I Don't Think She'd Like the Real Me

 Dear Diary,

Have you ever known me not to be sarcastic? Well actually I have two levels, one is when I’m blatantly sarcastic. The other is when I just speak the truth with a sarcastic tone. But sarcasm tends to be my default setting. Whether that is a good thing or not is a conversation for another time.

So let me explain what happened today. My mother is very upset because she says that I speak to her sarcastically and I don’t take any of the suggestions that she makes. Basically, she says that I have an attitude whenever she gives me her opinion. Now in this entry I’m actually not going to go in whether she is right or wrong, because it’s a moot point. She is right that I don’t take her suggestions and I get an attitude because that is exactly what happens. What I actually want to put on paper is why.

I spent most of my life being the golden child. My grandparents knew it, my brother knew it and I knew it. While some people think that’s great that your parents always look to you and celebrate your accomplishments, it comes with a price. You see as the golden child you have to keep having accomplishments. You have to keep pushing to the next level. You have to never talk back. You have to say the right thing and do the right thing all the time. You develop sort of this perfectionist complex. Everything has to be perfect, otherwise your world crumbles when you get knocked off your pedestal. I’m not going to lie, I liked my pedestal, I liked my accolades, I liked being the center of attention. I relished the thought that the adults in my life thought so highly of me.

But there came a moment in my life where I got tired of it. Where just for a second I wanted to be myself. I actually just wanted to know who that was. I had spent so many years performing I didn’t know who the real me was. So I went on the search to really understand who I was. Do you know who I am? I’m smart, kind of intense, a little bit goofy, creative, moody, overly sarcastic, observant, a bit of an extremist (somehow moderation with anything has escaped me, it’s all or nothing), blunt, supportive, thoughtful, loyal, still a bit of a perfectionist, a hard worker, an active learner, I mean these are all of the adjectives I would use to describe who I am. If you notice there are good things and bad things on that list. Things that based on a person’s perspective can be misconstrued as good and bad.  And you know what, it took me a really long time to be okay with that and to actually like who I am. But do you know how I got there? I made mistakes. I made decisions my mother or father would frown upon. Basically, I got to know who I was because I stopped trying to be perfect all the time. And even that is hard for me because I spent my whole life being that other person. It was nice to meet myself.

But here is the thing, my parents, my mom in particular doesn’t know that person. They don’t know the woman who makes mistakes or is moody or processes intensely or who overthinks everything and then just jumps into other things with no in-between. Who sometimes makes bad decisions and knows that she just has to deal with it. They only know the pedestal girl. And can I be honest? I’m afraid that if my mother actually got to know me, she wouldn’t like me. Now I know she loves me, there is no doubt about that. But I don’t think she would like me. It’s the first time I read that in print. Four simple words, but every time I see them I pause. She wouldn’t like me.

I’ve seen glimpses of her not liking the real me, usually the negative aspects of me that has always kind of been who I am. Like the fact that I wake up grumpy, which I’ve done practically every day of my life. She either makes fun of me to others or goes full blown ham on me for no reason, telling me I need to change. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing except that I’ve been like this since I was a baby and I think it’s just one of my many quirks.

Now I can pretend, that my mother not liking the real me doesn’t bother me, but it does. At the end of the day, deep down in the darkest recesses of my mind and heart, I want my parent’s approval, because I’ve always had it. What she says and what she thinks affects me. When she gives me suggestions or criticizes a decision I’ve made, I feel like I have to change, because I want her to be proud of me. But what about my decision. Does that mean I’m wrong? Why can’t she like what I’ve selected? Is she going to do that thing where she says nothing but makes the disapproving face? Or will she just outright disapprove?  So then in my head I go back and forth between approval and being who I am. Between what she thinks of me and what I think of myself. Then I feel the guilt, then the bitterness, and you know what comes out…sarcasm. It’s my defense mechanism. It’s my way to express the conflict that is going on in my head. Is it the best way to respond? Probably not, but it’s the only way I know how.

But it often shows up in the ridiculous. Like my mom told me once that I need to stop eating these classic old fashioned lollipops.  I like to eat them because I have an oral fixation and when I’m stressed, it actually calms me down. Now she doesn’t know that, she just assumes its sugar, and it is making me fat. But instead of telling her about my oral fixation, my response was to tell her that I’m now going to buy the lollipops and put 2 in my mouth at the same time. Yeah that’s logic for you. I don’t know why it is easier to just be flat out rebellious than to just say you know, I have an oral fixation, and when I’m stressed putting the lollipop in my mouth eases some of the stress, so I can think. I guess it’s because I think she’ll say, it doesn’t matter. It’s making you fat find something else to put in your mouth. Then I’ll have to struggle with whether or not I’ll use something that works for me or listen to my mother. Then the guilt then the bitterness.

Now is this my mom’s issue or is it mine? Well I know it’s at least partially mine. It’s not my mother’s fault that I have these feelings. And I would love for my mother to actually get to know the real me. Especially since I like me so much. But I still wonder what I would do if she didn’t like me. The Bible tells me that I should honor my parents, but I really don’t know what to do here. Am I going to put back on the mask? Or am I going to show my mother who I really am, and pray for the best? I’m going to have to pray about this.

Love,

THE CHRISTIAN SINGLE WOMAN