Yesterday I realized something--something I've known, yet not in the way it was revealed to me at that moment. I would describe myself as a person who has struggled. In my emotions. In trying to figure things out. In just how in the world to discipline myself in any area. As I stood in worship on Sunday, I asked myself why I don't just "cut loose" sometimes the way I want to. After all, I've been told that there's a "wild thing" in me that wants to get out. The answer came in the form of a two-sided coin, if you will. I am often reserved and self-conscious like my dad, but I have some wilder tendencies like my mom. My life has been, in many ways, a constant struggle to balance those two parts of my personality. I really do believe--no, I know--that I inherited both. And it truly has been a challenge to negotiate social situations, work environments, and the like.
One could argue that what was bequeathed to me from my father is the more sensible, logical path of life--and that I should always embrace that. But there's also value in knowing when one should stand up for what's right, fight for the underdog, or speak one's mind without inhibition. My mom could be one fiery force, especially if her passions were questioned or her loved ones threatened in any way. My dad was usually one to "keep the peace" and not "rock the boat." But he was equally as passionate about the things and people he loved.
Sometimes in trying to figure out how to respond in a particular situation, I can almost hear my parents arguing with one another, each presenting a valid thesis on the matter at hand. It's like I've got two different consciences at times. Two separate, yet often converging, ways of looking at things. And so I spend a lot of time in my head, weighing out actions--which sometimes results in inaction, something I picked up mostly from my dad. Lack of action was his m.o. when fears set in. My mom would err more in the realm of seeing the fault in others--hypocrisy, gossip, deceit,--declaring that she didn't want to be in the same circles with those types of people. These hang-ups kept my parents on the fringe of society for the most part. And I've tried to not let that happen to me.
My mom grew up feeling unwanted, and in her mid-teens she ended up dropping out of high school because she couldn't cope with the drama at home due to two alcoholic parents. She sought love and acceptance and thought she had found it with her high school sweetheart, whom she married at seventeen (giving up her dreams of being a performer in the process), only to learn that he really had eyes for almost everyone else and was an easily-angered, physically abusive person.
My dad grew up on a ranch, learning to love the outdoors but always working overtime intellectually to invent, explain, and investigate topics of higher reasoning. He grew up feeling loved yet misunderstood. He was plagued by the physical limitations of impaired vision--and damaged nerves due to a fall from a hayloft in his early youth. And though he graduated from college, he allowed the fear of failure to hem him in, never achieving the successes he aspired to.
A couple of hard-working, highly-sensitive, underachievers--my parents finally found each other. My mom always dreamed of a family--four kids to be exact. But my dad only wanted one--a little girl. I was a "miracle" to both of them, as my mom had difficulty conceiving. I didn't realize until later that many of their own hopes and dreams would rest on me as well. Perhaps it was too late for them, but they believed I would achieve greatness where they hadn't.
I knew greatness was in me, but it was always difficult to truly believe in it--to see past what others saw. I was the kid with the weight problem who wore thrift store clothes and lived in a run-down trailer. And so what if I went to college? Would I ever really be good at anything? Would I ever find a place where I fit? Or would I, like my parents, simply have a lot of "potential"?
It's been several years since I lost my parents (first my dad, then my mom), but I can still see their very clear imprints on my life. I was in my late forties when I got my first tattoo--and I'm planning several more. That "wild idea" has my mom written all over it. She wore what made her happy and said what she thought and didn't care what others thought of it. My mom was a spender, though there wasn't ever much to spend--and she wanted to enjoy the simple pleasures that made her heart happy. My dad, on the other hand, worried about money, worried what others thought, and dwelt on the what if's. As hard as I try, I find myself often drifting--or maybe floating/sailing--into these currents of thought.
It wasn't until my mother had a thyroid storm in 1992 that she became obsessed with the likelihood of bad things happening and harm coming from all directions. My mom, the "strong of faith" one--the "rock" of our family--fell apart mentally due to imbalances in her body. And part of my world was shattered. I could no longer trust my mom's judgment. I couldn't confide concerns in her. I had to protect her from too much information. I had to be more like my dad.
Years later, when my dad developed Alzheimer's, I had to protect him as well--and I had to listen and try to relate as he relived past events, often those that had occurred before I was even born. The strengths I'd grown up seeing in my parents were gone, and now I was left to pick up the pieces. I resented it. I didn't want to be the parent--I wanted my parents to be! It was during a particularly frustrating time that one of my best friends told me, "God chose you specifically to be their daughter." I didn't want to hear it. In fact, I rather hated that she'd said it. But as time went on--both during their health crises and after their passing--her words would replay in my head as a comfort. There was purpose in my being their child. There was an understanding of who they were that no one else would ever have. There was a deep, shared love between the three of us that I knew I would never trade for anything.
My dad would avoid risk, while my mom would embrace it--that's something I'm constantly trying to balance out, as I'm pulled in both directions. My mom would lament that she'd never had more children, while my dad was perfectly content with one--he didn't think he had the energy or patience for more. I find it hard to balance what I think I can handle with what I desire. What's reasonable with what will satisfy my heart's longings.
My parents were both wonderfully generous people--sometimes to their own detriment; that's something that's in me that can't be shut off. Mom and Dad didn't know how to advocate for or represent themselves--self-doubt and deficits in social graces got in the way. I'm still learning what questions to ask, what avenues to pursue, and who to trust--I often wish I had a better skill set for marketing and advancement in my creative pursuits.
Yes, we are more than just a combo of our parents' strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies--but I've realized that there's so much of my mom and dad in the mix of me that it's a bit like sorting through a deceased loved one's belongings. You have to decide what's worth keeping and what isn't going to be missed. What is useful and what can simply be kept as a memento. What to toss--and what to pass on through the generations.
I believe I inherited more good than bad and gleaned more true life lessons than trivialities. I remember my folks in my laughter and honor them with my wit. Like my dad, I can turn a rhyme like nobody's business; and in the face of an impossible situation, my mom's optimism and bold faith will rise when least expected--but most needed. Yes, the deep thinking and heavy emotions that are a part of me present adequate struggles--but they are the very clash of values, priorities, and purposes that push me toward my calling. Though I wrestle within because I carry conflicting and complex facets of two incredibly gifted people, I believe God made me who I am for a reason. And I'm still on the road to discovery.
No wonder we put pressure--whether intentional or not--on our kids. We want them to be better than us, more successful than us--to go farther than us. We don't want them to struggle in the same ways. We see ourselves in them and want them to perfect the mix. And so it is my honor, my legacy, to find the balance...and to tip the scales.
No comments:
Post a Comment