A Frying Pan On My Head

*I expect no one reading this to understand the title. :-)*

So I guess my so-called “sheltered” upbringing has finally come back to bite me in the butt. (I state this with my tongue soundly set in my cheek. Read on if you dare…)

For the most part, I love the way I was brought up. I really do. I loved being homeschooled for twelve years and having no social life to speak of. I loved boundaries and rules. I never rebelled as a teenager. I guess you can say, I have always just been plain abnormal. But somehow it worked for me then.

One thing my mom stressed above ALL else, was manners. My gosh, I still remember the distress and anxiety I experienced every single time we went out to eat at a friend’s house. My heart still sinks at the thought of those tedious hour-long lectures about minding every minute detail of my behavior and speech. I still shudder at the memory of those horrible drives home after I had not lived up to my mom’s expectations, and the cloud of utter disappointment that hung around the house for days afterward. I knew every time I messed up I had become an embarrassment to her. I wanted to be perfect in her eyes; I wanted to be better than all those other little daughters out there in the world.

It took a heck of a long time, but eventually…I did become what my mom wanted me to be.
But now, as a young adult, I wonder how much this really benefited me, socially and psychologically.

Socially, I do pretty well for myself. I don’t necessarily enjoy being around others all the time, but I am really good at faking it because my mom made me. “Speak well, act friendly, listen, and NEVER walk away until THEY are good and done talking.” I did not dare disobey this command of hers, and having it hammered into me for so long has actually made me a more bearable person than I probably would have been otherwise.

Yet sometimes, I feel as if I’m still living in the past as far as her rules go. My own stubbornness combines with the remnants of the fear I held onto for so long, and becomes an obsession that is almost ridiculous.

I am nearly incapable of calling an adult by their first name, even if they are no more than five or six years older than me. Sometimes this causes people to be offended or freaked out. Yet I cringe when forced to and often avoid calling them by any name at all. After all, that was one of my mom’s main rules, and it still rather kills me to break it.

I have offended the few boys who have tried to take me out on dates, because I refuse to let them pay for me and do nice things and don’t seem to appreciate their kindness. I was always taught to look after myself and others, but not to accept favors in return. My mom drilled into me the ideals of kindness and generosity, but never taught me how to receive them myself.

Be cheerful, show Christ’s love, do not bring your problems into other people’s lives. Perhaps never specifically stated, these concepts were shown through my mom’s words and actions every day and had a huge affect on how I have lived my entire life. I interpreted her outlook as “when in doubt, laugh.” And I use that to an extreme. There are times when laughter is appropriate, yet I give the appearance of taking everything lightly and thinking it trivial or amusing.

I guess, in short, I took the lessons I was being drilled on, morphed them into something scary, and held onto them for dear life. But now I sit here and question whether or not I am right in doing so to the extent I have. What would it really mean to let go of my compulsions? Would I be disgracing my mother? Letting go in reckless abandon of all the fears and meticulous pains I took as a kid? Becoming the rebellious child I was “meant” to be? Would I be changing into someone new…someone scarier than the person I was while they controlled my actions?

Or would it mean I am simply ready to move on…to grow up. Am I holding on to these silly obsessions because I refuse to admit that I no longer depend solely on those who raised me?

Despite what many of my friends believe, I was also taught independence and never felt imprisoned by rules and regulations. Yet somehow, I seem to have taken all the many good lessons my mom taught me and created my own unattainable set of laws and judgments to live by in addition to hers.

My mom is an incredible woman. She is truly everything I could hope to become as a strong, loving, and compassionate person. She tried her hardest to mold me into a beautiful girl and child of God. All these changes I make and things I choose to hold onto are fully my own responsibility from now on. No one can determine or force my behavior and I cannot blame anyone for my fears and obsessions, as convenient as that would be.

I do feel like I let these silly things overwhelm me though. I wish there was some easy way to discern what will be acceptable and be the most helpful to those around me. Because I feel like I’m just not there yet. I always feel like I’m just not quite there yet.

Father, I pray for discernment and freedom from unedifying self-condemnation and obsession.

Queen of the Cats