I want to write my story. If Sarah Palin can, why can't I?
I'm a gay mom who has raised her son to adulthood. He's 20. He's in the Marines. He's not a "Marine" though; he'd rather be smoking marijuana and reading classics. I let my child's life choices define me on some levels. I think most parents look to their children to measure their success as adults, as people who can grow other people to maturity. It's sad though to let our children define us, but as a human I'm no different than other humans.
My story begins every day anew. To pinpoint birth as the beginning is the classic autobiography moment, but I'd say I was born in a shrinks office in Richardson, Texas under intense self examination. My shrinks methods were easy to follow and rudimentary, so much so that any parrot could learn how to heal souls with her method.
"Say, 'I'm Ok'," she asked me.
I said, "I'm ok," and looked down and around a little unsure.
She asked, "Do you really believe that or does it feel odd to say?"
I said, "I don't believe it - it doesn't ring true."
So we worked back to my childhood and my parents, of course the source of all my esteem issues boil down to my parents. How they made me feel, what their words meant in my ears and in my heart. When my mom scolded me for being me it wasn't that I wasn't "OK" being a tomboy or not wanting to wear dresses or not wanting to be in drill team tryouts - it was that my mom wasn't OK for me not to do those things... it wasn't OK for her. For her, as for me, she was defining herself by her child's actions - by my aspirations - and taking a hit emotionally when I didn't follow her plan for my life.
I really WAS ok, and it was time to believe it.
No comments:
Post a Comment