Farce
"Sometimes you have to give yourself what you wish you could get from someone else."
This quote is written in my mothers handwriting on a piece of paper ripped from a notebook and attached with stickers to my wall. It's entitled "Life Lesson #1". For the past four years it has stuck to my wall, I've memorized it, trying to work out its meaning. It's original speaker is unknown to me but I have long considered my mom as wise, knowledgeable and someone to be respected; therefore, I took it as good advice and thought that one day, when the time is right, I'd be able to figure out how its meaning applied to me.
While I still believe my mom to be wise, knowledgeable and someone to be respected, I feel as though this advice hasn't been useful, much less correct.
How can I give myself something from someone else?
It's not material, not something that I could pick up for myself from the mall. What if what you want is love and respect from someone else? How are you supposed to be able to give that to yourself? Over time, I've come to love and respect myself at times; something which was certainly lacking in my earlier teenage years. Yet, I find that this hasn't necessarily been enough to fill this void I sometimes feel. Yes, it has been a good transformation but whenever I'm around him, my childish angst and anxieties come flooding back to me full-force and I feel like I've gotten nowhere in the past four years.
He is my father.
Sure, he says the words "I love you" but they are empty and absolutely meaningless. He doesn't feel it. It's just part of some routine that he's become accustomed to over the years. Sometimes, I'd just rather he didn't say them at all - it's only an expression of something he doesn't truly feel. They are only words, spoken as if sent awkwardly to a stranger. True, in these past years we have become strangers and my rebellion is partially to blame for what our relationship has become, and I don't completely excuse my behavior, but in his seemingly never-ending quest to be right, he has never shouldered his responsibility in the matter. He never apologized for all the times he screamed at me and told me I'd never make it. I have internalized it and now don't even realize that it's his voice speaking whenever I hear the word "failure" in my head; it's now my own voice. It has been festering inside of me and now I'm breaking down - incredibly unsure.
Maybe it's just another phase. Although, throughout all the phases I've ever gone through, one thing has remained constant: my father has never been there. It has all been little things, things that on their own, I would have forgiven him for because it's in my nature to be forgiving. But everything has just piled up for so long, he never believed I could make it and his trying to get to know me now is just a farce. A farce to attempt to impress my stepmom. Something that doesn't come naturally but he has forced himself to do, dismissing my responses as nothing more than rebellion against him. It's not rebellion anymore but a now-naturally triggered response to his dismissal of me in the past.
I always felt so jealous of my brother. My father was involved with his life at least. He coached Evan's baseball team, attended every basketball game and constantly bragged of plays winning hits my brother had made. Not to mention Evan's academic achievement. In my fathers eyes, my brother was the star. Then there was me. Until high school, I had top grades (I wasn't strong in math...if it weren't for that damn math, I would've stayed up there) and was athletic. Maybe not athletic in a sense that he could understand but I was passionate about what I do - dance. However, he never once bragged at the dinner table to guests about the trophies and medals his daughter brought home from competitions. It was silence, that had it not been for the fact that I was also sitting at the table, it would have been like I didn't exist.
Now, I've gotten over that. I realize that I was passionate about things that he couldn't relate to and I'm glad that my brother has gotten to know my dad in a way that I couldn't, and probably never will, understand. What bothered me (and to be quite honest still bothers me) was the lack of interest and having anything I accomplished being brushed off. Once my parents divorced, he hardly ever attended my dance recitals and when he did, I could see him (while I was on stage) playing with his palm pilot...that is, if he bothered to stay and see me dance at all. But I get it, it's not his cup of tea.
The ultimate turning point was this day in high school. I was talking to him on the phone and we were fighting (not unusual given the time period). I don't even remember about what but I remember starting to cry, telling him something serious (the specifics of this serious thing I remember clearly but don't wish to discuss on the internet) and having him brush it off and scream at me; not believing that his daughter could have such a serious problem. I was asking him for help and he basically called me a liar and shoved it back in my face. It was never spoken of again. After that conversation, I called my best friend who sped over with a box of kleenex and became one of my two main pillars of strength for overcoming my that issue. I had finally learned to ask for help and more importantly, learned that my father could not be relied on. This was the point where I lost most of what I'd ever felt for my father. Why should I bother trying to give something to someone who will not give back to me? That's how any relationship works.
Now I'm not sure if any of this can be repaired and if I can ever get true love and respect from my father because, at this point, he really has to give a little before he can get it back. He has to take on his responsibility and make the first move because I've decided that I don't want to put myself in a position to be hurt anymore. I'm not going to make myself vulnerable only to get shot down. Not any more. It may seem harsh but it's the only way I know how to handle the situation and I've been waiting. Waiting for him to make the first move while I've been putting up walls, not just for him but to keep everybody out. These walls have prevented me from building relationships with others and have kept me in constant fear. No more. Those walls are just for him now. I'm no longer going to keep everyone else out just because of him.
Perhaps all I really got out of the piece of notebook paper on my wall was that what I should do, and should have done long ago was stop seeking his approval. Stop doing things that I think will make him happy while my happiness falls to the wayside. I have to do things that will make me happy and maybe everything else will come in time. If not, at least I wont always be worrying about making a wrong step or let go of things I believe in. Maybe this is the answer to all the questions I keep asking myself. I guess there's only one way to find out...taking the chance. Something I've never been good at but maybe it's time to take that leap of faith and see where I land.
You know, keeping all that bottled up hasn't been good. I believe I've just experienced a sense of release...
This quote is written in my mothers handwriting on a piece of paper ripped from a notebook and attached with stickers to my wall. It's entitled "Life Lesson #1". For the past four years it has stuck to my wall, I've memorized it, trying to work out its meaning. It's original speaker is unknown to me but I have long considered my mom as wise, knowledgeable and someone to be respected; therefore, I took it as good advice and thought that one day, when the time is right, I'd be able to figure out how its meaning applied to me.
While I still believe my mom to be wise, knowledgeable and someone to be respected, I feel as though this advice hasn't been useful, much less correct.
How can I give myself something from someone else?
It's not material, not something that I could pick up for myself from the mall. What if what you want is love and respect from someone else? How are you supposed to be able to give that to yourself? Over time, I've come to love and respect myself at times; something which was certainly lacking in my earlier teenage years. Yet, I find that this hasn't necessarily been enough to fill this void I sometimes feel. Yes, it has been a good transformation but whenever I'm around him, my childish angst and anxieties come flooding back to me full-force and I feel like I've gotten nowhere in the past four years.
He is my father.
Sure, he says the words "I love you" but they are empty and absolutely meaningless. He doesn't feel it. It's just part of some routine that he's become accustomed to over the years. Sometimes, I'd just rather he didn't say them at all - it's only an expression of something he doesn't truly feel. They are only words, spoken as if sent awkwardly to a stranger. True, in these past years we have become strangers and my rebellion is partially to blame for what our relationship has become, and I don't completely excuse my behavior, but in his seemingly never-ending quest to be right, he has never shouldered his responsibility in the matter. He never apologized for all the times he screamed at me and told me I'd never make it. I have internalized it and now don't even realize that it's his voice speaking whenever I hear the word "failure" in my head; it's now my own voice. It has been festering inside of me and now I'm breaking down - incredibly unsure.
Maybe it's just another phase. Although, throughout all the phases I've ever gone through, one thing has remained constant: my father has never been there. It has all been little things, things that on their own, I would have forgiven him for because it's in my nature to be forgiving. But everything has just piled up for so long, he never believed I could make it and his trying to get to know me now is just a farce. A farce to attempt to impress my stepmom. Something that doesn't come naturally but he has forced himself to do, dismissing my responses as nothing more than rebellion against him. It's not rebellion anymore but a now-naturally triggered response to his dismissal of me in the past.
I always felt so jealous of my brother. My father was involved with his life at least. He coached Evan's baseball team, attended every basketball game and constantly bragged of plays winning hits my brother had made. Not to mention Evan's academic achievement. In my fathers eyes, my brother was the star. Then there was me. Until high school, I had top grades (I wasn't strong in math...if it weren't for that damn math, I would've stayed up there) and was athletic. Maybe not athletic in a sense that he could understand but I was passionate about what I do - dance. However, he never once bragged at the dinner table to guests about the trophies and medals his daughter brought home from competitions. It was silence, that had it not been for the fact that I was also sitting at the table, it would have been like I didn't exist.
Now, I've gotten over that. I realize that I was passionate about things that he couldn't relate to and I'm glad that my brother has gotten to know my dad in a way that I couldn't, and probably never will, understand. What bothered me (and to be quite honest still bothers me) was the lack of interest and having anything I accomplished being brushed off. Once my parents divorced, he hardly ever attended my dance recitals and when he did, I could see him (while I was on stage) playing with his palm pilot...that is, if he bothered to stay and see me dance at all. But I get it, it's not his cup of tea.
The ultimate turning point was this day in high school. I was talking to him on the phone and we were fighting (not unusual given the time period). I don't even remember about what but I remember starting to cry, telling him something serious (the specifics of this serious thing I remember clearly but don't wish to discuss on the internet) and having him brush it off and scream at me; not believing that his daughter could have such a serious problem. I was asking him for help and he basically called me a liar and shoved it back in my face. It was never spoken of again. After that conversation, I called my best friend who sped over with a box of kleenex and became one of my two main pillars of strength for overcoming my that issue. I had finally learned to ask for help and more importantly, learned that my father could not be relied on. This was the point where I lost most of what I'd ever felt for my father. Why should I bother trying to give something to someone who will not give back to me? That's how any relationship works.
Now I'm not sure if any of this can be repaired and if I can ever get true love and respect from my father because, at this point, he really has to give a little before he can get it back. He has to take on his responsibility and make the first move because I've decided that I don't want to put myself in a position to be hurt anymore. I'm not going to make myself vulnerable only to get shot down. Not any more. It may seem harsh but it's the only way I know how to handle the situation and I've been waiting. Waiting for him to make the first move while I've been putting up walls, not just for him but to keep everybody out. These walls have prevented me from building relationships with others and have kept me in constant fear. No more. Those walls are just for him now. I'm no longer going to keep everyone else out just because of him.
Perhaps all I really got out of the piece of notebook paper on my wall was that what I should do, and should have done long ago was stop seeking his approval. Stop doing things that I think will make him happy while my happiness falls to the wayside. I have to do things that will make me happy and maybe everything else will come in time. If not, at least I wont always be worrying about making a wrong step or let go of things I believe in. Maybe this is the answer to all the questions I keep asking myself. I guess there's only one way to find out...taking the chance. Something I've never been good at but maybe it's time to take that leap of faith and see where I land.
You know, keeping all that bottled up hasn't been good. I believe I've just experienced a sense of release...