Besides being ugly another obstacle I’ve got to get over when trying to make lasting relationships with people happens to be on the topic of family. For a lot of you perhaps your family is a supportive and positive thing for you but for me my feelings towards them are really confusing, like each feeling is a puzzle piece but none of the pieces fit, they don’t even make the same picture.
That didn’t make sense, right?
deep breath. in, out.
I should start with an experience, a memory I guess. When I was about five or six I remember looking at my mother and thinking, “She might not be my mom. Somebody’s mom, but not mine.”
Being that age of course I didn’t understand why I had those thoughts, it just came to me and I kept on thinking about my not-mom’s “real” family and if she loves them and misses them. Because with the way she looked so tired just looking at me it made me feel that maybe she couldn’t wait to get home to see her real kid.
It took a few years but when that memory resurfaced I think I got a good grasp of why I thought that way: I felt unloved. It’s a very strange thing to feel as a child. I felt that way growing into my teenage years and even now I think that feeling lingers behind every thought I have towards anything and anyone and it might not be the root cause of a lot of my anxiety and doubts but it sure did make an impact.
My father is a whole other story, someone I’ll elaborate more on at a later time but he was like my mother, perhaps even worse.
So now you know my sob story, the origin story of a non-hero (if this was a movie I’d be the lady who gets robbed in the opening scene or even the passing scenery). What does this all mean?
It means that I’ve never really felt loved by my parents as a child and instead of addressing the issue and telling them or someone about it I left it alone and accepted it as my reality. I’m a kid whose parents didn’t care for, simple as that. I didn’t even think it was that bad, since I could dye my hair, stay out late, wear whatever I wanted without someone nagging over me. I felt “free” (or as free as a child in a small town could get).
Then, as I grew up with this reality– among other realities including being ugly of course– I realized that there was this huge distance between me and my parents. There was no finger pointing there, both parties were at fault; they reached out but I wasn’t ready, and when I was they were busy yet again.
It was all just inevitability anyways, I think we all knew that.
We worked together to seem normal in the public eye, I’d laugh at my mom’s jokes, put an arm around my dad as if I’ve been doing it all my life and smile! There’s people here, so smile! Maybe we all knew that pretending was easier than making up excuses (and easier than explaining at all).
But the truth of it all was that we were all alientated from one another. When one talked the other didn’t listen or respond. Quiet rooms, silent conversations, untold expectations. There was so much happening and at the same time nothing at all. And I had had enough.
Call me a bad daughter or whatever for not trying to rekindle a relationship with my parents, that “they will always be your mom and dad” bullshit has been said to me before and honestly I’ve tried. Know this, I don’t hate my parents. There were ill feelings whenever there were arguments but I don’t hate them. At the same time however…I honestly cannot say that I love them either (and it’s hard to admit this so please don’t tell me that I’m acting like some angsty teenager here).
Right now as I’m writing about them I don’t even feel much. I guess there’s some resentment over my childhood but it’s mostly a hollow feeling which I think is better than feeling anger at them. Not saying that hollow-ness is a nice feeling though, some days the lack of feelings turns out to be enough to bring me to tears.
I’m estranged from my family. Maybe in the future things will change but for the record, I’m not getting my hopes up.