Wow. It's hard to believe that it has been three years since I wrote a blog on here. I am absolutely in awe of how much has changed. My last post was when I was living in a shelter and working on my Associates Degree. Now, I am 3 months away from my Bachelor's in Education. I am re-married and have an 11 month old baby! I would never have guessed falling in love again was a possibility. And to be a mom again at 41! (complete tangent coming) I had my 9.5 lb baby at a birthing center, 41 years old completely natural, oh yeah, I am a rock star!
I wanted to write again and forgot that I still had a blog. I wanted to write because I realized the other day how lucky I am to still have my parents, and to have the kind of deep and loving relationship that we have. Some of my friends are struggling with some heavy stuff as it relates to their parents, abuses, neglects, issues that formed their automatic responses today. Everyone has those, the automatic responses, the character traits we said we'd never develop that are just like our parents.
There was a time that I refused to speak to my mother. I think it lasted two years, with the occasional speaking that would turn to me wanting to slam down the phone and curse. She just didn't get me! I'd cry. She only cared about her own image! I'd think, who the (expletive) cares about whether my toenails are painted or whether I'm 10 pounds overweight, you're my mom! Love me! There were worse things, things that wounded me in very dark places but we all have those places, don't we? Except most of us do not take the time to think about such things. Why bother with that? It's in the past, it's over, and it doesn't change anything.
Perhaps
Or perhaps, the less you think about something, the less chance there is to change it.
Back to my parents. We did quite a bit of therapy. My sibling and I especially. I went to individual counseling for 5 years, weekly. I did art therapy, I went to 12 step groups, got mentors and sponsors and really took fearful moral inventory on myself (and still do though admittedly not as much as I should). It sucked!!!! No really, there was nothing pretty about it. Sure, it's all beautiful later and helpful and blah blah. But, I was like homicidal/suicidal! ALL THE TIME!! What a pill I was (don't say still am, though it's true.)
The thing is, my parents, we talk. They taught me to question everything.
And let me tell you, that did not get me fitting in most of the time, chalk that up to another reason to hate them. I mean, when I was a Bible thumpin-run-of-the-mill-obnoxious Christian, I just wanted to be right, not have more questions!!! My pastors didn't like all the questions. I heard a lot of "you need to turn off your logic" or "have more faith" or "God uses the foolish things of this world to confound the wise". Oh yeah, bring out the old quoting things out of context American Western Christian routine, you betcha!
Now, my gosh, I love them for it.
I have friends in ministry, whose whole lives were in ministry. There was no teaching anyone to think for themselves. There was no thinking outside the box! (I'm not saying that's all people in ministry, I have no idea, this is just 2 or 3 examples out of hundreds). It's suffocating. I don't have that. I wasn't stuck in the black and whites and right and wrongs because of the way my parents taught me.
When I was in my 30s, I was confronted with some hard truths about God and the Bible and pain, and dysfunction and abuse. If I had not have had parents that taught me to question everything, I would have abandoned my faith. I wanted to. I felt like everything I had believed was a lie. I felt completely duped by God, Christians, the Bible, hope, love, life, whatever.
Then, there was darkness...for a long time...
Fast forward to now. I married a fellow questioner. He likes answers two "or" questions with "yes". It's maddening. It's "yes" and "no" for him. The Earth could be 6,000 years old or billions of years old because time is changed in black holes (or something like that). He is not at all what my parents or I expected. He is, well, "too Jewish". That aside, my parents, unlike many people, let alone parents, could put aside themselves and think about what was best for me.
I never felt that support from them, not in my whole life. They were emotionally absent (and I can say that because we've talked a lot about it, they admit it and are forgiven). They drank more than they paid attention, or that's how I felt then anyway. My dad was hardly ever home. I mean, the last thing I felt was supported or cherished. I certainly didn't think that they had my heart and soul in mind.
But that's the thing, they did. To think that their actions hurt me so is horrifying and painful to them. Just as it would be if either of my children ever expressed that to me, about my mothering. Wow. So painful. But the fact that we get to come full circle like this, and talk about it while we're all living, and get to say "I'm sorry and I love you deeply" is so amazing! So tearfully and wonderfully amazing!
Both my parents are super pro education, super smart and just all around interesting (also not something I have always thought). I decided to homeschool my oldest a short time ago and really expected all the typical nay saying about that subject but also naysaying from them. They didn't! They supported me! They thought about me and the personality of my oldest and really agreed that it was best. Shocker!
And that was what prompted me to want to write again. My gratitude for them.
I see so many who have regrets. So many who didn't get to say goodbye or sorry to those they loved, especially parents. I'm so glad I have them. I hope that I can honor them in even a small amount of what they deserve. They've put up with some serious you know what.
Disclaimer: this last sentence is not for those whose parents are still abusive or unsafe. That aside, if you're reading this and have some loved ones still with you, call them. Tell them. Say what you need to say.
