When I was a child, I was surrounded by unhappy people. My mother went out of her way to make sure she was unhappy, with husbands no one should have married, with jobs she would be critical of, and by not allowing herself any kind of joy to compensate for all of that. She had addictions, but even her addictions were more fuel for her unhappiness.
My grandmother didn't have to go out of her way to find reasons to be unhappy. Literally nothing in her life was good enough for her. She criticized everything. She complained about where she lived and the vehicles she had to drive and the tasks she had to do. Never, even for a moment, was she grateful for the home she didn't have to pay for, the vehicle someone provided to her, or the fact that the tasks she did were do so in a safe and secure place. For my grandmother, there were no blessings.
Also, as a child, I operated under the assumption that I could do something to end the unhappiness of these people. I could behave better. I could entertain them. I could love them enough. Of course, it was impossible for me to make them happy. I was fat. No matter how good I acted or what I did or how much I made them laugh, the conversation would always, ALWAYS shift back to my flaws. There was a myriad of ways in which I displeased them. I would never be enough.
I think this impossible task of trying to please them is part of the foundation of the problems with my adult life. When you're not accepted or really loved unconditionally as a child, it's what you accept and expect as you grow into adulthood. Without knowing better, you assume this is how people are, That isn't far from the truth. There are millions and millions of people out there who are completely unhappy and think someone else is supposed to meet their demands of happiness.
However, instead of finding people who are close to what they want, they pick people who are broken and flawed. It's like wanting a blue purse and buying a green one because you're convinced you can slowly remove all the yellow pigment and make it blue. Past that, you spend all your time in frustration as the dye never changes when you could have A. learn to enjoy your green purse or B. just picked a blue purse in the first place.
My mother married a series of jackasses. I used to blame the jackasses, but I don't anymore. There was no deception on their part. She KNEW they were bastards when she married them, and yet, she did it anyway. Then she would spend her time being miserable because they weren't decent people. Why didn't she just pick a decent person to begin with?
On the flip side of this, over time, I've come to understand that you can't please everyone . . . or possibly anyone. If I met a man who wanted a girlfriend who cooked, looked good in dresses, and enjoyed stupid comedy movies, I wouldn't feel like I needed to conform to those things in order to make him happy. I would just accept that those aren't the things I am and tell him to have a nice life. I wouldn't judge him and I wouldn't judge me either. I'm the green purse and I'm okay with that.
There are some things in my life I've had trouble letting go of, things that have been with me since I was a young teen. I think it this aspect of my life has been part of my definition for so long that I've come to accept it and think it's beautiful and noble. All the while, it's held me back. It's so stupid too because it's something that I rationally know will never, ever happen. It's kind of beyond someone not wanting a green purse. It's more like I'm a green purse and they want a backpack. It's time to let go so that I can move forward.
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