Doll in the Cupboard: a Warning to parents Everywhere
II have never had much interest in dolls - neither as a child, nor as a pre-teen or adolescent. But I do own a few. There is one doll which has major significance for me.
The doll is that of a baby girl, all in china. She wears no clothes, has movable arms and legs, and all her features (hair, eyes, etc) are painted on her, save for a ribbon that is threaded through a hole at the top of her head. she has brown hair, blue eyes, and her fingernails and toenails are painted red. A coating of varnish gives her a glossy sheen. She is very pretty doll.
But I don't like her very much.
You see, if you were to carefully remove the outer layer of paint, you might find on one leg the mottled pink paint job of a 7-year old.
You see, the doll was mine. I received it at Brownie camp, along with the other girls there, as a craft to do - Hayley's mom did this sort of clay work and had brought them for us to paint. But I came down with a fever and chicken pox that weekend, and had to be taken home. So my mother decided that instead of bringing home some paints so I could finish the doll, she would paint my doll for me.
So there she sits, looking pretty and perfect, except for one thing - she's not mine anymore. My mom stole ownership from me by painting the doll, instead of allowing me to finish the doll in the way I saw fit. That doll now represents to me the many, many things that my parents decided it was best for them to do instead of me. Any passions I had that didn't fit with my parents' desired image for themselves (and by extension, me) was zealously quashed - everything from Brownies to the Simpsons to mission trips to video games. Even now I wonder if I my deepest desires are evil - because that's how all my passions were treated growing up. I fear and expect adversity from authorities, as I expect them to punish me for having passion for certain topics - topics they don't have an interest for themselves.
I feel that I am not allowed to own anything good in my life - my parents taught me if anything good happened in my life, it was because of them. If anything bad happened, it was my fault. I feel as though my deepest, truest desires must be achieved through subversive or illicit means, and I seldom want others to enjoy them with me (they might tell someone, and my parents would hear about it). I am the ultimate in frustrated passion, and feel guilty for enjoying anything beyond superficial happiness. Though I know in my mind that this isn't true, my heart still believes it; the shadow left by my parents is long. And no, getting angry and frustrated with me for still believing this lie is not going to make it go away faster - you'll just prove my parents are right.
My parents never really took an interest in my life unless there was some direct personal gain for them - like making them look good(or not making them look bad) to other parents/peers, making them feel like they were "good parents" by interacting with me every blue moon or so, or getting me to do some chore or task that they needed done right then and there. Once they were satisfied, they happily went off on their own, leaving me to my own devices until the next time they needed me (actually "required my services" is probably a more accurate term). They certainly didn't see me as a priority or worth respecting - mom constantly complained about what a burden I was to her, and dad and was rarely on time to pick me up - and we're talking half an hour late on a regular basis. Once, he was 3 hrs late picking me up from the bus station. Neither of them bothered to to have any kind of relationship with me beyond the superficial. Heh, once, my dad even called me shallow.
Even though I tried very hard not to be a burden on my parents (I stopped asking to go visit friends because my mother kept grumbling about having to drive me everywhere, got a job and earned money to pay for things I wanted because of dad's complaints about us kids being a financial burden), They still complained to me about how burdensome I was, told me I was totally disrespectful and tactless, and never, ever were satisfied with my achievements. The biggest positive emotion I got out of them was tepid pride. Even convocating from one of the most prestigious universities in the country didn't bring out much more than that (consequently, I am the proud possessor of a worthless BScH- it's just another piece of paper to add to the heap of worthless pieces of paper I already own - was such an achievement ever so lightly esteemed?).
I remember always feeling somehow like I was a slave in my house, though I could never put my finger on why I felt that way. I think I know now - My parents never bothered to have any sort of deep relationship with me. It wasn't that their general treatment was hateful and malicious (though sadly at times, it was) - it was the cold, distant nature that made it so brutal; the fact that they were so self-absorbed, that they didn't bother to look past their own needs to the deep needs of their kids - they just blindly did what they thought was best, what they were told was best, without thinking about getting their kids' input or the consequences of their actions.
It angers me, and saddens me at the same time - I grieve for what I never had, for what lies in ruins, for the fact that despite being out of the house for more or less five years now, my parents have changed very little. I am beset by constant doubts about my ability to find and keep a job, and that I'll only pass my masters because my supervisor doesn't want his reputation tarnished - or out of pity. I still feel it's okay for people to mistreat me because somehow I deserve it. Dirt is cleaner than I am, and manure is worth more than me. And non-committal or angry comments to the contrary is not going to convince me any more of my worth. Perhaps if people actions matched their words, I'd be more inclined to believe.
For those of you who do value me and want me to be truly free and happy, please be patient - realize you're attempting to undo nearly a quarter century of mistreatment and distortion, and that it's not going to go away all at once, or likely will ever entirely go away. And for those of you aspiring to be parents or are parents already, know this: your children will have desires and passions, some of which, while not being selfish or harmful to anyone, will not fit the image you had in mind for them, the image you have designed in your head of your "perfect" family. Be very, very careful that you do not label these desires as "evil" or "bad"; realize that your dream for them does not necessarily fit who they are as a person, and it is not the child's fault for being different than what you'd imagined them to be - it's just who they are. Please love your kids for themselves, not their achievements, and let them know you love them for who they are often.
The doll is that of a baby girl, all in china. She wears no clothes, has movable arms and legs, and all her features (hair, eyes, etc) are painted on her, save for a ribbon that is threaded through a hole at the top of her head. she has brown hair, blue eyes, and her fingernails and toenails are painted red. A coating of varnish gives her a glossy sheen. She is very pretty doll.
But I don't like her very much.
You see, if you were to carefully remove the outer layer of paint, you might find on one leg the mottled pink paint job of a 7-year old.
You see, the doll was mine. I received it at Brownie camp, along with the other girls there, as a craft to do - Hayley's mom did this sort of clay work and had brought them for us to paint. But I came down with a fever and chicken pox that weekend, and had to be taken home. So my mother decided that instead of bringing home some paints so I could finish the doll, she would paint my doll for me.
So there she sits, looking pretty and perfect, except for one thing - she's not mine anymore. My mom stole ownership from me by painting the doll, instead of allowing me to finish the doll in the way I saw fit. That doll now represents to me the many, many things that my parents decided it was best for them to do instead of me. Any passions I had that didn't fit with my parents' desired image for themselves (and by extension, me) was zealously quashed - everything from Brownies to the Simpsons to mission trips to video games. Even now I wonder if I my deepest desires are evil - because that's how all my passions were treated growing up. I fear and expect adversity from authorities, as I expect them to punish me for having passion for certain topics - topics they don't have an interest for themselves.
I feel that I am not allowed to own anything good in my life - my parents taught me if anything good happened in my life, it was because of them. If anything bad happened, it was my fault. I feel as though my deepest, truest desires must be achieved through subversive or illicit means, and I seldom want others to enjoy them with me (they might tell someone, and my parents would hear about it). I am the ultimate in frustrated passion, and feel guilty for enjoying anything beyond superficial happiness. Though I know in my mind that this isn't true, my heart still believes it; the shadow left by my parents is long. And no, getting angry and frustrated with me for still believing this lie is not going to make it go away faster - you'll just prove my parents are right.
My parents never really took an interest in my life unless there was some direct personal gain for them - like making them look good(or not making them look bad) to other parents/peers, making them feel like they were "good parents" by interacting with me every blue moon or so, or getting me to do some chore or task that they needed done right then and there. Once they were satisfied, they happily went off on their own, leaving me to my own devices until the next time they needed me (actually "required my services" is probably a more accurate term). They certainly didn't see me as a priority or worth respecting - mom constantly complained about what a burden I was to her, and dad and was rarely on time to pick me up - and we're talking half an hour late on a regular basis. Once, he was 3 hrs late picking me up from the bus station. Neither of them bothered to to have any kind of relationship with me beyond the superficial. Heh, once, my dad even called me shallow.
Even though I tried very hard not to be a burden on my parents (I stopped asking to go visit friends because my mother kept grumbling about having to drive me everywhere, got a job and earned money to pay for things I wanted because of dad's complaints about us kids being a financial burden), They still complained to me about how burdensome I was, told me I was totally disrespectful and tactless, and never, ever were satisfied with my achievements. The biggest positive emotion I got out of them was tepid pride. Even convocating from one of the most prestigious universities in the country didn't bring out much more than that (consequently, I am the proud possessor of a worthless BScH- it's just another piece of paper to add to the heap of worthless pieces of paper I already own - was such an achievement ever so lightly esteemed?).
I remember always feeling somehow like I was a slave in my house, though I could never put my finger on why I felt that way. I think I know now - My parents never bothered to have any sort of deep relationship with me. It wasn't that their general treatment was hateful and malicious (though sadly at times, it was) - it was the cold, distant nature that made it so brutal; the fact that they were so self-absorbed, that they didn't bother to look past their own needs to the deep needs of their kids - they just blindly did what they thought was best, what they were told was best, without thinking about getting their kids' input or the consequences of their actions.
It angers me, and saddens me at the same time - I grieve for what I never had, for what lies in ruins, for the fact that despite being out of the house for more or less five years now, my parents have changed very little. I am beset by constant doubts about my ability to find and keep a job, and that I'll only pass my masters because my supervisor doesn't want his reputation tarnished - or out of pity. I still feel it's okay for people to mistreat me because somehow I deserve it. Dirt is cleaner than I am, and manure is worth more than me. And non-committal or angry comments to the contrary is not going to convince me any more of my worth. Perhaps if people actions matched their words, I'd be more inclined to believe.
For those of you who do value me and want me to be truly free and happy, please be patient - realize you're attempting to undo nearly a quarter century of mistreatment and distortion, and that it's not going to go away all at once, or likely will ever entirely go away. And for those of you aspiring to be parents or are parents already, know this: your children will have desires and passions, some of which, while not being selfish or harmful to anyone, will not fit the image you had in mind for them, the image you have designed in your head of your "perfect" family. Be very, very careful that you do not label these desires as "evil" or "bad"; realize that your dream for them does not necessarily fit who they are as a person, and it is not the child's fault for being different than what you'd imagined them to be - it's just who they are. Please love your kids for themselves, not their achievements, and let them know you love them for who they are often.
posted by NinjaRaven at 9:31 AM
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