Post 5: My growing up

Post 5: I’ll give you a little bit of my growing up - from my perspective/reality. I emphasize this at the beginning because I am aware that my beliefs shape my reality. I remind my kids of this all the time. If you believe something to be true, it’s what you will see as “your reality.” Every person in this post would likely have a different take on things than I do. But it’s my story today… I grew up in a little village east of Edmonton. Most of my dad’s family lived close by. Life was okay. Can’t complain too much about the day to day. I’m the oldest of four; I have two younger sisters and my brother is the baby of the family. I knew pretty much my whole life my parents didn’t really like each other. As a good Mormon woman who had gotten pregnant before marriage (gasp), she got married and made the most of it (as one should do - enter sarcastic eye roll). I remember in my early childhood, prior to me being 8, spending some time with my dad, doing things he liked to do. It all pretty much stopped once my brother was born. My dad finally had someone to do those “male” activities with. As a kid, it’s hard to piece together why something is okay for a boy to do but not okay for a girl to do, and vice versa. I was involved in lots of extracurricular activities - none of which my dad was involved in. My mom did it all. It must have been considered “women’s work.” For real, I have no memory of him ever driving me to an activity. I know my mom forced him to attend big things, although I don’t ever remember feeling like this was something he wanted to do or that this was something that brought him joy. To his credit, he’s a better grandpa to my kids than he was a dad. There was defined roles in our house. Whether explicitly stated or not, I knew what women were supposed to do, what women were capable of, what women were worth - and I can tell you it wasn’t much. Most of this was not something that was stated but just what I felt. At a young age, I had two versions of me: one had big grandiose ideas of what her life would look like; the other was “just” a small-town girl who probably shouldn’t have such grand plans. “Those, little girl, would be out of your reach.” Just shy of my 15th birthday, my mom left my dad. Honestly, I felt relieved. There was sadness, but not for the loss of my dad. You know, you can’t really lose something you didn’t have to begin with. There is sadness and guilt as I was supposed to stay with my dad and continue on with my life as normal. At the last minute, I decided I didn’t want to stay there; I wanted to go with my mom and siblings. This choice ultimately led to my dad “keeping” my brother. Sad because I watched my mom lose her son. Sad because we lost him too. Sad because my dad fought hard in court to keep him, but not once did he try to keep us too. As the divorce and custody fight over my brother were ongoing, my dad would call us every day at 6 p.m. Had this been sincere, it might have been the start of something good, but it was merely to have a paper trail he could show the judge what a good dad he was. I was 15, so I wasn’t an idiot. My dad gave my mom one child support payment - one. I guess three girls is the equivalent of one boy. Since the whole goal of divorce is to ensure you completely screw over the other person (please hear the sarcasm in my voice), my mom struggled to make ends meet. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment; I got to share a room with my mom. We had to use a food bank as she was desperately trying to pay off some debt. You see, kids know things whether they are said out loud or not. My dad valued possessions and money. He didn’t like to share. So he kept the family possessions and the money. (I use past tense, but the same is true today.) I was lucky enough to give him a few experiences in which he had to learn that people ARE more important than things. I watched my mom, this amazing woman, do everything in her power to keep us above water, financially and emotionally. I mean, I was 15 and dealing with my own sh*t, so naturally I used this situation as an excuse to rebel. 😉 But I knew. I knew what she was doing for us and will be forever grateful for her strength and courage. I forgave my dad a long time ago. I love and accept him for who he is, and our relationship today is based on what he’s capable of having. The past is the past; I cannot change it. I accept it for what it is, what it has taught me, and now I’d like to move on. My present is still dealing with how those experiences in my childhood shaped the beliefs I have about myself. They shaped what I believe my worth is, particularly as a woman. They shaped my beliefs about marriage and the dynamics between husband and wife. I felt (and still sometimes feel) unlovable and unimportant. I am, again, torn between two versions of myself: The one who believes she can have it all, do it all, inspire all; and the one who scoffs and says, “But you’re JUST a small-town girl…” My song of the day “What about us” P!nk

Feb 26, 2020, 10:29 AM