First things first, no, I am not a parent, so a lot of what is going to be said will probably miss the mark. However, I like to believe that I will be speaking from my experience as the child of a parent, and from my observation of the other children of said parents. I cannot rightly say that I had a pleasant childhood, I don’t remember much or any of it to be honest. Though I certainly did not have what I’d say is a bad childhood, however, it is true that each’s experience of their own childhood is subjective. By that, what I would consider bad, might barely scratch the surface of another, and what I would consider good might not even be close to others.

That being said, a quick rundown of what I do remember. My family was not in any way affluent, but neither did we struggle very much at first glance. Both my parents worked pretty mundane jobs, but my mother was most certainly the main breadwinner in our family. My father, whom I do not have a healthy relationship with, was very much the child rearing parent for the majority of what I recall. Because of this dynamic, I was very close with my father, and very much resented my mother while in adolescence. That is no longer the case, opposite even, as I began to “see behind the curtain” as I grew older. It is by no means a stretch of the imagination to say that most, if not all children, have a very underinformed view of how the world works. That is of course by design, as not only are children the direct responsibility of their parents, but they do not yet have the mental acuity nor physical means of caring for themselves or others. Of course there are always exceptions to this, and often children are forced to meet the world head on to take care of themselves, their siblings, or even irresponsible or indesposed older family members. This was not the case in my household growing up. We were “allowed” to remain ignorant children for as long as we were able. While this in itself is not a bad thing, it did not have good results in my developmental years if you ask me.

Like I mentioned, I was close with my father and resented my mother for their roles in my childhood, without understanding what those roles entailed. This of course, is to be expected of a child, with their narrow and undeveloped view of how things work. My mother, being the main breadwinner, took her profession very seriously, as without her income, we very may well have ended up in a precarious situation with daily necessities. So she was very much absent in my perspective. Always on the phone or computer for work, not being around for various little things like school festivals or recreational events. As a young child, this was upsetting, because I felt unvalued, and that work was more important than even a simple conversation. Granted, I knew nothing of the inner workings of the family at that point, but we will get to that later. My father on the other hand, worked more of a part time variety, and did not contribute much financially to the family, and instead took on more of a house making role. This lead to him being around more and certainly felt more involved in my life. Therefore, I was much closer with my father growing up than my mother, my mother was always “the bad cop” and that certainly continued into my angsty teenage years.

Upon my 3rd suicide attempt, subsequent hospitalization, and entry into the mental healthcare system, that dynamic began to shift. Needless to say, I was still completely unawares as to the going ons of my parents’ relationship and the “real life” burdens on the two of them that comes with running a household and raising 3 children. So I did not yet have the whole picture of how much in my life was changing nor why. At that time, all I knew was that I was my father’s son, and that I had failed in that role. What I mean by that, is my father is a very old fashioned man, born and raised during the Baby Boomer glory years of the 1950’s, and therefore he had a rather harsh view on mental health. He himself I am sure was dealing with depression after the passing of his mother 3 years prior, though he was the type to never admit to it, and slog his way through the pain on his own “as a man should”. This mindset was very much present in my treatment as well. No medications, minimal therapy, no heartfelt talks about anything. Just “buck up and bear it” kind of attitude. Obviously, this did not work very well, and quite possibly may have stunted my mental health journey. My mother on the other hand, may have realized that she had been too focused on the wrong thing, and dove head first into leading my treatment. At the time, I did not realize that she was fighting with hell’s fury against and with various doctors and professionals during this time, all while now being the sole income for the family, and trying to be a bigger part of the lives of her other children who I assume shared my sentiments regarding our parents in our lives.

It wasn’t until I went off to college however, that I began to glimpse behind the curtain, and actually understand what was going on. I of course did not fully comprehend anything yet, but that still is to be expected in my opinion, with the upbringing I had. I would constantly badger my parents for money for illicit activities, all the while the 3 of us would play dumb to the fact that the money wasn’t really being used as I said it was. I really thought back then I was fooling them, but I know now that they instantly saw right through me, but still helped me out anyways. I had a rather tumultuous college life, and ultimately did not graduate because of it. For the majority of it, my father was still my closest confidant, and my mother was essentially my atm. I do now regret having that mindset back then, but I do like to think I’ve grown past it. It wasn’t until I came home for a Christmas break in my 3rd year that my then worldview fell apart. My father left home, my parents were getting devorced, and no one had told me anything. I was betrayed, blamed my mother, and started spiraling out of control, though to be honest, I wasn’t very much in control to begin with.

Fast forward a few years, and my father was not very much a part of my life, while my mother became the centerpiece of it. I felt abandoned by my father, who I would see maybe 6 times a year at a crumby family restaurant where he would give me some money, and that was it. On the other hand, my mother was again, the spearhead of my mental health treatment, and a cornerstone of my life both financially and emotionally. It did not take long for my anger towards my father and his actions to boil over, and about 5 years ago, I cut contact with him almost completely. I did offer him a chance at reconciling our relationship, but I wanted him to put in more effort to do so. I did not want to be the only person working on maintaining a relationship when I felt it wasn’t a healthy one. Of course this did not work out, and to this day I do not believe I have spoken to him since that confrontation. I’ll admit however, that I was overly harsh with him, and that I did say many things fueled solely by anger. I do not regret saying these things, but I do wish I had but more thought into how I said them. To this day, my mother is the most important thing in my life, while my father is completely absent.

To those who have read this far, thank you, we will get into the meat and potatoes now. As I’ve grown older, I like to think I’ve also began understanding how the world works. Why things are the way they are, and why people can be the way they are. Taking this knowledge and looking back, I begin to see many things I couldn’t understand at the time. With both my limited knowledge and understanding of things when I was a child, helps me look at things from back then differently, as well as myself and my though process to this day. It is safe to say that back then, and into my young adulthood, I had this imaginary, almost mythical idea of what a parent “should” be. My parents were at that time, not even comparable to this image I had of what they should be. I expect this to be a pretty common thing for children, with them not knowing how mundane things actually work, nor comprehending it even if they did. At least this was true in my case, and it seems to be true in that of my siblings. I had these expectations of my parents, that were and are by all means impossibly high. I expected them to provide for me, at any and all cost, to fight for me tooth and nail, to be able to fight the world for their child. I expected them to be these mighty and rather one dimensional characters that solely exist for me. You can probably taste the overinflated ego I had as a child, despite having an incredibly critical view of myself. I simultaneously believed that I was the worst and most important person to ever exist. How I did that, I’m not sure. I imagine it was a combination of ignorance and pride, that I abruptly had to overcome in the beginning of adulthood. But it still bothers me, that I had this fantastical view of what a parent should be, what my parents weren’t; all the while turning a blind eye to what my parents were and what they were doing for me. I don’t believe it is a difficult concept to empathize with, though I do find it difficult to fully put into words just how deluded I truely was. The thought that a parent would do anything for their child, while at its core is an entirely sane thing to believe, it is ignoring the fact that parents are not only their own people, but are most definetly confined by many things. They can’t go shoot up an entire building because their child is hungry, they can’t buy a theme park because it’s their child’s favorite, they can’t have a teacher change their curriculum to better suit only their child, etc…I imagine there is nothing a parent wouldn’t wish to do to protect their child, or their child’s happiness. But reality does not work that way, we must do the best within the confines of what we are able to do. And as simple a concept as that is, it isn’t one that I grasped until recently. Granted, I’m no genius, but I am no idiot either, but I certainly feel like one for not understanding such basic concepts until I was well into adulthood. I wasn’t exactly spoiled rotten by any means, but I ended up rotten none the less. I had this expectation that if my parents couldn’t do what I wanted, then they failed as my parents. While I imagine this sort of immature rationale is rather common, I still am wildly astounded that I held to it for so long. For that reason I am even more baffled at how my siblings, whom are only 3 years younger, continue to cling to these asinine beliefs. They take advantage of my mother and her kindness at every turn, not questioning the depths of her devotion to her children. I’ve found, that my mother was certainly a much better parent than I thought growing up, and while she is in no way perfect, she still tried her absolute hardest to see that her children are safe and as happy as they can be. I imagine she would love to be able to buy each of us a house to live on our own, but it’s impossible, I imagine shr would pay for any and all medical treatments if it meant her children would live a healthy life, but that’s not reasonable in today’s healthcare system. I imagine there is nothing that she would not do, if she were able, to provide a good life for her children, but this is again a fantasy that isn’t rooted in reality. The idea that a parent would go to any lengths for their child is certainly romantic and heartwarming, and I’d also say it is quite often seen in dire circumstances. It definetly is a truth, that a parent would do anything for their child, but equally so, there are parents who can’t do what they’d like to for their kids. Of course there is a multitude of reasons for this, ranging from just financial limitations, all the way to wanting your children to be independent and able to take care of themselves when you’re no longer able to care for them yourself. You also don’t want to form an unhealthy dependence on your child or vice versa. It certainly is a complex bag of worms, of which I probably not even touched the surface.

But the key point here, one that is obviously simple, is that Parents are people too. I know it sounds inanely dumb, and it really is, but every parent that has ever existed, or will ever exist, was their own person before becoming mom or dad. They are their own person after becoming a parent as well. Having a kid doesn’t suddenly give you magic powers to change the laws of nature or suddenly become an influence on the world. It does change the world you live in however, in multitudes of ways, ones that I don’t believe I will ever comprehend, as I will never have genetic children. I do hope that if I ever adopt, I will get a glimpse into this world that my parents saw, and I do hope that I won’t hold myself to these insanely high standards that I held my parents to. It really is such a simple concept that can often be overlooked or underestimated. Just because you have a child, does not make you some mythical figure capable of doing the impossible. I’m sure you want to, I’m sure you would fight everything in this universe to make sure your child is happy, but it isn’t possible. I imagine it is something gut wrenching that every parent has to come to terms with in themselves. That they too are bound by what is possible and reasonable, and despite wanting to rip the heavens asunder to get your child that toy they want, some things will just always be out of reach. But now, I understand why my parents were the way they were, and I give them both a lot of overdue credit for the sacrifices and hardships I put them through. I only hope that I can spend the rest of their lives living up to their expectations, even though I know I won’t. But, I will try, maybe not my best, but I will try as long as I am able to atone for the way I treated them, and for the many mistakes I am sure still to make. I need to live my life as fully as I can, in order to repay them for my grave misunderstanding, though by doing so, I’m doing exactly what they want, regardless of the guilt and shame I feel for the way I was.

If you take anything away from this incoherent mumblings you’ve just read, let it be that people are not perfect, and we are fools to expect them to be so, regardless of who or what they are. A pretty simple thing to understand I know, but a rather difficult thing to truly put into practice.