“It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.” –Unknown
In past posts, I have pulled out my soapbox and climbed on it to spout off about things that I feel are injustices by others. I talk of how this person or that person judges me. People like friends. And neighbors. And even acquaintances. I talk about how I am who I am, and I don’t particularly give a fuck what people think about it. I am not gonna change to please some asshole that I don’t give two cents about. But, what happens when it is someone that I love? How do I handle when the person who is shunning me is a member of my family? Unfortunately, in my family, it is not one member but the whole lot of them. Outside of my husband (and a daughter who loves me, but is not at the point in her life that she can understand certain aspects of my life), I have not one single member of my family who will support me. No one. That’s absurd. Its pathetic, too. A family is supposed to be loving and supportive. What do you do when you don’t have that in your family? How do you deal with the animosity that builds inside? Its not like a person can just cut off their entire family. Well, at least, not easily.
Since I started writing a few weeks ago (really writing), I have been forced to hide everything from my family. Most of them do not even know that I have started to write with intent. In actual numbers, three people know. None of those three know anything about my writing or any other details. Beyond that I am writing. NOTHING AT ALL. It is better for all parties involved that it remains this way.
Everyone else in my family knows that I love to write. I cannot hide that, and I wouldn’t want to. However, I cannot share anything about the world I am immersing myself in. I don’t want for them to try to make me feel bad about who I am. Not because they will succeed, but because they will only increase the tension between all of us. They are not going to try to steal my dreams. Not anymore.
I have this overbearing, controlling family. They have never allowed me to be an adult. In a week, I will celebrate another birthday, but no one seems to get it. I understand that I will always be my mother’s baby, and I can deal with that if she wouldn’t treat me like some fucking moron who is incapable of pretty much anything.
In my whole life, I was always that girl. The brownnoser. The girl with the good grades. The girl who was in all the school clubs. The girl who never missed church and volunteered at every place she could. I was the person who did what everyone said, was what everyone wanted. It was the only way that I believed that I could get someone to like me. My mother impressed upon me this obsession with being well-liked. To a degree, it is normal to fit in. However, my need grew into a compulsion. I spent years having no clue who I was because I was whoever other people needed me to be when they needed me to be. I was so many damn different things that I couldn’t have found myself with a map, a compass, and a GPS receiver. Of course, this gave my family certain impressions about me and who I am. Unfortunately, they cannot really look at me and see who I really am now. They don’t know me. They don’t want to. To them, I am still that girl in high school, begging for the affection of others. No brain. No personality. No dreams or ambitions. Just a shell of a person. A fucking robot.
I hated that person then, and I hate it now.
Luckily, I have had years to grow into myself and my skin. I don’t need people to love me. In fact, I don’t want people to love me when they don’t know me. I love me and that is all that matters. I am no longer that girl who hated herself so much that she wanted, and needed, others to care for her because she wasn’t strong enough to care for herself.
BUT (and this is a big but) – As I have grown stronger, my relationship with my family has grown weaker. I generally don’t get along with them anymore which is very painful because I do love them. However, I have become the kind of person that doesn’t need someone in her family to do everything for her. Or tell her what to do. Or how to live. Hell, sometimes, I wonder who they think gets me dressed in the morning. If I am the person that they think then it’s a bloody miracle that I can even survive in the big-bad-world.
I have already had to face two problems: 1. If I tell them that I am writing then I will not be able to tell them if/when I get published because they would be horrified. Then, Mia is a failure. 2. If I tell them that I am writing and get published, I cannot tell them any details because (yet again) they would be horrified. I shudder to think of the hell that they would rain down on me when I refused to divulge the information that they wanted. I would probably have to go into the Witness Protection Program.
So many other issues have popped up as well. I have no one to turn to in my family. I cannot call up my mother and say, “Hey, Mom! Guess what I wrote today. I wrote (BLANK).” No, I have to keep it locked inside. I have no one to bounce ideas off. No one to read my stories. No proofreaders or someone to just tweak it. It is me, standing alone in the middle of the room, feeling stripped bare and alone. Its scary.
The problems have started escalating especially with my mother. She knows that I am writing, but not much more. Today, we had a very large argument. This is VERY, VERY rare because I was also raised with the belief that my mother was always right and I was wrong. She is the be-all-end-all about anything and everything. I don’t believe these things anymore, but it is difficult to break old habits. Now, I do try to be respectful as much as possible because she is still my mother; however, a girl can only take so much. I am no saint. Shocker, right?
During the argument, she told me how I was this mean, horrible person. I am a bitch. I am going to Hell. Blah. Blah. Blah. Most of this didn’t bother me. I lost my temper, though, when she brought her negative beliefs about my writing out into the air. The basic gist was that she hoped that it never got out what I wrote or that I even got published. I think she generally refers to it as “THAT” stuff which is ironic since she doesn’t exactly know what I write. She has some inkling, but that is about it. No denials. No confirmations. I understand that Erotic Romances are not exactly acceptable where I live especially ménages, BDSM, and M/M or F/F stuff, but I cannot live a life that pleases everyone but me. Those are what I want to write. Its what I love, my passion. My mom chose to pull out the big guns. According to her, if it gets out who I am and what I write, then my husband and child will suffer – not me. I don’t work or go to school. I can hide from the fucking world. People will taunt and torture my daughter. They will shun my husband. What if they try to fire him? She seriously believes this horseshit. I am apparently being very selfish. She then moved to the “Mia is going to Hell” portion of the conversation and it just spiraled from there. Who would say these things to their child? I sure as hell would never want to crush my child’s dream even if it was not something that I agreed with.
The thing that struck me is that the woman who that gave birth to me actually doesn’t love me for me. She loves me, yes, but with conditions. I don’t believe in love being on conditions. If you must place restrictions on your love for me, then you can damn well keep it. I don’t want it.
Now, I am in the midst of something huge within my family since I don’t generally put my foot down. I think that my mother was actually trying to manipulate me into backing off or even quitting. She is notorious for her passive-aggressive nature with guilt trips as an added bonus. I can generally deal with this because I love her, but I am so tired of not being able to show who I am, tired of being the bitch in the family. I can’t live my life the way they want, and they are going to hate me for it. I feel lost at sea. I know that if I pursue this dream of mine there is a large chance that I will lose my mother (and in extension the rest of my family).
Do you know what the worst part is? I know that I am not going to stop doing what I love. I can’t. I won’t. Damn the consequences. This may make me the bitch that my mother called me, but at least I will be one happy bitch. :)
I hope that you have read this entire post, but I understand if you haven’t. It is way long – even for me. I just needed to vent somewhere. So, thank to those who did let me cry on their virtual shoulder. As a reward, I will try to post something a little more upbeat today or tomorrow. My pity party is receding and is about to be replaced by filty, feisty, frisky Mia. Look out world!
“Don’t let anyone steal your dream. Its your dream, not theirs.” -Dan Zadra
“When you cease to dream, you cease to live.” -Malcolm Forbes
“Don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken.” -Unknown
“People think I’m crazy, but actually, I’m just bored.” -Unknown
“Nothing risqué, nothing gained.” -Alexander Woolcott.