I have more to say about the truth and honesty. I’m for it. The end.
No, seriously. I am very much about my internal truth because I had to deny it for so long. When I was kid, I was made to hold in any negative emotion. My parents did not want to hear anything about anything. They wanted me to be quiet and smile and just exist. Honestly, I’m not even sure about the last bit.
You know the saying, “Children should be seen, but not heard”? My father believed children should not be seen nor heard. And my mother supported my father in almost everything.
In addition, my mother was constantly rewriting history so that it said what she wanted it to say. When I was in my mid-thirties, I realized that she was a gaslighter. Not on purpose, but she will always tell a story the way she wanted it to end. She said something mean or rude? Never happened. She did something that showed her in a bad light? No, she didn’t.
Here’s my last post, by the way, before I continue on.
I am passionate about my truth. At the same time, I’m also passionate about being protective of my soul and heart. What I mean is that if I know someone is going to be callous with either, I have no compunction about lying to them. Usually by omission, but sometimes, it’s a deliberate lie. Or, as I talked about it with A, I tell a lie/untruth/skirt around the truth out loud, but say the truth in my mind. That makes me feel better. Does it really make a difference? Probably not, but it makes it more palatable to me.
I am a slow learner. As with most people, I was taught that honesty was of utmost importance, and it was a sin to lie. Both church-wise and culturally. At the same time, my truths were so far from eveyrone else’s truth, I didn’t feel safe saying mine out loud–especially not to my parents.
My parents could not handle the truth. Again, I learn that fairly late in my life. My mother did not like to hear anything that countered how she thought life should be and my father simply did not hear anything that did not adhere to his beliefs.
With the latter, it was easy to tell when my father did not like where a conversation was going. He would get a look on his face as if he’d eaten a lemon, and his eyes would go blank. I have known for decades that when he gets like that, it’s best to not say a damn word. However, he has the knack for saying the exact thing that will set me off. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, but he certainly gets enjoyment from it. At least until I talk back to him.
It goes like this. He will be silent for several seconds and get a thoughtful look on his face. I always brace myself because I know something awful/outrageous is going to come out of his mouth. One time, he was talking about chores and how my mother did them all. He quickly added, “Minna doesn’t like it when I say that, but I work full-time.”
It’s bait. I know it’s bait. And yet, I took it. I pointed out that my mother worked full-time as well, and there was heat in my voice. I hate that he is a sexist–so much. And that my mother puts up with it.
Side note: My mother has often said that I acted the way I did in reaction to her. I have said that she’s right–and she’s wrong. Not to her because I don’t want to defend myself for hours on end, but in my brain. She’s wrong in that I am not doing it to spite her. Like, I did not not have children to make a point to her; I just did not want children. On the other hand, I am hesitant to be in a relationship in large part because of her. I’ve seen how she’s let her whole life be consumed by my father, and I know I have that in me. I don’t want that for myself, so it’s just easier not to do it at all.
Also, I don’t like being around people that much. I prefer my own company, and I don’t want to have to be beholden to someone else. I like doing my thing whenever I want. I don’t like to compromise, and I know that’s the basis of a solid relationship. Except, women tend to do it way too often in a het norm relationship.
If I did date again, it would not be a het cis white dude. That’s dating on difficulty mode–no thank you. I was chatting with A how much easier it is to talk to queer neuroatypical people, which I don’t get to do that often. I’m just able to breathe, and I don’t feel like I’m on the wrong wavelength. Or radio wave. Whatever. My problem is that I’m too honest if I don’t check myself, which really takes people aback. If I’m being careful, then I’m too smooth. Not that I lie, exactly, but I keep everything on a polished surface level.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, exactly, but it makes me feel lonely. Not that I’m trying to make meaningful connections on the daily, but it’s still difficult. I wish I had known decades ago that there is a sweet spot between being too honest and being a liar. I wish I had known that telling my truth in limited doses was acceptable.
This is where my mother really hurt my perception of what is acceptable and what isn’t. Every important thing about me that I’ve shared with her, she’s hated. And she made it very clear that she hated it. She would make a face and then say something negative, not even realizing that she was being a jerk.
I’m done for now. More tomorrow.