Yes, but...
Oct. 13th, 2004 11:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraThe following is a rant I will make once and only once for fear that, should I allow myself the luxury of repeating it, I will never stop.
To summarize quickly for those of you who don't actually want to read the whole thing: parental issues.
Intellectually, I know that my parents are loving, understanding, and proud of what I do. They're wonderful people, and I'm truly glad to have them around, because I love them to pieces and couldn't imagine growing up without them. However, I am the oldest, the highest achiever where school is concerned, and the most independent of my siblings. Which means, in short, that they tend to ignore me or brush me off.
I know, again intellectually, that I don't need a lot of support. I've never been that kind of person. In general, I'm a sort of observer, though I make close friends quickly and am quite happy in groups. But I often get the feeling that, since I have these traits, my parents think I don't want the support. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love support; at times I spend hours talking to my best friend because when I talk to him he takes my conversation utterly seriously. When I tell him about NaNo, he doesn't laugh (though he agrees with me that I'm probably a little crazy); when I show him my poetry he reads it, comments on it, and gives me constructive feedback; when I complain about people or problems he challenges me to overcome them. And so in a lot of ways he's replaced my parents in the Carmen cheering section.
But I want them to be there. I want them to take my writing seriously. I want them to take me seriously when I say I want to study in Cambridge. I want them to take me seriously when I tell them about my latest crush or about my friends' problems. Most of all, I want them to take the time to listen to what I'm saying instead of jumping to interpretation and then diverting the conversation to my brother or my sister or how their days went.
I've explained this to them. I've explained it in so many words, a number of times. And still they don't seem to get it; they act shocked when I talk to my friends about problems before I go to them; they don't understand why I'm slowly withdrawing from them. The thing is, I've told them, and I've explained it to them often enough. It makes me feel tremendously guilty to do the teenage avoidance thing, but I'm also incredibly hurt every time they dismiss one of my projects or new interests as being unimportant.
What hurts the most, though, more than anything about school or about sports or about activities, is their attitude that my writing is a phase I'll grow out of. It literally reduces me to tears every time I come home glowing with the news that my classmates and my professor loved my poem and they smile vaguely, say, "Good Carmen, would you please set the table and then edit your brother's paper?" and then can't find time later to sit down with something on which I've spent long hours of my life and read it with the respect and open-mindedness they'd afford a "real poet."
I think this kind of casual and unintentional dismissal would break a lot of people. In fact, I know it would - I've seen it happen. And I owe a great deal to my friends and my own stubbornness in that I've not let it affect how I function. It's just a weight, and a natural insecurity - everyone wants his or her relatives to take pride in what he or she does.
I'll keep trying to explain this to them; maybe writing it down will help me articulate the problem. But maybe I've simply moved past the point at which I can stand to be dependant on my parents for guidance and support. Because while they do guide, they don't support, and I can't live with that for very long.
To summarize quickly for those of you who don't actually want to read the whole thing: parental issues.
Intellectually, I know that my parents are loving, understanding, and proud of what I do. They're wonderful people, and I'm truly glad to have them around, because I love them to pieces and couldn't imagine growing up without them. However, I am the oldest, the highest achiever where school is concerned, and the most independent of my siblings. Which means, in short, that they tend to ignore me or brush me off.
I know, again intellectually, that I don't need a lot of support. I've never been that kind of person. In general, I'm a sort of observer, though I make close friends quickly and am quite happy in groups. But I often get the feeling that, since I have these traits, my parents think I don't want the support. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love support; at times I spend hours talking to my best friend because when I talk to him he takes my conversation utterly seriously. When I tell him about NaNo, he doesn't laugh (though he agrees with me that I'm probably a little crazy); when I show him my poetry he reads it, comments on it, and gives me constructive feedback; when I complain about people or problems he challenges me to overcome them. And so in a lot of ways he's replaced my parents in the Carmen cheering section.
But I want them to be there. I want them to take my writing seriously. I want them to take me seriously when I say I want to study in Cambridge. I want them to take me seriously when I tell them about my latest crush or about my friends' problems. Most of all, I want them to take the time to listen to what I'm saying instead of jumping to interpretation and then diverting the conversation to my brother or my sister or how their days went.
I've explained this to them. I've explained it in so many words, a number of times. And still they don't seem to get it; they act shocked when I talk to my friends about problems before I go to them; they don't understand why I'm slowly withdrawing from them. The thing is, I've told them, and I've explained it to them often enough. It makes me feel tremendously guilty to do the teenage avoidance thing, but I'm also incredibly hurt every time they dismiss one of my projects or new interests as being unimportant.
What hurts the most, though, more than anything about school or about sports or about activities, is their attitude that my writing is a phase I'll grow out of. It literally reduces me to tears every time I come home glowing with the news that my classmates and my professor loved my poem and they smile vaguely, say, "Good Carmen, would you please set the table and then edit your brother's paper?" and then can't find time later to sit down with something on which I've spent long hours of my life and read it with the respect and open-mindedness they'd afford a "real poet."
I think this kind of casual and unintentional dismissal would break a lot of people. In fact, I know it would - I've seen it happen. And I owe a great deal to my friends and my own stubbornness in that I've not let it affect how I function. It's just a weight, and a natural insecurity - everyone wants his or her relatives to take pride in what he or she does.
I'll keep trying to explain this to them; maybe writing it down will help me articulate the problem. But maybe I've simply moved past the point at which I can stand to be dependant on my parents for guidance and support. Because while they do guide, they don't support, and I can't live with that for very long.
