Resentment
Sometimes I don’t like my family. I just don’t. That may be an absolutely horrible thing to say, but I can’t lie about it anymore. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t say I don’t love them. I do. In fact, I love them so much it hurts.
But sometimes I don’t like them.
Tonight is one of those nights.
I don’t like that I haven’t been allowed to grow and think for myself until I turned 21. And even now, any change to the person that they have created and molded is absolutely catastrophic. I’m not talking about bad change, as in the change that brings you down or sets you on a wrong path. I’m talking about basic change: a change of opinion, of taste, of thought. None of it is acceptable. It’s as simple as that.
They raised me to think and be one way. No deviation allowed. And then, when I suddenly sprouted wings (something most parents encourage at some point in life), the scissors came out. The feathers were clipped. When they realized that couldn’t keep my feet safely planted on the ground, they resorted to the second best option: silence. Utter silence. A blank stare when I say something meaningful. An empty response when I’m looking for an answer. An irritated sigh when I ask a question or state an opinion. Rolled eyes when I’m trying to seriously have a discussion. They knew silence would hurt worse than any blade.
And they utilized it.
This is the world I live in now. A world of my own decisions, of discovering who I am, of loving the one person who makes me happier than any person has ever made me.
And yet I’m torn. My heart is twisted. I’m sad deep in the core of my being.
I want to be accepted unceasingly, regardless of my opinions and the changes they may undergo. I want to be loved by my family as much as I was when I did everything they wanted. But I think that may just be too much to ask.
My family is not a bad one. My parents are not bad people. They love me, this I know. But it’s a love that has changed. Somehow I feel that I’m not enough for them anymore, and it’s spurring a seed of rebellion in me that I have never experienced up until this point. I never thought I would want to do anything other than what my parents wanted for me. I never thought I’d have the urge to talk back, to make them angry like they’ve made me angry. But suddenly I do. I haven’t acted on any of these urges, however. I’m not strong enough. I’m not bold enough. I’m not brave enough.
I just wish I could make them see me for who I am. I wish I had rebelled as a teenager. Maybe if I had they would have a different level of respect for me. Instead, I did everything they asked. I didn’t watch PG-13 movies until I turned 16 and I never watched R movies. I didn’t cuss, smoke, drink, do drugs, or have sex. I felt guilty every time I read a book with a sex scene, I made sure I never said stupid, shut up, loser, moron, frickin, or hell. I came home every night after work, hung out with my mom and sisters on the weekends, talked about my dad behind his back when my mom was hurting, and apologized for every single thing I thought I did wrong…and everything everybody else did wrong too. And what did it get me? Resentment. Cold, harsh resentment. I resent the rules I was forced to comply to because compliance got me absolutely nothing. It didn’t make anyone love me any more or have any more respect for me. In fact, I think my family has less respect for me than any other member of my family. Because I’m weak. Because I never created my own opinion or rebelled when I thought something wasn’t right.
And now I’m paying for it. In every way possible. I’m 21 years old and don’t know who I am or what I think about anything. I’m 21 and still feel like I have to tell my mom everything I do. I’m 21 and haven’t drank because I figured I’d feel guilty if I didn’t tell my mom. I’m 21 and just recently got released from a midnight curfew. I’m 21 and feel like my world falls around my feet when my mom gives me the silent treatment. What kind of person is that? What kind of human lives like that?
I don’t blame them. Not one bit. I blame myself. I blame myself for being a people pleaser and never doing what I wanted to do. I blame myself for never speaking my mind or telling people when I was upset in the first place. I blame myself for being afraid of conflict and people being mad at me. I blame myself for apologizing my way through life. I blame myself for feeling guilty all the time, for everything I do, for everything everyone else does.
I can’t do it anymore. I refuse to waste my life feeling guilty, feeling used, feeling ashamed, feeling like a shell of a human. If that means my family turns against me, hates my decisions, decides I’m unlovable…so be it. I’m tired of not being me. God loves me. May that be enough.
“Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me.” Psalm 27:10
