When my nibbling was six or sever, let’s call them X, I and my bestie took X and my bestie’s baby, we’ll call them Y, to the park for a picnic and later, a swim. My nibling’s mother is pretty exacting and very much a germophobe. I am….not either of those things*.
Here’s another thing you need to know about me. I don’t like shoes. At all. So I wear them as little as possible. Including outside when I can get away with it. I promise this matters for this post.
We’re eating our picnic, which I have to imagine was something like sandwiches and chips. I remember dropping a chip on the ground and folling the five-second rule, brushed it off and ate it. My nibling was gobsmacked because their mother would never allow that in a million years. I explained the five-second rule (and, yes, I know it doesn’t work that way), and they were fascinated by it. Later, they accidentally dropped a chip on the ground, picked it up, brushed it off, and then with a weird look on their face, put it in their mouth.
Here’s the thing. I was the one who often presented them with a differest point of view. I am radically different than my brother in many ways. One of the biggest ways is that I’m not a Christian and my brother is, as is my nibling’s mother. I never pushed my opinions onto my niblings, but if they said something to me about it or asked me a question, I would be honest. My last therapist scolded me because when my nibling said to me that their god was the oldest and best god, I corrected them factually. Not about the best part because that’s subjective, but the ‘oldest’ part because that’s just incorrect. the Christian god is relatively new. Of the seven most well-known religions (in order of oldest to youngest, Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Daoism (Taoism), Christianity, and Islam), Christianity is the second newest/youngest.
My therapist angrily said that since I was not my nibling’s parent, I should not have said that. Full disclosure, my last therapist’s specialty was motherhoodh. Just noting that because it’s possibly related. I disagree with that strenuously. I don’t think I should let my nibling believe a lie just because it’s been indoctrinated into them by their parent(s).
Side note: That might be because of my neurospiciness. I have never been formally diagnosed with either autism or ADHD, but I have several traits of each. And my inability to tell when to lie and when not to lie is one of them.
I am not being snarky when I say that I don’t get when a lie is polite and acceptable and when it’s neither. I mean, that’s not completel ytrue. I know not to tell someone that their ass looks fat in a dress, even if they ask. I don’t understand why this is true because I would not ask that question if I didn’t want an honest response, but I accept that this is true.
I also get the ‘how are you?’ ‘I’m fine’ social nicety. That’s just a rote exchange. Same as you would not dump on your cashier at the grocery store when you were feeling blue. Although, for some reason, the reverse of that is not true. Cashiers and other people in service jobs dump on me all the time. Even when I don’t ask follow-up questions, I get to hear things I’d rather not know (and don’t care about). And, in some cases, disturbing.
Back to my nibling and their dirty feet. I had forgotten to grab a towel for them so we went back to their house. They looked really scared as they timidly asked if it was ok if they waited in the car for me. I said of course. I didn’t know why they wanted to do that, btu I trusted that they had a good reason. The look of relief on their face when I said it was fine if they stayed in the car haunted me. It still does.
Why? Because I knew there was a story behind that look. And that fear. I knew because I had felt it, too. It resonated with me on a cellular level. No, I didn’t know why they felt that way, but I knew that it wasn’t good. At all.
It was decades later when I figured it out. It was their dirty feet. As I said, their mother was a germophobe and thought that being physically dirty made you morally unclean. Well, she may not have believed that, but that was what her attitude conveyed. So when I let my nibling walk around in bare feet, of course they got dirty. Their feet, I mean. If their mother had seen their feet, she would have blown a gasket.
It’s the same with my parents. If I fucked up, no matter how big or small, the response was the same. Outraged incredulity that I could have done something so stupid/bad. The reason why didn’t matter, either. So if I accidentally broke something, I would get scolded as if I had done it on purpose.
I was a docile child into my teens. Mostly because I knew that there would be hell to pay if I acted up. No physical punishment, but emotional abuse was frequent and plentiful. From my father, it was just shouting at me and intimidating me into shutting the fuck up. I never agreed with what he was saying, but I knew better than to set him off.
As hard as that was, it was better than the guilty manipulation of my mother. She made everything about her. If I brought up something that was bothering me, she acted as if I was saying she was the worst mother ever or had a ready excuse why she had done what she had done. Or, and this was the worst, she denied she had done what I was bringing up.
This was how my family worked. I had to become the historian because my father, my mother, and my brother, all did not remember what happened in the past for different reasons. My brother just has a terrible memory. Not just for what happened but for faces as well. My father was a raging narcissist who simply did not care about anything other than himself. My mother had a vested interest in not seengi how terrible my father was so she had to forget the negative things that happneed if she was going to stay with him.
It’s really fucks with your brain to have people who deny your experience around you. I don’t mind my brother because he’ll just tell me he can’t remember whatever I bring up. With my father, he just looks at me blankly. As for my mother, she actively denies what I said.
I have more to say, but I’m tired as fuck from the flu shot. I will pcik this back up tomorrow if I’m feeling better. If not, then I may skip it. We’ll have to see how I feel tomorrow.
*At least when it comes to being outside.