Shoopuf's Waiting!

Sometimes I think about how, when I was 5, my dad would make grilled cheese sandwiches and cut them into dinosaur shapes for me. Other times when I was hungry, he would refuse to feed me at all, because he decided that 5 was old enough for me to cook for myself when he didn't feel like doing it.

I think about how he taught me to swim, and fish, and (yes) throw a ball. In the summer, at night, he would wrap me in a huge comforter and carry me around outside to show me the constellations. But I hated being left alone with him because he was often bad tempered, mean to me for no reason, and I couldn't count on him for basic things like food.

Sometimes I think about how my mom raised hell in my high school principal's office in front of multiple faculty members because they weren't complying with my IEP (disability required accommodations). She always saw red if someone else laid a finger on me, even figuratively. When we were at home she screamed at me for things I had no control over and said I was using my illness to get my way.

I think about how she bought me art supplies and paid for lessons for all of my hobbies. She attended every single concert, performance, and game. I don't think I went a day without being told she loved me while growing up, and she constantly told me how proud she was. But I could never trust her mood and she could go from loving mother to terrorizing me before I knew what was happening.

My parents love me but I still flinch if someone in my vicinity washes a dish a little too aggressively. My parents never intentionally traumatized me, but my nervous system never knew the difference. Neither of my parents saw anything they did as abuse; they believed they were good parents. It wasn't until my mom was in her mid 60s that she grasped that her own childhood had been abusive, too.

It's disheartening to have to admit to yourself that some people you held out hope for probably won't get better and aren't necessarily redeemable and are actually just. Bad at being people. There may not be categorically good and bad people, but at the same time, sometimes, it is that simple. A person who repeatedly chooses to harm others when they've been given a thousand chances to learn and grow is not a good person.

They're still complex people with a lot of their own trauma who lacked many skills necessary for good parenting. I still have good memories with them.

There can still be good in them, but if they choose to bury that while showing you over and over again how ugly they are, then they aren't good.

I think there is a point where it's ok to acknowledge to yourself (and others, if relevant) that it's time to give up. It's ok to give up on people. It's ok to see them as a lost cause and stop expecting any better, especially when all of the understanding you've granted them in the past has done nothing but serve to leave you disappointed and hurt every time.

I didn't hate. I think I do now. I think that my resolve to adhere to nuanced feelings about morality has blinded me in some ways; I think it was also tied up in my own need to believe that there was something worth saving in my relationship with my parents. And everyone has their own point, their own line, at which they draw a hard limit on these things. The nuance is in the individual, in your perceptions, in the way that even microinteractions have impact.

I'm realizing that I'm completely allowed to view my mother as a bad person because she has spent decades committed to behvaior that destroys everything and everyone around her. I don't have to negotiate with myself over her good moments. I can define our relationship by the pattern of abuse that has characterized it for my entire life.

I think a better sentiment than "they're not bad, irredeemable people, they're complex..." is "even bad people can do good things, make you feel nice; even bad people are complex and not one-dimensional."

- it’s fun to be awake & in an upright position

- consciousness is a gift

might there be a reason this post resonates with a lot of women?

can you describe the phenonemon of weaponized incompetence? give an example.

in what ways might the gender pay gap have influenced this post?