Technically, I have a younger sister and two parents, but since adolescence -- about the time my independent nature became apparent and alienated me -- I have felt orphaned and been in search of replacements for the family that, to this day, behave as if I was unplanned and unwanted.
Always an original, demanding attention and doing things my way, whether it warms or cools the hearts of my relations, I tread my own path. Being a separatist has come with more than it's share of difficulties, but this comes as no surprise; agreeable people are easier to handle. My impassioned, energetic, open spirit is more often than not overwhelming for my relations who would rather I nod, smile and bow to whatever unsuitable or irrational demands they make.
The outcast of my family, I speak my mind and heart too much for their sensitive natures and spend fruitless tears on their exclusionary treatment of me. And some who think they know me wonder why I'm an attention seeker; aren't we all in search of ways and people to fill the holes in our souls?
I've managed to close the gaps with friends and their parents who love me as if our ties were unbreakable; I've found fulfillment in romantic liaisons with fiercely affectionate partners whose warm families, so different from my own, have embraced me wholly; I've created life -- a daughter whose smiles and snuggles brim with an attachment only (most) moms understand; mine often treats me like a fair-weather friend and saves her Gilmore Girls style of mothering for my sister.
Maybe I'm the problem -- I expect too much of those near and dear to me. I love hard and fast, which makes it difficult to understand any other way of expressing a sentiment essential to happiness; so perplexed am I by emotional inhibition, I once broke off a relationship fueled by the sizzling chemistry I'd only ever imagined because even though I knew he loved me, he never said it. Over brunch one morning, I remember feeling defeated by a comment he made in response to a couple next us exchanging "I love you's." He'd smiled fondly at me and remarked how "cheesy" and "unnecessary" it was for two people who felt that intensely for each other to vocalize it. Right then and there, over coffee and croissants, I decided his cowardice was unnecessary and left him.
I've had more than enough cold in my life and need all the warmth I can get -- the catalyst behind my addiction to hot yoga? Perhaps. The moment I first stepped into that room, thick with exertion (as those who practice know, it becomes tangible in there), I was enveloped with a sense of belonging -- pure comfort in working myself harder than I ever thought possible. Through the surrender comes a constant evolving, an emergence of one's true self.
Accustomed to facing challenges, I thought I'd learn to accept the fight to fit in with my family as a constant battle, worthy of my efforts if real, unconditional love resulted; but last night I came to question the importance of being included by my true blood. Are those who refuse to reciprocate a modicum of what I give really worth it? I know my sister can give me what I need and I will never give up on her -- ours is a friendship worthy of weathering any bullshit impediments. My parents, however, may benefit from a little less of my struggle to obtain their affections; one can only swim against the current for so long before growing tired and drowning.
No comments:
Post a Comment