2016, a personal review

Tags

bombshell, change, changes, competence, development, driving, job, parents, poetry, sons, therapy

I think, as we enter a new year that I’ve come such a long way and yet still have such a long way to go. I wonder if I will ever make it. I’m more aware of the work yet to do and it scares me. Feeling comfortable with who I am sounds so simple and yet so far.

I’m sitting in the pub starting this while listening to Comfortably Numb which is what it takes to start this post I’ve been ruminating over for the last week. I’m finishing it at home the next day.

Whether 2016 has been a good or a bad year for me I really don’t know. I think it has actually been good but I don’t feel it.

Bad Dreams

Tags

2sis, acceptance, dream, mind, parents, sleep, subconscious

I thought, this year, and since finishing my last lot of therapy that I had accepted things.

I thought that I had got to a good place where I had thought about all the things my parents, and 2sis, had done to piss me off during my childhood, and that I had come to grips with them. I understood, forgave them and more crucially, stopped worrying about it all.

I was moving on, however slowly. (And about time too!)

My dreams tell me that I clearly haven’t got over it. Over the last few months I’ve dreamed of my parents and my sister more than ever before. I’ve shouted at them, told them what for and broken off relationships. In the latest instalment, I was with 2sis and we came across a limestone wall, limestone that reminded me of my grandmother’s house which 2sis now owns and I burst into tears. Then I woke up.

I don’t like waking up tearful and angry, feeling emotional before I’ve even got out of bed or opened my eyes.

I thought that I had got over the fact that they were never going to understand how much hurt they’d caused me, were never going to apologise or even acknowledge the unhappiness I grew up with. I don’t expect them ever to say something intelligent on the subject, ever. As for 2sis, I haven’t spoken or communicated with her for several years and I think I’ve got used to it.

So why the dreams? Is it just my subconscious come to terms with what my head’s decided? Is it that I’ve accepted all this on some levels but not all the way down and therefore it’s working its way through my mind in my dreams?

I don’t know, and probably never will. I do hope this period doesn’t go on for ever though. It’s ruining my sleep.

Breaking My Silence

Tags

acceptance, anger, childhood, dreams, grief, kubler-ross, parents, stuggle

Unsurprisingly enough I find it easier to write when I’m thinking positively than when life is difficult. And yet it’s then I need most to practice talking about hard feelings.

During these past few weeks I’ve been slowly and steadily sinking, plunging myself into a morass of despair.

The good thing is that whenever one of 2son’s professionals have asked me how I’m doing I have told them at length how I’m doing,  rather than sticking to a one word lie in reply.

A few weekends ago I went to see my friend (mentioned in Theatre) in a quality amateur production. Naturally we stayed behind to say well done to him afterwards and spent a few minutes listening to him delight in the back stage camaraderie and in house jokes and friendships that had developed. As we made our weary way back to London and for several days after, his words reverberated in my head. His joy, his sense of belonging, of pride and achievement. I wondered why he gets to chase his dream and I gave up on mine. Then I listen to his parents praising him, for his achievements, his hard work and dedication and I stop wondering. Is that what it’s like to have parents who support and encourage you?

I’m still grieving and mourning for the childhood I never had, for the friends not made, the parties not gone to, the fun not had, the mistakes I didn’t make, the learning I didn’t manage, for the silly tales I haven’t got to tell. I’m wishing I’d had the confidence then to stand up for my parents and make a difference while recognising that it’s not unexpected that I didn’t. I want to have been a child, to have had the “normal” childhood problems with friendships, growing up, boyfriends and all the rest of it. I wish I had parents who supported me and gave me strength rather than chipped away at me.

And that’s on top of the dream not followed. I’m stuck in the depression stage of the Kübler-Ross model. I’ve spent most of my life in denial, pretending that it wasn’t that bad really as I wasn’t capable of dealing with the truth. I’ve got angry this year, probably not angry enough and never to the point of saying anything about anything much to my parents. The third stage is bargaining. I was never very good at wishing to be able to go back and do it all again, because I couldn’t see a pivotal point where I made the wrong decision. Even as a teenager I was also terrified of the prospect of having to go through my childhood all over again if that magic time wand could be waved. (I’m almost resisting temptation to call it a timey-wimey wand.)

The stage I haven’t got to yet is acceptance, which starts off “Grief Work” with:
T = To accept the reality of the loss
E = Experience the pain of the loss
A = Adjust to the new environment without the lost object
R = Reinvest in the new reality

I haven’t accepted the reality of my loss. I still yearn for what I didn’t have and feel angry towards people I perceive as having it instead.

And I’m struggling. I’m struggling to keep my head above water while looking after 3 boys as well. As an aside, 1son had a trial shift behind a bar this Saturday which he survived but said it was the hardest day’s work he’s ever done. About time I say, but with pride. I can’t be bothered to cook for them or me. I’m struggling to put in the effort to get 2son up. I’m stopping talking to people. I’m not doing the school run so I don’t have to make polite (or impolite) conversation with anyone and I really can’t be bothered. Except for the few people who really know and share what’s happening I don’t want to talk about it. If it wasn’t for being able to have a laugh with my Saturday friends life would have nothing whatsoever to offer. I’m trying to accept that I simply can’t go out during the week unless I’m back early and that’s the way it has to be for the moment. I’m cutting back on work and I’m cutting back on fun evenings out.

I didn’t have a session last week and have my last session with my current counsellor this week. I’m getting bored of counselling and think I need a break before going back and would happily try something else if there was something else to try. Trying to look at what I have achieved this year is going to be difficult as at the moment any achievement seems irrelevant to the struggle to get through the day. I’m barely doing any exercise and as for HAES or trying to put myself first, well it’s bloody difficult. I’m watching more crap on television and reading for books for pleasure as I haven’t the enthusiasm for anything else. That’s about as far as looking after me goes at the moment. And I’m angry that I feel like shit.

 

Time To Come Off the Fence

Tags

anxiety, confrontation, fear, parents, protective bubble, tears

We discussed this whole question of my feeling torn in two directions in counselling.

On the one hand I’m feeling that I’m still in quite a nice place at the moment and I’d like to focus on staying here and feeling good, trying to drive that feeling forward into the future, with hope, joy and a positive disposition.

On the other hand I can’t ever be genuinely happy until I am at peace with myself and that involves digging up emotions I’d prefer to leave buried. We have done the superficial rational looking at my childhood, what happened, why it happened, why my parents are who they are and how all that has permeated my life beyond the obvious. That has been essential at clarifying why I feel the way that I do and also to stop me from feeling quite as responsible and guilty as I had been. I’m still not free of it but this focus has been a vital first step.

What is left is dealing with the emotional turmoil that resulted. This I find incredibly hard as I have been taught to bury all emotions, especially those that aren’t “nice”. By which I mean that it’s OK to get happy about something, but not to get cross. Either way, one shouldn’t get loud.

This goes some way to explaining why I don’t want to confront my parents and there is debate as to what exactly that means. Can I tell them how I feel without bursting their own protective bubble? I find this very difficult to answer. Am I saying no because it’s the truth or just because saying no is easier. Can I tell them how much I feel they’ve messed up my life without dissecting their own lives for them? I either need to find a way round this need I have have to protect them, either by shucking it off or by saying what I need to say about me rather than about them. And if I do burst their own protective bubble, then what’s the harm? It’d be painful, but at best they might learn something and at worse, well would I be any worse off than I am now?

The closer I get to thinking about trying to have some sort of honest conversation with my parents the more I dig my heels in and stall. I’m having to drag myself kicking and screaming into just thinking about and I really don’t know how I’m going to find the courage to say anything.

I’ve got better at complaining about the little things in life; those that are really inconsequential or not personal. I’ve got better at saying “I disagree with you and here’s why”. I’ve even managed to tell friends that they’ve upset me and not dissolve as I do it.

But it seems such a huge leap between that and having an honest conversation with my parents, either of them. I can’t see any smaller interim steps and I can’t see a way of having a small conversation with them.

On an emotional level I’m also just plain scared of bringing up all that frustration I feel when talking to them. I always end up feeling as if I’m put everything into nice simple over-explained phrases and they still don’t get it and then they turn it round to make it my fault. Then at the end they always say that they don’t really get what I’m trying to say.

I see three steps forward. One is to talk to 1sis about all this. I owe her a conversation or 6 anyway as I haven’t been in touch for a while. Second is to think back to those confrontations and try and revisit them, to bring back those emotions and experience them while in a safe place. Third is to actually focus on what I want/need/can say to them.

As a last comment, I shed one tear at counselling while discussing all this. I get closer to proper tears but am fighting that hard too. But one tear is actually progress.

Praise Your Children

Tags

breaking chains, children, counselling, glad, love, parents, Philip Larkin, poetry, praise, self-esteem

The other night, I was out with BFF1 and BFF2 for dinner. A splendid time was had by all. As we were sitting round the table discussing our respective journeys the one thing we clearly had in common was that our parents had imbued us all with a lack of self-esteem and confidence. This goes along with several conversations with different people over the last few weeks. We might all have different stories to tell and we might all have had differing situations and experiences; we might deal with these very differently but the fundamental common point that we all have is that our parents didn’t give us our self-respect, self-esteem and the confidence to be ourselves. From that leads on all the complications that make life so complicated and difficult but it’s all so simple really.

To quote the poet Philip Larkin, in This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

The key here is to not hand on your misery to your children, or indeed to anyone else. Counselling in whatever form you may take is all about breaking the chains of childhood, of taking help to choose to not be that way any more, to break free of your upbringing and in turn your parents’ upbringing and forge your own way.

But while I’m trying to break free myself, I’m also trying to do better by my children than I was done by.

So I tell them that I love them, frequently, often and especially after I’ve shouted at them or told them off. Love is unconditional; it’s not about exam results or how well they behave. I love them because they’re mine and no matter what they do they can’t change that. It’s not negotiable and it’s not conditional.

I praise them and admire their achievements, however trivial they seem. That doesn’t mean telling them they’re absolutely brilliant at everything because they’re not stupid. It does mean celebrating their work and accomplishments. One of the most hurtful sights I ever saw in the school playground was some parent binning his child’s artwork before they’d even left the school premises. My children’s artwork and certificates have decorated the kitchen walls ever since they brought them home. They may not be masterpieces but my kids spent time and effort and creative imagination making these and that’s worth celebrating. We take photos of their Lego creations and stick them on Facebook and spread them around. We take pride in what they’ve made, not just in exam results although we certainly get proud about those but about reading, creating, imagining, thinking, asking difficult questions, caring for each other, being considerate. And of course just for being cuddly.

When they say they want to be an astronaut, a professional footballer, a scientist or prime minister, I don’t say that their chances are slim, but that they can be if they are willing to work hard, get fit, keep fit, practice, think, read, eat vegetables, whatever it takes; all they need is determination. Time enough if they try and go down a route and find that they don’t have what it takes to face that reality. At the moment, when they’re young they need the confidence to believe they can do whatever they want to do, that life can be whatever they choose it to be.

I am not at all suggesting that my children are wonderful all the time. They have their fair share of tantrums, name-calling, shouting and swearing at each other. 4son can slam the door louder than anyone else in the family and they all lie occasionally about who broke what where and why. But again I think it’s important to let them know that I still love them even when they’re being difficult, that the two are not related.

My parents did none of this and I find myself jealous of my children as I write this. I’m trying to give them what I didn’t have but wanted. I don’t remember our artwork on the wall, I don’t even remember photos of us as children being up although certainly photos of the grandchildren are now everywhere in their home. Exam results were always criticised for the marks I lost rather than the marks earned. I could do better. Well yes, but when can’t you do better? My parents never told me they loved me and when I did complain about this, aged 16 or so, my mother said “but I thought you knew”.

Sometimes it’s just nice to be told. Preferably on a daily basis.

There you are. I tell my children I love them. I tell them that they’re marvellous and capable. I tell them they can be whoever they want to be and that their strength lies within and if they want to achieve, they can achieve.

I’ll let you know in 20 years whether it’s worked.

To Confront or Not?

Tags

confrontation, counselling, decisions, parents, protecting, resolution

I am finding my sessions getting harder and harder. We’re getting close to the place I do not want to go. I am angry and hurt by my parents, and by 2sis, for the way they’ve brought me up and treated me, landing me with all these emotional issues that I need to untangle before I can be free.

I have shied away from wanting to try and explain this to them on the basis that whenever I’ve tried to explain something less important, I usually end up not getting what I want or even being listened to with what feels like a huge emotional toll that I have to pay with absolutely no net benefit as a result.

The trouble is now we’ve got to the point where my mother and 2sis don’t talk to me (2sis hasn’t done for years) and while my father talks to me he wants to know facts about what has been happening to myself and the boys, rather than how we feel. We spend a lot of time talking about politics and suchlike in order to avoid talking about anything closer.

So if I did want to try and explain to them how difficult I find them, I’d have to re-engage with them in a way I’ve very much given up on.

The question was, can I accept my parents for what they are and move on in my life or do I want to try talking to them. What I realised in today’s session is that the question is wrong. It should be, can I move on from my parents without explaining how I feel to them. In other words, do I need to confront them, and really try and explain how I feel about them even if it all goes over their head, before I can genuinely move on.

Do I need to speak? Do I need them to listen? Do I need to be heard? Do I need them to acknowledge?

I know I don’t want to really try to explain how I feel about my parents and childhood to them, but that is not the point. Can I do anything but explain? Can I move on without explaining?

I also realised in my session that by avoiding the subject with my parents I am essentially continuing to do what they brought me up to do that I have been trying to fight against: keep quiet, don’t make a fuss, join in with our way of doing things because it’s best, don’t complain, don’t cry, chin up etc.. Therefore by not wanting to rub their noses in the mess they’ve made I’m helping to protect their way of life without pointing out the damage that it’s done.

I don’t know whether I can confront them and I still don’t know whether I am capable of trying. But I am beginning to question whether my absolute refusal to confront them is really in my long term interest.

I also am lucky that I still have a choice, I have several friends who cannot confront or resolve similar issues with their parents because they’re dead or lost to Alzheimer’s or similar and the conversation just simply cannot be had. They have to learn to accept without being able to discuss it on any level with their parents. If I miss the opportunity while it’s there, will I regret it when it’s not?

My inability to cry at my sessions is also part of this mentality, that crying is an unwelcome bother to my parents, that it means there is an unwelcome problem they have to deal with which distracts from their life. I don’t cry in front of anyone because I don’t expect them to care or to be willing to set aside the time to offer comfort.

I remember once as an adult reminding my mother of the time when I was unwell, 6 or 7 years old and she sat with me for an hour while I was trying to settle down instead of being downstairs with her dinner guests. I reminded my mother of this because I appreciated her taking the time to be with me. Her response? “I must have been mad.”

I don’t want these memories to cut through me when I remember them. I want to be able to forget them or just look on them as a distant sad memory that is past, that is ago, that is over.

I did make one decision after this session though. I was talking about it with BFF2 and saying that I’d hoped to be able to write more during the holidays with the pressure off work but I hadn’t really managed to this week. I said that I found it difficult to prioritise and that I felt I wanted to clear my work out the way first. Having challenged him recently to try and be more spontaneous and unplanned, he challenged me back to take the time and write first thing in the morning and make myself the priority that I have been unable to do.

So I will. Well, try, that is. I’m sitting writing this while 2son is having his session at CAMHS and will try writing first thing in the morning before doing anything else (other than making morning tea of course!)

What happens when I try

Tags

communication, effort, emotions, energy, family, grandmother, investment, parents, truth

So if I can say it on here, why can’t I say any of this to my parents directly?

Well I have tried it, on lesser issues and failed miserably.

My maternal grandmother lived in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere in a house inhabited by animals when she moved in. We used to go down at least every Summer when I was little and frequently for other holidays as well. It was peaceful, with no television to interrupt and the only loud noises the occasional planes screaming down the valley or the tractor harvesting the wheat. I loved my grandmother very much as the warmest member of our family. We used to talk for hours over many a glass of tea, coffee and wine.

Anyway, this is not really about her. When she died, my mother, her daughter, put the house on the market on the basis that none of us had the time or inclination to take it on. We talked about each of us daughters picking out books and small things to take and of doing one furniture run where we each got a souvenir piece. Although nothing was hugely valuable, many of the pieces of furniture held memories that none of us wanted to let go of. We used to talk with my grandmother about putting labels on her things to say which daughter should have each piece. A pity we never actually did it.

2sis and her husband decided that they would take on the house as their holiday home and bought it from my parents (who had bought it from my grandmother for reasons irrelevant). We all thought it was wonderful that it would stay within the larger family. But that was it.

2sis kept all the possessions in the house, every stick of furniture and every book and nick-nack. My parents took one best dinner service. I have a silver souvenir spoon from Australia and a necklace that I lost (or that my ex stole and pawned). And that’s it, other than the small pile of books I packed in my suitcase the last time I visited.

I found this incredibly unfair and decided to point it out.

It took me a good year to get across that I was a little bit peeved. The most acknowledgement I got was “Maybe we should have done things differently.” That was it.

I did visit my grandmother’s house for a few Summers after it became my sister’s house when my parents organised these trips as Summer holidays for us all but it wasn’t the same. 2sis did say to me that if I ever managed to leave the children at home and happened to be passing then of course I could come and visit, but no more of an invitation was ever forthcoming and she never really made me feel welcome. My parents couldn’t cope with being on holiday and living with my children as well as 2sis’ brood so the peace and tranquillity went. Also of course I was now an adult and had to take responsibility for others and for meals rather than vanishing up a tree with a book and a drink as I had done as a child. So we stopped going.

I yearn for that place and the comfort my grandmother brought with it. I see no reason why I should ever go there again. With us moving as a family so many times it was the only place that lasted and that was there since my birth. Trying to untangle the emotions between the house and location and my grandmother are difficult as they are so intertwined but when I went there, I recharged my batteries and the most complicated decision I had to make was how many cheeses to put out at mealtime. Most of the time it was my grandmother, my mother and I and we just drifted along, going out when we felt like it and not when we didn’t, almost without a care in the world. My mother called it paradise. It was certainly a place out of time that was totally unique.

However when I tried explaining how it wasn’t the same any more with all the family there and staying in a house opposite and not feeling at home my mother said “I’m sorry you don’t care about the place any more; that’s a shame”. She was the person who when her mother got ill cried for an hour walking round and round the garden, knowing full well that her mother would never move back there to live. I thought she’d understand.

This is the pattern. I try and explain things, and I really did go over it again and again. My father didn’t understand emotional attachment to things, or why I would be upset, or what he could possibly do; it didn’t make any sense to him. It was turned around to being my fault for not speaking out more appropriately and for not explaining properly. My mother seemed to just misunderstand or refuse to understand what I was saying. I put in time and emotional effort into trying to phrase things so that they could understand. It exhausted me. And all I got after a year of it was “Maybe we should have done things differently.”

So therefore when we talk in counselling about why I don’t say things like my little rant at my mother or other things to them, my answer is that I just don’t feel it’s worth the effort. That I would prefer investing emotionally in people with greater chance of a positive outcome like friends and acquaintances, if not total strangers. That doesn’t solve the problem that I feel unheard by my parents, always have done and have no expectation of ever being heard by them; but if I never speak, they will have no chance of hearing.

And yet, much as it pains me, I just think, why bother? There’s no point. Does the pain of trying and failing exceed the pain of not communicating? I think it does. I know I’m scared of the fallout, the endless conversations starting off “your mother and I have been thinking about what you’ve said and we’d like to talk about it” where I try and be clear and make sense but don’t get there. I don’t want to get emotional about things in front of them. I don’t want to talk about myself in the smallest details and not get anything back. I don’t want to cry in front of them. I don’t want them to see how much they hurt me. don’t think they have earned the right to see how much they hurt me. Maybe I should show them.

Maybe I should. But I don’t want to.

I’m also worried that if I pricked their little balloon of satisfaction, the whole thing would come tumbling down and truth might come out. I would explain to them that I felt that we had a terribly dysfunctional disunited family who can’t communicate with each other, or really love each other, or even just care about each other. Family gatherings are calls of duty for all three of us daughters and our respective families. The only ones who enjoy them are our parents. We’re spread out geographically because we have no desire to be closer to each other. I genuinely love 1sis with love that’s freely given, not just because she’s my sister. I don’t really love 2sis; I’m honestly not sure about my parents; I love my grandmothers, both now deceased. As for the rest of my family we were never close enough to get attached.

Our whole family is a lie and if my parents understood and listened to anything I said, then they might eventually understand that and it would devastate them. So once more I am protecting them.

I Feel Sorry For My Parents

Tags

choices, freedom, parents

My greatest fear is that I end up like them, or even more so than I already am.

When I celebrated my 40th birthday, not with my family but with a dozen friends, my father commented that even then (aged 70 or thereabouts) that he would never have been able to invite that many friends as he has never had that many. I felt superior and sad for him.

My parents have, between them about 3 or 4 couples as life long friends from school, university or first jobs. That’s it. My father broke up with his best friend in middle age as his friend left his wife for another woman and my father couldn’t understand or forgive him this transgression. My mother’s best friend was me and there were very few other people she confided in, and none that were hers rather than theirs.

My mother has what she always wanted after what must have been a catastrophic pregnancy as a single teenager: stability and safety. She wasn’t willing to trade that in when she discovered my father’s affair and she’s never been willing to rock the boat with him apart from the first few years of her marriage. So she’s played safe and has swallowed her own desires and feelings.

My father never acknowledged until the last 20 years that he had any emotions. Life was divided up into Stalinesque five and ten year plans, with things to achieve and targets. Each year was to be slightly better off financially than the last, with everything, holidays, days out, career moves, rigidly planned out to the last detail.

Spontaneity doesn’t happen. The thought of “it’s a beautiful day, let’s cancel plans and go…” never happened. My father took three months to make that fatal phone call that started the journey from friendship to an affair; even that wasn’t spur of the moment.

I too over the years have suppressed my emotions and desires, all for the sake of keeping the peace, not shouting in front of the children etc., did I mention I’ve never heard my parents raise their voices, not ever?

My parents have a very lonely life. They say it’s exactly what they want, with everything arranged just so, with holidays on a regular basis to provide them with stimulation but they have few friends and virtually nothing that challenges their thoughts, that provides fresh insight or excitement.

I want friends – I’ve been working on that but have some really wonderful people in my life whom I love deeply, and am not afraid to acknowledge it. I want to be able to do mad things and try to, as often as possible. I find that limited by my children and worry about that not being an excuse.

The greatest difference is that I am trying to face my issues, and change myself to become a better person, to listen to other people and be aware that my life can be improved and that I want it to. And that sometimes, going off-road is part of what life is all about!

A Little Chat

Tags

dilemma, dithering, guilt, parents, understanding

I’ve started posts several times over the last ten days or so but just sat and stared into space. There’s been a lot to assimilate and I’m beginning to do so.

Over the years, whether as a child or an adult, I dreaded, as I’ve said before the words”can we have a little chat”. It doesn’t matter whether it was about homework or the state of my marriage or anything in between, nor does it matter how old I am; it leaves me quaking. Why does it have that effect on me? Well, because these chats rarely amount to anything. My father can’t understand and my mother doesn’t want to.

They are not a physical part of my life, which is partly because they live round the corner, but mostly because they don’t want to. Nor do we keep touch in a daily basis on the telephone. It’s not even weekly any more and my father does persist in ringing me in the morning while I’m asleep at the weekend or even before I’ve done the school run as it’s convenient for him. So they don’t understand what’s going through my head although to be fair, they didn’t understand that when I was still living with them either.

But my father wants to. So we have these painful chats where he asks me questions he thinks is pertinent and I try to answer in ways that he understands and to explain what he doesn’t. But that’s hard. He’s never brought up children; my mother did that while he was earning a living and the few weeks holiday he spent with us aren’t equivalent. So he doesn’t understand the stresses of being a parent on a daily basis, and he certainly doesn’t understand the stresses of being a single parent, let alone how difficult being his daughter can be. He recently said that he understood that I was worried about 2son, but what exactly did I do all day that kept me so busy.

My mother doesn’t understand me either. I remember her once trying to tell me that 2sis was almost a single parent because her husband was away so much, which again meant she didn’t understand the emotional strain involved in being a single parent. I do/did find it harder coming from her as I expected her to show more empathy.

The dilemma I’ve had over the past few years since I’ve started therapy is to what extent do I need to move from my parents’ unsurprising lack of perfection and to what extent do I need to make them understand, or even just tell them, how unhappy I have been, still am and am fighting not to be in the future. There is a huge communication gap between us and if I stop trying, it’s not going to get any smaller.

Or is it? I’ve always found it emotionally draining trying to explain things to my father. He inevitably manages to turn around his lack of understanding into my inability to explain things properly but I have always tried. I’ve felt guilty because if I stop trying the resulting lack of communication and understanding is my fault. I’ve been able to do it with family and friends less close to me. I no longer make any attempts to communicate with 2sis although we haven’t had a ‘formal’ falling out. But these are my parents and it’s hard to acknowledge that they are never going to understand me.

However while I have often considered this thought in my head and understood the logic, I have not felt an emotional willingness to cut this chord. I do now.

Or at least I think I do. Until I next have a conversation with either of my parents and just refuse to go into detail, I won’t know whether I can or not. I also don’t feel that this post is quite adequate, but at the moment it’s the best that I can do.

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose”

Giving Myself Credit

Tags

confidence, criticism, friends, me, parents, value

This is something I find extraordinarily difficult. I’m looking through post titles here and thinking it’s all me, me, me! I feel slightly guilty for that, so foolish.

I hesitated filling in a survey last year which asked “how intelligent are you” hesitating between a little and not very much. It took me a while to convince myself that fairly intelligent would be a more accurate description.

2son asked me the other week after some conversation about rehabilitation versus punishment (thanks BBCR4), how come I know so much? I replied that it wasn’t that I knew so much, but that he knew so little, and one day he would have learned enough to see that. I couldn’t say “Yes I do know quite a lot”.

My headteacher tell me I’m a very good parent, that I take them out and do things with them, that I’m doing a great job with them. Other parents occasionally compliment me on my children. I listen to other parents talk about things such as watching television at breakfast time, or I watch their children in the park and give myself a mental pat on the back, ‘well thankfully my children don’t do that’.

People tell me I’m amazing for reading so many books. My response is that is quality, not quantity that matters.

I do get praised for work as well, But what is running through my mind when someone pays me compliments is that they haven’t seen all the work I haven’t done, that they don’t realise how much better it could have been, or how imperfect I am.

Do I know a lot or a little? I would say a little. The more I know the more I realise how much more there is to know and how little of it I know. The fact that either way I know a lot more (and think a lot more) than many people doesn’t make me feel any better.

I get to the end of the day and I look at all I have yet to accomplish, at all the things still to do. I now leave my crossed off list until the end of the week before binning it, just so that I can note what was achieved during the week, that I’m not quite as useless as I think.

Ultimately of course it means that I’m incapable of starting a relationship. If I realise someone is attracted to me, I wonder why, and what a disaster his life must be to think I might be worth it. I very genuinely don’t notice when someone is making eyes at me, although it’s clear as mud when it’s about someone else; it just doesn’t enter my head that anyone would.

I can blame this on my mother for not having enough belief in herself. I can blame my father for the constant criticism and harping on about every single imperfection. I can blame my ex-partners, most or all of them for being critical, for needing to dominate and for making the relationship about them rather than us.

But I have to say enough is enough. I am good at what I do. I am a good parent. I am good with people when I’m confident enough to talk to them. I have made so many friends over the last 5 years. I am kind and considerate, giving thought to other people. I question my place and role in society, my values that I hold dear and how I pass them onto my children; I think about my purpose in life. I can run a household.

I can write that down. I can say it out loud. But I don’t believe it. Not with my head and not with my heart. I have to find the strength and the confidence to be able to do so.