Growing up my mother used words like love and trust ad naseum. But I never saw those words in action.
My childhood never seemed especially pathetic, but as I reflect and mine stories from my childhood, all of my memories are depressingly sad. The only happy memories I have are when I was alone. I fondly remember playing with a frog in a puddle. I remember my imaginary friend ‘lamby’ who lived on my finger in a plastic toy. (And I remember losing it in the snow when I was probably too old to still have that embarrassing toy. And I frantically remember looking for it with the angst of the young boy in Pursuit of Happyness that dropped his one toy running to the bus. Heartbreaking!)
Love and trust were never shown in actions. I’m the executor of their will, but they won’t give me the code to the fire proof safe.
Our own dreams were not worthy, it was much more important to follow the rules of society and expectations of others.
We always had gifts, but they were necessities like socks, underwear and nylons. I never received the cabbage patch doll I dreamed of and begged for. My pathetic mother either bought and wrapped her own presents (a sweater) from my father or received a paper bag with a dish washer part in it because “that’s what you said you wanted” according to my dad. She never received anything that wasn’t “practical”, no tickets to a concert, no flowers, no games, no fun, no tokens of love, no smelly lotions or extravagant massages.
Family stories were NEVER shared. And when I tried to ask questions, the answers to “who did you go to prom with” or “why haven’t we seen our cousin Carl for 25 years, even though he lives an hour away?” or any other advice or family stories … the answer was always the same “That’s none of your business.”
My dad broke many wooden spoons on my behind, however I don’t remember being a particularly bad kid. My mom was constantly reading the book “why good kids do bad things”. I mean I’m sure I talked back when I was a teenager. But I never drank, did drugs, lied, snuck out of the house or went to any parties. In fact, every Friday night it was mandatory to go to my grandparents house for pie, never to the High School football game where my friends were. Which made it hard to make friends honestly… I had one friend in HS and all we did was walk around the mall.
I was by no means a star athlete, but my dad was working and my mom was watching my little brother and sister, and they never came to any of my track meets, the only High School sport I participated in.
We had a reading log and had to read the amount of minutes we wanted to watch tv. And if we went to a sleepover birthday party, I read nonstop for weeks to bank enough time. And this rule, along with so many others, were NON-negotiable. My mother sets her cruise control at 52mph in a 55 zone so “in case she goes down a hill, she doesn’t speed”. On Saturday nights we got one candy bar and my dad got the Sunday paper, and that was our Saturday night every week. We never had friends over, we never had a babysitter, we never went to someone else’s house. Friday, pie with grandparents. Saturday watch dad read the newspaper.
When we went on vacation, which was the same vacation every year (one week camping near a pool and unlimited swimming in either Illinois, Indiana or Wisconsin), my mom would never play with us in the pool, she would just sweat, wearing black pants in July sitting on the side of the pool reading because “heavy women shouldn’t wear shorts or swimsuits”.
When we went to visit my paternal grandparents for Christmas, only my brother would receive presents because “he’s the only one who is going to carry on the Baillie name.”
Invitations were important. You can’t just “stop by”. And when you invite someone, you pay for them. So 2 months before we were paying for our own wedding, we invited everyone up here for Mother’s Day, and ended up pay for steak for everyone too. And when we invited them over to meet Michael, they came up empty handed, held the baby and then asked what was for dinner.
I will grant my father some grace as I know he has undiagnosed PTSD from Viet Nam, but he was just never around, I suppose it was ingrained in him, he wasn’t allowed in the delivery room, he never went to college, his only focus was to work hard (in a union, a very entitled mentality) and then ‘relax’ and make decisions on how money was spent as the “head of the household”. But to this day he just sits there waiting for other people to cook, clean, clear his plate and otherwise take care of him. And my mom enables him, a damsel in distress who needs him to drive her and make all the decisions.
I need to just process all of these stories. Allow myself to grieve. Grieve my childhood friends, grieve my actual sad childhood, grieve the relationship I never had (and will never have) with my parents, and embrace my imagination.
My mother talked to her mother each and every day at 7:15am, but when I call my mom, she either says “you sound busy” and won’t talk to me or when they finally do come over and visit they make passive aggressive comments the whole time about how they’re never invited over. When we do get together in person, it’s painfully awkward, slow silences, no sports because we are “visiting”, but there is nothing ever of substance ever discussed.
I don’t want to live a life anything like my childhood. I came from a super dysfunctional family where no one dared speak about their dreams, goals, feelings or emotions. No one connected, shared or fully embraced life or experiences. They engineered a small, predictable, controlled, uninspired life and that’s what they lived. It was hollow and trivial and fell far from a life I would want. There was nothing squishy, big, bold, dreamy or beautiful about it.
I want a life filled with awe. With a daily dose of novelty. Big and wide and deep; not just long.
The best part of my life is for sure when I make my own decisions…. marriage, school, babies, friends, volunteering, experiencing new things … I choose gratitude, even in the face of misophonia, sleep apnea, anemia, sleep walking, ear tubes, cysts, biopsies, etc.
If you don’t come from a healthy family, make sure a healthy family comes from you.
I’m never good enough for them. But darn it, I’m good enough for me. I am enough. I am worthy of this life. I want to live my life growing, living, laughing, loving, making mistakes, experiencing all life has to offer and feeling all the feels.
I want a full, awake, alive, messy, life; full of struggle and growth, light and peace and where the answer to every question follows the path of love.
“Live a life of human heliotropism. Be the true self that seeks the light, winding and growing towards realization, pressing against the window pane of consciousness. “ Sue Monk Kidd
Be who you needed when you were younger.
When someone shows you who they really are, you should believe them.
The Lefty Writer 