Growing up in a dysfunctional household tends to leave you with
one of the two following desires: never wanting to have a family of your own or
craving the picture perfect family, whatever that looks like to you. I didn't
want anything to do with it. If you had asked me, as my Aunt did when I was
very young, I would have told you that I wanted to live alone in a flat in New
York City with two Siamese cats (it was totally Lady and the Tramp era). My
sister, on the other hand, would disappear for days, even weeks at a time, to
stay with any friend who had that white picket fence she chased after to get
her fix. I thought for sure she'd end up with five hundred kids that I could
visit then retreat back to my solitude when I had had enough.
Then I accidentally got pregnant at 20.
Talk about having a holy shit moment. My beliefs on family units and their
importance instantly reconfigured as I felt I owed it to my daughter to have as
close to a perfect childhood as possible; I did not want her to experience my nightmare
of an upbringing. I remember so vividly sitting in the passenger seat of her
father's maroon GMC pickup truck with tinted windows and
silver skull decal on the rear windshield as he drove me to a doctor's
appointment. He was holding my hand as I held my just now showing baby bump
with the other, his excitement beaming through a still boyish smile. We were so
young and so in love then. I thought, maybe I CAN do this. Maybe she came along
to prove to me that this truly is what gives us purpose in life. Truth is, my
daughter has been both a blessing and a curse.
I poured my heart and soul into this family
thing; uniting his, mine and ours. We visited grandparents and great
grandparents for weeknight dinners and weekend outings, and I hosted most of
the holiday festivities. It was always very draining but I started to
appreciate it over time. I wouldn't have hand selected any of them in the
bunch, but we all became very close and we knew, no matter what, we had each
other's backs. That is, until I left her father when she was two. My decision
came as a surprise to him and our families, and I stunned even myself a bit. I
was overwhelmed and ran as far away as I could. And he didn't try to stop me.
In the back of his mind he was sure I'd return, though I never did.
Fast forward about six years, now in
Pennsylvania with my most recent ex. We chose to move here after a tumultuous
go at a relationship in South Florida (thought that a change in scenery and a
break from temptation would fix things - ha!). Because a good amount of his
family lives here, we felt it could provide a more wholesome environment for the
three of us. His Pughtown family was wonderful. They were who I
would have wanted to grow up with and would have been proud to call my own.
They were the ones who convinced me that was what I wanted more than anything;
to belong, to feel loved unconditionally. So once more I bonded and cared so
deeply, spending every bit of quality time with these people as possible. I had
done all the legwork, building the relationships and carefully crafting
memories. Yet, five years later, I find myself without.
Last Christmas was my very first
completely alone. I didn't want to be selfish and keep my daughter when it'd be
more fun for her to spend the holiday with her father and his newly blended
family. In a way I've been successful in giving my daughter everything my
parents couldn't give me, I just didn't expect that it wouldn't include me
during these times. So Christmas day I explored an awe-inspiring botanical
gardens with my digital SLR instead of sulking on my couch, which I desperately
wanted to do. I lost myself momentarily on the expansive lawns and in its
greenhouses with dazzling ornamental displays, and figured that could be my new
tradition. Looking back, though, I was really unhappy and longed for some
sort of meaningful human connection. This kinship is something I've been
craving on an everyday basis for months but it seems to be amplified now. For
the first time, I truly believe I understand why depression and suicide rates
sky rocket during this season.
The real problem here may just be
expectations. My mind fixated on an idea over the last decade or so and I
believed so strongly in it that now my current life circumstances are
disappointing at best, especially during the holidays. But how do you convince
yourself that what you feel is wrong? How do you just let it go? And why am I
making such a big deal about this when I don't participate in a
"traditional" sense anyway?? Holidays, particularly Christmas, were
created for pushing merchandise! Bah humbug.
No comments:
Post a Comment