I was at my moms for dinner and my little brother told me I'm almost thirty and that I'm getting old. I laughed because I know, for a lot of people, the mere thought of approaching thirty is scary enough to induce a meltdown. I'm not one of those people, to me, thirty seems like another landmark age, a time for transition, and I'm excited for that.
In talking about that new part of life, I brought up the fact that I wasn't sure where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do next. What I do know is that my job right now is exactly that, a job. Nothing less, nothing more. Decent enough to BARELY scrape by.
I asked my family, "WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I'M ALMOST THIRTY, I HAVE A SON, I NEED TO AT LEAST START MOVING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION!"
My family tossed different ideas back and forth, none serious, more for laughs. In the middle of all the winning suggestions (come on, who WOULDN'T want to be an award winning sandwich artist for Subway HQ?!?!) my mom asked me "Well if you could do anything, what would you do?"
The battle between my brother and youngest sister about whether or not I should be a rapper or a competitor on Cupcake Wars stopped and everyone just looked at me, waiting quietly for my response. I kept my thoughts to myself for a second, almost afraid to share the truth. MY truth. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting rather impatiently for my response.
"I'd do what I've wanted to do since I was a kid, be a therapist. I want to help people who aren't sure how to help themselves"
Everyone looked at each other for a quick moment. I felt my confidence fleeting. My little brother shrugged his shoulders in a sort of passive agreement. Meanwhile, my mom and sister burst into laughter. My dad, sandwiched between the two of them, quietly slurped his soup.
"YOU! YOU DONT HAVE THE PATIENCE TO BE A THERAPIST" My mom was barely understandable in between laughs. Apparently, to my mother, my future as a comic was more promising.
"You have to go to school for hella years for that and put in like hella hours. You haven't even finished a full semester". My sister, the only one of us to actually complete a year of college, was the apparent expert on my career of choice. Let's be real here, hella years? HELLA hours! She HAD to know what she was talking about, right???
I stared blankly at them for a few seconds, waiting for them to follow their initial statements with something more positive and less...well, shitty.
Nothing. They continued to tell me all of the reasons why this would never work. Hmm, I must've missed something. A LOT of things actually, to not see how I'd been so terrible about choosing something I was passionate about.
ME! Helping people with their problems! When I already hate so many of my own? That was, to my mom, a definite mistake.
And dude, like, it would take hella time. HELLA school. I like, have a kid. When would I have time. I'm a MOM now. Geez, my sister had some really good points too.
My brother had since moved upstairs, I don't blame him. I'd have rather played Call of Duty too. My dad, continued to watch quietly. Slurp. Slurp. That soup must've been REALLY good.
Hell, I like soup. I can make soup. maybe I could be a chef!
Eh.
My son's dad is a chef, nevermind. Us having things in common is NOT supposed to happen. Phew. Dodged that career bullet.
I didn't have anything to contribute to this conversation that was far too quickly becoming a dissection of my social and time management skills so I left.
Didn't say anything.
Didn't argue. Defend or explain myself.
Nothin'
Part of me wanted to tell them off. How dare they say such horrible things, they don't know what I'm capable of. They're just being "haters"
Another part of me wanted to crawl into the fetal position and cry myself to sleep. WHY didn't they believe in me??? WHY weren't they supportive???
A few seconds after I walked out and closed the front door, I remembered a "talk" my mom and I had the summer before my senior year of high school.
She had just opened my report card and was pissed.
I'll be the first to admit that my grades in school weren't great. To be completely honest, there were bad. I hated homework. I rarely did it but managed high scores on every test. The two usually evened out and I managed a c average. Definitely not anything to brag about but it could've been worse.
Back to my mom being pissed. We'd been arguing a lot, this report card was just the icing on the cake.
"I don't know where I went fucking wrong with you. I did everything right."
Obviously.
"Shit, I bet you won't even graduate. Fucking waste of time"
Now, I wish I could've given her the benefit of the doubt that this was just poorly executed "tough love" but her eyes said it all.
I disgusted her. She hated me and she made no attempt to hide it.
Needless to say, the following year happily ended with a walk across a huge stage where our class president managed to butcher my ENTIRE name and my principal whom I'd never actually MET before gave me a halfhearted hug and limp handshake while some photographer snapped a picture that I wasn't the least bit prepared for.
I found my family after the ceremony and walked over to the screaming group. Signs, blowhorns, confetti (which was definitely NOT allowed), they were HARD to miss.
My dad gave me a huge hug and a kiss on the forehead. He was happy. His first baby hit a huge milestone. You can feel his pride in the picture we took together.
I walked to my mom next, ready for her to say she was wrong. That she was sorry for saying such horrible things. For not believing that I was good enough. For making ME feel like I wasn't good enough. Those apologies never came.
I wasn't aware of it but that stuck with me for years. I wasn't good enough. I didn't deserve good things in life.
In retrospect, it's obvious. How could I NOT see the patterns in my behavior. How could I have been so horrible to myself for so many years? How did I realize I was unintentionally sabotaging the good things in life due to me feeling unworthy.
I endured so much pain, heartache and loss because I never felt I was enough.
It's only been a year or so since I've started to understand my past. I started seeing a family therapist once a week and immediately asked myself why I never went sooner.
Oh yeah, I was told I didn't need one. -_- bad call.
She helped me see things I'd chosen to ignore, helped me understand why I'd overlooked them.
Sometimes it was painful to talk about but like any good workout, it's going to hurt for a while if you expect to get good results.
Rose had told me during one of our sessions that I'd make a good therapist. That I was here to help people.
She knew my truth. I'd wanted to be a therapist since I was a child and here was the confirmation that I wasn't crazy in thinking I could do it. She knew I was good enough. Why didn't anyone else?
Why was the thought of me being what Rose was for me so ridiculous?
I was offended and hurt... and then I realized that this, what i was feeling now, was why I wanted to become a therapist.
I wanted to help people who weren't quite sure how to help themselves. People who were hurting. Lost. People like me.
