- “Different” (read not white Caucasian)
- Not “smart enough” for me
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Family, Friend, or Foe?
In my last informative post, I talked about how depression feels to me. I also mentioned there were two major things that affect my depression. Work and family. Because I am a wimp, I chose to speak about work first. I didn’t really mean to wait a month before I tackled the next issue, but here it is, February 19, 2006 – and I’m just sitting getting started. I’m feeling compelled to tackle this issue, because I’m hoping someone out there has an insight for me, and my upcoming travel schedule is forcing me to confront this issue. I guess I really need to give some back story. I’ll start-off saying I love my Mom and Dad. I know they love me too. I grew up in a pretty typical “50’s Family” – even though I was born in the 60’s. (I am 8 years younger than my brother ... and so I had “older” parents, and trust me … it was a 50’s atmosphere.) Intellectually I know my parents were the best parents they knew how to be. Emotionally? Well, I guess none of us grows up unscathed. I think it’s funny (not ha-ha funny, but “isn’t it odd” funny) that the parent I felt most remote from as a child, and who I wanted to win their approval from, is the parent who supports me the most as an adult. As a child, my Dad was a 50’s dad. He went to work, provided for the family … and left the family rearing to my mother. I can remember very specifically when I was in High School sitting down to write what values/attributes I’d want in a husband. This was prompted by a church discussion about what type of man would you marry? I clearly remember writing I didn’t ever want to marry a man like my father. His shortcomings? He was only interested in what HE was interested in doing. He didn’t share in the housework. He had a temper. He wanted me to be a “proper” girl – which I internalized to mean a, “traditional girl”. My dad never told me I was pretty – or gave any compliments at all on my appearance. He never said, “I love you”. He had high standards for me. Standards I thought I could never meet. I think the most difficult was his standard for my dates. It’s not as if I had a long line of boys waiting to take me out. I worked hard to get a date (does that sound weird?). However, none of the boys I was able to induce to take me out were good enough for my dad. They were: