My parents had said they were proud of me a few times in my life. A few very select times. Not connected to anything, and seemingly random. The last time my father said it, I remember being surprised. The look I gave him was a mix of confusion and disbelief. You are proud of me? Why?
I hadn’t done anything in my life worthy of their pride. I was painfully aware of that. Although I mostly did well in school, I didn’t go to college. I was married and divorced twice. My career was a series of jobs that eventually led to something stable and long term. I don’t have any area of expertise. I’m not an athlete. I’m not a musician or artist. I’m not a great cook - I get by. I have social anxiety (back in the day we called it being “shy”)
I’ve had a couple of people in the past tell me I was a decent writer. I believed it to some extent. My writing is a road to and from my soul. It is, however, a road neglected and abandoned by travelers. And then neglected and abandoned by me because of the lack of travelers. I have shared writings/blogs with friends and lovers, in an act of exposing myself, allowing myself to be vulnerable with them. Often, they remain silent or do not even read what I have gifted them access to. (When I was in couple’s therapy with my ex-husband, I expressed that I was hurt by his disinterest in my life & interests. I stated clearly that one of the things that he could do to show he was inclined to ‘fix’ things between us and work on “us”; to show he was invested, was to read a novelette that I wrote inspired by his nieces. He never did. Not one page.)
However, my parents hadn’t read much of my writing. My father never had, my mother had read my adolescent & preteen poetry, but that is it.
I have no marketable skills or talents - there is nothing that I am really good at. Like REALLY good at. An expert at. My talent. I don’t mean to say I am not good at anything. I am good at alot of things. I can do alot of things to the extent of getting by, but not to the extent of ‘expert’ or ‘talent’. That being said - I am proud of myself. For things I don’t think my parents would agree with or understand.
I’m proud that I do have a decent job, working in an industry to help people, especially children. This was something I always wanted to do - help kids who needed it. It isn’t in the ways that I thought I would be, but it is within my skillset and personality. I had planned to go into Mental Health - to be a therapist or counselor. I lacked the guidance and knowledge to do what I needed to get there. I have met and worked with many individuals who did exactly what I said I wanted to do. I don’t think I could be that person. I worked my way through the system for 20+ years. I am good at what I do. I am proud of that, and I am proud that I am making a difference. (4)
I am proud that I am not an alcoholic or drug addict or a criminal, nor have I ever been arrested. The only police contact I have had is a couple parking tickets and accidents. I cannot minimize that. Both my parents had substance use histories. Call it addiction or whatever. My father was a drug dealer. However - it was mostly marijuana. It was illegal then. They also partook in other substances (cocaine, crack, pills) most of which I was present for and witnessed at one time or another or more. A majority of my cousins - my generation level - had also taken that road. Drugs. Crimes. Teenage Pregnancies. Children with multiple baby-mamas/daddies. Living in sketchy areas, possibly living off of state or federal aid. I had been asked - “what was it that made you not go down that road?” I was challenged with this question, because I didn’t know. There wasn’t a life event that scared me straight. I also didn’t look at the way I was brought up as deviant or detrimental until I was much older and out of the environment. In some ways, I was on that same road. And then I wasn’t. (3)
I am proud that I am a survivor. I survived my childhood. I survived being a child of parents with issues. I survived being in emotionally abusive relationships. I survived incidents of being attacked and abused. I survived two parents dying horribly degrading deaths from cancer. (2)
I am proud of my abilities as a mom. I am a good mom. It was harder than I thought it would be, and there were mom-skills that I did not have. I faltered at times, there were things I did wrong, for sure. It was not easy. But I figured it out, and my daughter is amazing. I am so proud of her, and I know that I did that. (we did that). I always felt that I was meant to be a mom. So when I was faced with the idea that it wasn’t going to happen, I would not accept that. Adoption was a challenge on its own, and navigating that was for the longest times one of the big things I was proud of. Now that my daughter is now a full grown person, it is my work as a mom that takes place of that. My ex once implied that I wasn’t a good mom, and it was the only insult that I would not tolerate. Say whatever you want about my morals or my body or my intelligence, or my white-trash family or my status as a wife. But above everything else - I am a good mom. You cannot take that away from me. (1)
I also know I am a good person. I play for “the good team”. There were many times in my life that I was accused of NOT being a good person. I know now that these people were hurt, sometimes by me, by my actions (I did not mean to hurt them maliciously, they got hurt in the process of me becoming my authentic self). Some were hurt in my name (“You were always the favorite”). They lashed out at me from this hurt. A hurt for a hurt. I understand that. But it did not make it true. Because I was hurt by this, I questioned their accuracy at times.
What makes someone a Good Person? There are so many opinions on that. I found multiple lists on the internet. All of them included some of the ones on this list.
Empathy
Forgiveness
Honesty
Prudence
Respect for others
They apologize and/or admit when they are wrong
Fortitude / Courage
Generous
Grateful
Integrity
Justice
Responsibility
Good listener
Compassionate
Non-judgemental
Consistent
Strive to do better
Certainly, there are things on this list that I can improve on (Prudence?) and things that as I get older I am better at (being grateful, apologizing). I do strive to do better - I strive to be a better person, and I strive to be more authentic in my life.
So why were my parents proud of me? I had never given them reason to be proud of me. What were they proud of? That I existed? That I was their daughter? I had no influence on that. No power or influence. It was nothing I did or did not do. Call that unconditional love, perhaps. But Pride?
I tell my daughter I am proud of her, often. And I am. I am proud of the person she is, and has become. I am proud of her when she does things that are hard for her. And things that would be hard for me too. I am proud of her for standing up for herself, for advocating for herself, for being herself. I am proud of her for doing things even if she is afraid or nervous. and I am proud of any part I may have had in that process.
I have the distinct feeling that my parents felt that I was not proud of them. Or was embarrassed by them. Or that they felt I would swap them out for someone else. Part of this comes from some things that I read in my mom’s journals, and just an overall feeling. I regret that they may have felt this way. They made choices that I didn’t agree with, yes. I loved them, and were proud of them. I was never embarrassed or ashamed of them, or where I came from. Who they were made me who I am. I relished having them in my corner.
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