A short history of my parents and my relationship with them
This is personal and longer than I thought it would be, so I'm putting it under the cut.
My parents are by no means perfect, and certainly have a lot of boomer issues (they are actually boomers and were both raised devout Catholic) but their life hasn't been easy. My mom is second generation Italian-American, and grew up under their parents who were discriminated because of being Italian. She grew up on an apple orchard, and when she was 3 she got scarlet fever during a winter harsh enough that the Dr couldn't visit and diagnose until much later, and we believe that the fever itself caused brain damage amongst other long term issues. Because of her parents growing up during the 20's and during the Great Depression, the idea of any support you need is a crutch was ingrained in her and so she refused to get mental health therapy until it was severely needed and then only went till it wasn't severe (and specifically for OCD), meaning that her anxiety was virtually unchecked. She struggled in school because of the brain damage (it was the early 60s so developmental disabilities weren't respected), and struggled at home because of... well it's the 60s and her parents were Catholic, so domestic abuse was rampant, so she certainly suffered from even if she doesn't view it as trauma. Her anxiety totally unchecked, even to this day. Both of my parents are definitely neurodivergent, but was forced to hide it and cope, so they don't fully understand why I haven't been able to do the same.
My parents met in Highschool, and they got married just after my mom graduated HS. My mom went to school for interior design (she wanted to be an architect but the school refused to let her pursue that because "women can't do math." My dad is endlessly optimistic. Trying to have a serious conversation about bad shit happening is… trying. They were married for almost 20 years before they had me, and when I was born my mom developed a form hyperthyroidism called Graves Disease, which causes fatigue and anxiety, and has plagued her mental health the rest of her life.
My parents had saved up a modest amount of money, so they decided to move to NC. Just after my dad left his job (he worked in telecommunications), bought a piece of land and started building a house, then the dotcom bubble popped, before we even got to move to NC. We arrived, but jobs in my dad's field were totally gone, so he went back to school (he didn't finish college because Bell South offered him a full time job with full training and it was '72 so who even needed a degree then). At the same time, my mom's Graves Disease got really bad and they had to burn out her thyroid with radiation therapy, which was a lot on her system. My maternal grandma had a stroke, and despite having more money than us, none of my mom's 3 siblings were willing to take her in, so we did. My dad, who just finished one of his trade school degrees, again couldn't find a job thanks to the 2008 recession. We lost our only car and our house, my dad still blames himself for that and the mental health issues that came from that experience no matter how many times I try to convince him otherwise (honestly I'm glad it happened so early to me, otherwise I wouldn't've discovered communism). It forced my mom to get a job, but the recession was still on, she was a stay at home mom for 17 years and the interior design field was dead, so the only job she could get was Home Depot. Honestly I don't even remember what my dad did at that time, he was working 2 jobs and went back to school again.
My relationship with my parents is always tenuous. They both grew up in loud, extremely social families, and they cannot comprehend my struggles with socializing, let alone socializing with family. E.g. my mom sends messages near this long at least once a week, with messages every other day that are at least 500 words, and that's after down after me having to go low contact on them because of how overwhelming it was (she expected a similarly sized reply, and tri-weekly phone calls too). They both have what I used to think of as "word rot," in that they talk to fill space with literally anything, and "bulldoze" over others beginning to talk because they're still talking (I swear I have no idea how they do it). This was really hard to grow out of, I felt uncomfortable because I didn't have space to think, but also I felt uncomfortable when I was alone because I didn't have that when I was developing.
They were not accepting of me coming out as trans, and the only way I could get them to respect it was through threatening low contact, which I had to follow through on for 4 months. They still supported and loved me, but because I was their child, not because of who I am. They're much more respectful now, though I do still feel that they're just putting on a face because they want to see me, not because they respect who I am.
They have a hard time keeping up with my mental gymnastics, and view their childhoods mostly through rose-tinted glasses: To them, their parents were near flawless parents, so they always fallback on "the parent is always right," or WWJD. My dad has no idea how to handle trauma and it's near impossible to get serious reflection out of him, so I have no idea how to approach this, because it usually devolves into me having to make neutral counterpoints that are relatively pessimistic compared to his views. That often gets overblown into "You're being too negative," or getting frustrated with beating my head into a wall to the point where I feel that the only way to get through to them is by pointing out extreme counterpoints, which are shocking enough that they refuse to believe it and shut down that line of topic. Honestly I still don't know how to approach them about this, because their views that "Everything is God's plan", "being older = being wiser", "Parents always know what's best for their child" and that somehow their personal logic doesn't line up with mine mean that I feels like unless I present an ultimatum there is no learning from the conversations.
On top of all that, I don't have their traditional view of family, as I believe that family is who to choose and not from whom you're born, and because of that plus my family not understanding how I interact with others, I felt pushed away, and pushed away myself.
All that said, I care about them deeply because they are honest and do their best, even if it's misguided at times. Saying I love them is difficult, partially because of my drive to be fair clashes with it: would I love them if I didn't live with them for 20 years? I don't know. At the same time, I care about them so much and I want to see them grow, to enjoy life, to follow their dreams.
I guess I do love them
