take it in baby-steps--like, yesterday I wrote for an hour and that felt like a record. But, you know, I did it.
My dad might think I really like writing, and what he's thinking of is that I like Having Written. Which is most undoubtedly true. And the fact remains that I communicate with more people more and in more depth via the written word than the spoken one, usually, I think.