My Ramblings Part Two
I spend a lot of my time attempting to be the “perfect” this or that. Whether it is mother, wife, cook, housekeeper, decorator, friend, or daughter, I know that it is impossible. But it doesn’t stop me from trying and beating myself up when I can’t be that.
I feed on praise. I need attention. I need someone to tell me how proud they are of me to make me feel as though I have accomplished something and if those in my life don’t do it automatically then I can find myself bragging in the hopes that I will get the “afterthought” praise.
That light bulb will go off for them and you can almost hear the wheels turning. “Oh yeah, this is a good place to say good job”. They can hear me fishing for it I’m sure. Then like I was taught to, I play the modest little lady. “Oh, it was nothing. No big deal.”
When you know as well as I do that it was a big deal. Had they not said anything I would have pouted. I know myself. I can see it. I would have been gracious and smiled until I was alone and then I would have been pouty and resentful that no one noticed how great I am.
Do you see the selfishness and conceit coming out yet? I am one of the most selfish people I know, materialistic too.
If we are low on money for my birthday and we have little for gifts, I get upset and moody with my husband because he didn’t spoil me. Yet when his comes around and the same situation arises I can play the logic card and not feel guilty about not blowing any money on him. How selfish is that?!
I don’t see it at the time. I think I’m being logical and reasonable and I have every reason to expect to be treated like a princess. Almost as if I am better than my husband and he should cow-tow to me. I can hear it in the back of my head, that evil little voice that I so often deny, but occasionally take heed of. This little voice is screaming at me that I am superior and he should be grateful that I chose him.
What is wrong with me?! Grateful that I chose him? Yet, it’s there at times and I am so ashamed to admit it. This little voice is the one that prompts those selfish little bids for attention from him.
And still, when I’m wrong, I don’t want any attention at all. I don’t want to hear that I was wrong or hurtful or lazy. I can definitely dish it out but taking it is not my forte. I get defensive and mean.
I have a file in my brain of things that bother me about my husband. When he opens his mouth to correct me in any way whether it be constructive or not I pull out the incident that will most quickly turn the attention away from me. This is not intentional. But it happens. There have been times that we will argue for hours on end and resolve nothing. By the end of the argument it nowhere resembles the one we started in. I will have cried and screamed. James may have thrown things and yelled and been silent and reticent. But we solved nothing and we aren’t even on the same page anymore. This is my doing. You know and I know it.
I am neurotic. I come but it legitimately. My mother is the definition of neurotic. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that she is psychotic. There are instances when I realize that I am acting just like her and it scares me. But, don’t you dare point this out, because I will so vehemently deny it that I almost convince myself.
James has made this mistake on a couple of occasions. Usually in the middle of a mundane argument he’ll turn to me and say, “Alright, Trish.” Now, I have heard the term “seeing red”. I never believed it was literal. Until the first time he did this I honestly thought that he had more common sense than I do. I was wrong. This is not an intelligent thing to say to your wife. Men take note. The words, “You’re just like your mother!” should never leave your lips. You can think it. You can even mutter it outside of our hearing but if we hear this, you have just given us grounds to divorce your insensitive rears!
Fortunately, I can be forgiving and occasionally I run into a bout of self-awareness and can graciously admit that my other-half may be on to something. I will never admit this to him. Ever. But, yes, I am just like my mother-in some of the most horrible, awful, revolting ways. Why couldn’t I have inherited all of my grandmother or my aunt’s qualities? They were more my support system. Why did some of my mother rub off? I didn’t ask for it, but there it is.
I suppose I will pass this curse on to my children as well. At times they will be needy, insecure, selfish, greedy, materialistic, conceited, neurotics as well. I only hope that my influence over them is not as detrimental as my mother’s over me.
Everyone has their sob story when it comes to their parents. Everyone carries baggage around with them like it’s for their mental health. Letting go of our emotional and mental baggage is harder to do than getting a woman to give up on good chocolate and bad men. It’s not as though you can just set this thing down upon entering a room. You carry this with you. The way you react to people, situations, emotions, it all depends on what’s in that little suitcase you carry around with you. And this suitcase was given to you by those closest to you: your parents, your siblings, lovers, and friends. If you let that person, whoever they may be, inside your head and/or your heart for a minute then they left you with some type of luggage. Deal with it.
I have to pull myself out of it every now and then and try to disengage the tunnel-vision long enough to do some inner reflection. I react to emotion. Most women do, but I am the worst at this. Chalk one up for Mom.
Honestly, James can tell me that he is going to do something that I would not normally like on first look then let it go and give me a day or two and I will have no problem with it if I know it is coming and have already reacted. The best way to deal with me is to tell me what it is over the phone and then hang up. Don’t answer my calls or talk to me for a while. Believe me, I will try to call back and get my two cents in there. Give it about an hour or so then call back. I will probably have already run down my entire list of why you are a horrible, selfish human being and called you every expletive I know. At this point I’m putty. Until, it’s time for whatever event it may be to take place. I do not want to see you getting ready for it. I do not want to be reminded that you are going to do something that I do not like. Just do it. I’ll get over it.
That being said, you must be reasonable. If you are completely wrong in your intentions to do something, I won’t just get over it. You want to hear a little secret? Come real close and I’ll tell you… I hold grudges. Big ones. Big, fat grudges that I will bring up later. At this point you should refer back to the file I keep in my head on my husband.
I’ve heard people say that this is just women. Yeah, well, I’ve used it as my excuse before. I have a lot of them, justifications and what-not, but basically, it’s total crap. You are responsible for you. Say it with me, “I am responsible for me.” Pushing the “blame” for this off on someone else isn’t going to help me make it right. It’s not going to make me a more mental stable or emotionally healthy person.
So here and now, I take responsibility for my actions, my reactions, my emotions and my happiness. I guarantee I will have to glance back at this later when my resolve begins to falter, but for today and for the near future, I will not allow anyone to decide what my emotional state will be.
Easier said than done right? I know. My little voice is screaming at me that this is going to be the toughest thing I have ever done. I think I have a method though.
I’m going to smile, even if it’s a fake smile and I’m so livid I could scream, I’m going to smile. Because if even if it is fake, I’ll end up laughing at myself.
I’ll laugh and then you’ll laugh and before you know it we’ve all made the conscious decision to be happy. Not just act happy, but be happy.
I feed on praise. I need attention. I need someone to tell me how proud they are of me to make me feel as though I have accomplished something and if those in my life don’t do it automatically then I can find myself bragging in the hopes that I will get the “afterthought” praise.
That light bulb will go off for them and you can almost hear the wheels turning. “Oh yeah, this is a good place to say good job”. They can hear me fishing for it I’m sure. Then like I was taught to, I play the modest little lady. “Oh, it was nothing. No big deal.”
When you know as well as I do that it was a big deal. Had they not said anything I would have pouted. I know myself. I can see it. I would have been gracious and smiled until I was alone and then I would have been pouty and resentful that no one noticed how great I am.
Do you see the selfishness and conceit coming out yet? I am one of the most selfish people I know, materialistic too.
If we are low on money for my birthday and we have little for gifts, I get upset and moody with my husband because he didn’t spoil me. Yet when his comes around and the same situation arises I can play the logic card and not feel guilty about not blowing any money on him. How selfish is that?!
I don’t see it at the time. I think I’m being logical and reasonable and I have every reason to expect to be treated like a princess. Almost as if I am better than my husband and he should cow-tow to me. I can hear it in the back of my head, that evil little voice that I so often deny, but occasionally take heed of. This little voice is screaming at me that I am superior and he should be grateful that I chose him.
What is wrong with me?! Grateful that I chose him? Yet, it’s there at times and I am so ashamed to admit it. This little voice is the one that prompts those selfish little bids for attention from him.
And still, when I’m wrong, I don’t want any attention at all. I don’t want to hear that I was wrong or hurtful or lazy. I can definitely dish it out but taking it is not my forte. I get defensive and mean.
I have a file in my brain of things that bother me about my husband. When he opens his mouth to correct me in any way whether it be constructive or not I pull out the incident that will most quickly turn the attention away from me. This is not intentional. But it happens. There have been times that we will argue for hours on end and resolve nothing. By the end of the argument it nowhere resembles the one we started in. I will have cried and screamed. James may have thrown things and yelled and been silent and reticent. But we solved nothing and we aren’t even on the same page anymore. This is my doing. You know and I know it.
I am neurotic. I come but it legitimately. My mother is the definition of neurotic. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that she is psychotic. There are instances when I realize that I am acting just like her and it scares me. But, don’t you dare point this out, because I will so vehemently deny it that I almost convince myself.
James has made this mistake on a couple of occasions. Usually in the middle of a mundane argument he’ll turn to me and say, “Alright, Trish.” Now, I have heard the term “seeing red”. I never believed it was literal. Until the first time he did this I honestly thought that he had more common sense than I do. I was wrong. This is not an intelligent thing to say to your wife. Men take note. The words, “You’re just like your mother!” should never leave your lips. You can think it. You can even mutter it outside of our hearing but if we hear this, you have just given us grounds to divorce your insensitive rears!
Fortunately, I can be forgiving and occasionally I run into a bout of self-awareness and can graciously admit that my other-half may be on to something. I will never admit this to him. Ever. But, yes, I am just like my mother-in some of the most horrible, awful, revolting ways. Why couldn’t I have inherited all of my grandmother or my aunt’s qualities? They were more my support system. Why did some of my mother rub off? I didn’t ask for it, but there it is.
I suppose I will pass this curse on to my children as well. At times they will be needy, insecure, selfish, greedy, materialistic, conceited, neurotics as well. I only hope that my influence over them is not as detrimental as my mother’s over me.
Everyone has their sob story when it comes to their parents. Everyone carries baggage around with them like it’s for their mental health. Letting go of our emotional and mental baggage is harder to do than getting a woman to give up on good chocolate and bad men. It’s not as though you can just set this thing down upon entering a room. You carry this with you. The way you react to people, situations, emotions, it all depends on what’s in that little suitcase you carry around with you. And this suitcase was given to you by those closest to you: your parents, your siblings, lovers, and friends. If you let that person, whoever they may be, inside your head and/or your heart for a minute then they left you with some type of luggage. Deal with it.
I have to pull myself out of it every now and then and try to disengage the tunnel-vision long enough to do some inner reflection. I react to emotion. Most women do, but I am the worst at this. Chalk one up for Mom.
Honestly, James can tell me that he is going to do something that I would not normally like on first look then let it go and give me a day or two and I will have no problem with it if I know it is coming and have already reacted. The best way to deal with me is to tell me what it is over the phone and then hang up. Don’t answer my calls or talk to me for a while. Believe me, I will try to call back and get my two cents in there. Give it about an hour or so then call back. I will probably have already run down my entire list of why you are a horrible, selfish human being and called you every expletive I know. At this point I’m putty. Until, it’s time for whatever event it may be to take place. I do not want to see you getting ready for it. I do not want to be reminded that you are going to do something that I do not like. Just do it. I’ll get over it.
That being said, you must be reasonable. If you are completely wrong in your intentions to do something, I won’t just get over it. You want to hear a little secret? Come real close and I’ll tell you… I hold grudges. Big ones. Big, fat grudges that I will bring up later. At this point you should refer back to the file I keep in my head on my husband.
I’ve heard people say that this is just women. Yeah, well, I’ve used it as my excuse before. I have a lot of them, justifications and what-not, but basically, it’s total crap. You are responsible for you. Say it with me, “I am responsible for me.” Pushing the “blame” for this off on someone else isn’t going to help me make it right. It’s not going to make me a more mental stable or emotionally healthy person.
So here and now, I take responsibility for my actions, my reactions, my emotions and my happiness. I guarantee I will have to glance back at this later when my resolve begins to falter, but for today and for the near future, I will not allow anyone to decide what my emotional state will be.
Easier said than done right? I know. My little voice is screaming at me that this is going to be the toughest thing I have ever done. I think I have a method though.
I’m going to smile, even if it’s a fake smile and I’m so livid I could scream, I’m going to smile. Because if even if it is fake, I’ll end up laughing at myself.
I’ll laugh and then you’ll laugh and before you know it we’ve all made the conscious decision to be happy. Not just act happy, but be happy.
Great post, girl. BE HAPPY!!
Posted by
Kami |
January 24, 2006 6:20 PM
Really great thoughts. I think you are awesome. Great blog. And that's not just trying to be nice. I mean it.
Posted by
Anonymous |
January 24, 2006 8:29 PM