I am quickly finding that the way other people perceive is quite obviously different from what I think of myself and even what I believe others think of me.
In those funny little group pictures that are flooding Facebook, I was labeled as "The Sheltered One". I won't lie. At first, I was really kind of taken aback....even offended, maybe.
I understand that I'm the youngest of the group. Still not eligible for a driver's license, I'm the baby. Yes, I'm still obligated to listen to my parents. And I live in a small, little bubble of a resort town.
I was angry at first because, in my mind, sheltered is a pretty good synonym for naive. And I don't consider myself naive. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. Because the first thing that crossed my mind was...I'm young, so that means that I'm sheltered...what...I haven't had to consider pain and hurt even if I haven't lived as long?
Maybe I don't act like the stereotypical "troubled soul". Just because I don't talk about the ugly side of this world doesn't mean that I don't know it exists. I've had my share of problems. And I've seen a good bit in fourteen years.
Everyday, I live knowing that I have a mother who is mentally ill and will never be normal. If the fact that they work around the clock isn't enough, they spend their time around people who are either slowly or surely dying. My mother has this to deal with on top of bipolar disorder. I spent an hour this morning scraping dried pancake batter and eggs off of dishes because my mother was going through one of her down phases and just doesn't feel like doing anything. This week, I've done the grocery shopping, a good bit of the cooking, and tried to make sure that my brother, seven years old, is getting three meals a day.
She was diagnosed after a long spell of bad things happening in our family. First, my grandfather died. He had colon cancer. My mother had issues with her father that will now remain forever unsolved. Three weeks after the funeral, my grandmother was diagnosed with leukemia. My entire life, I had only seen her take care of other people...my grandfather, helping to raise me. We spent weeks back and forth from Atlanta, five hours away, as she was at Emory having treatments.
And after that, I never saw my mother. She stayed in bed all the time, sleeping, or just lying there. I never saw her. By this point, we were spending pretty much all our time at my grandma's house. Then, one day, my dad took me by our house and told me to get a trash bag of clothes because I would be staying with my aunt. Then, my parents pretty much disappeared off the face of my earth for over a month. I was eight years old. I saw my dad...maybe once a week. I might have talked to my mother over the phone once.
So, everything starts going back to normal when my mom gets out of the hospital....where I figured out she was only after piecing together what people considered me old enough to hear and what I overheard. I still don't think I know the whole story.
When she got out, I felt like I should try to spend more time with my mom. I quit piano. And a few months after she got better, my parents separated. My mom got her own apartment. My brother was maybe two by this time. I was back and forth between my mom and dad's places, my dad in our old house, my mom in an apartment complex. They were divorced by the time I was in fourth grade.
Then, they got back together a year later when my mom moved back into the house. They were remarried by a pastor at our house on Christmas Eve when I was in sixth grade.
That's how I grew up...this is how I remember my childhood. And honestly, it's all a blur. Everything blurs and runs together and I don't remember anything except for what happened....I don't remember the when or the how. And now I may show up to church every Sunday, and I love being there. It wasn't until I was in middle school....seventh grade that I even considered God to be a part of my life. I didn't show up for church, Sunday school...really at all, maybe, possibly on Easter and Christmas a couple of years.
My dad has almost as much baggage as my mom. He chose his profession because he felt guilty after his parents died and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. His mother died when he was fourteen and his father when he was nineteen. And it permanently shaped him. And he still hasn't gotten over it. He made a decision too early, and now he hates what he does. As soon as he gets home, he starts dreading going in the next day. It's made him cynical and so hard to watch.
These are the people I love. And I don't care if I wasn't the one in that hospital bed or going into work....it's still shaped me. I live with these people. They're my family.
And then, there's me and all of my issues.
I have self-esteem issues. Like you'd never know. I used to cut myself a long time ago. I stopped when I started going to church and started caring about God. It made me pull myself out of my own self-destructive behavior. But there were times I wondered what if about suicide, even. I've gotten better. I definitely don't think that way anymore. But I still have more problems with myself than what's healthy. My first reaction to every situation is to assume that I've done something wrong, I could've done better, or that I'm just not good enough. And I'm trying so hard to stop it. I don't like being that way. And I've made progress.
For years, I had friends. Really, really close friends...we were tight knit. But as I've found out, it's not what was right. Because I finally started making progress on my own, standing up for what I know is right, I stood up for myself. When I did that, I lost all my friends. The people that I'm stuck spending eight hours a day, five days a week with, they consider me a walking reference book. I don't have friends. I don't eat lunch anymore. I hide in the music room on Tuesdays and Thursdays and dive into singing when there's chorus on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. When I'm at school, and I'm around the people who have friends who are supportive and caring and forgiving, I feel like a shadow of a person because I don't have that. It's plaguing to be asked in Sunday school to think of the person who's your best friend, that you think of at least once a day, and just to say that there isn't someone like that that you sit beside in class and eat lunch with. Because even though I've established my core values, I still feel like I just don't measure up.
I know I live in a small town...an affluent area. I have parents with good jobs. Just for the record, it's also a job that keeps me from having a family that I ever talk to or see on a regular basis. My parents are so tired at the end of the day, they go to their room, and they don't care much for interaction. They've had to deal with the infirmed and crazy all day.
But I have seen more of this world than this little island. I have. I don't think I'm sheltered. I went to Argentina. You know those kids that you send in a dollar and "adopt"---they send you a picture and you help provide for them. I've seen these kids---not just through a tv screen. I played duck duck goose with these kids, sang songs with them, got to know them. These kids who don't own a single pair of shoes, who can't read, and live in a village, not a town---a village that is dust, all over the place. Dust an inch thick that I doubt they've ever been "clean" as most people in the states would consider it.
I've seen poverty. I've stood amongst the poor and homeless of even my own area. They're allowed one meal per day...the soup kitchen only serves lunch. A mother came back right as we opened, and then came back two hours later in a different outfit. Why? Because her three year old daughter was still hungry. Do you know what it took from me to look her in the eye and tell her no because that's just the policy? I understand why the policy is in place, but that doesn't make it any easier.
Maybe I'm just being defensive. Maybe I really am naive and sheltered. But I feel like I've had my share of woe for my life this far. I don't dwell on it.
I want to believe that there is a bigger meaning to all of this beyond me. I believe that there is a God who has all things work for good. Not that everything is good, but it works for a greater good. I do believe that beauty can come from pain. And love can come from hurt. And it's an ugly world out there, but how is that supposed to change if people don't focus on the love and the joy that they can spread?
I do a bad job, but I try not to complain too much. Because at the end, I'm pretty lucky. And I've had problems, but they've made me a stronger person. And what some people might consider naivety or a lack of knowledge...I consider broad vision. I try to see beyond the problems to see what is good and what can be made good in the world.
