New Year's Introspection

It's a new year and for many people that means new year's resolutions they'll break by the end of the week and new gym memberships that will be guiltily forgotten by March. I don't make new year's resolutions. Either I'm working on changing something for the better already, or I already know I won't follow through and don't waste my time pretending otherwise.

Growing up in a dysfunctional home often yields a laundry list of eccentricities to the survivors. Call it baggage, issues, PTSD, whatever you like, the end result is a collection of weird behavior that can irritate, annoy, or downright piss off people who don't know why you do the shit you do. Hell, sometimes you don't even know why you do it.

One of my more annoying (to me anyway) reactions occurs when someone compliments something I own. Whether it's clothing, artwork, furniture, or a friggin super cute scrunchie, the instant they voice admiration I have an overwhelming need to tell them what I paid for it. More specifically, how little I paid for it, and if possible downplay how nice it is. Like my dining room table? It was a rental store repo, see look here's where someone's kids drew a dinosaur on the leg and oh the legs are held together with straps and screws and I only paid $150 for the whole set. Oh, you like that painting on the wall? The artist gave me a massive discount, only $300. Normally would have been $3000 but she needed to get it out of the gallery. Inside I'm yelling at myself, shut up you jackass just say thank you, but if I don't immediately launch into the oh really I paid nothing for it and it's crap anyway defense, the panic starts to rise.

I don't know what people think I'm trying to do, whether they think I'm bragging about how much I spent or what. I'm sure it's not flattering. They don't understand that I have have HAVE to tell them no, really, I spent nothing on it, it's just someone else's junk, their cast off, their hand-me-down. I didn't spend anything on something frivolous for myself, I swear, so please don't be angry with me for having it.

Growing up, spending money on yourself was BAD in all caps. My father was a preacher, and to a certain extent the notion that having nice things was bad was reinforced by some of his congregation who apparently felt clergy and their family needed to live in poverty. As he was a massive narcissist who only did shit that made him look good, he made sure my mother and I knew that buying anything nice, anything "materialistic", for ourselves was a major NO NO. In public he would smile, shake his head sadly, and tell people how selfless we were, how we never wanted anything for ourselves, how if he tried to get my mom jewelry or a new car she would refuse. He WANTED to give us nice stuff, but we just wouldn't let him. Our selflessness made him so proud!

Behind closed doors, however....

He constantly ridiculed my oldest brother to us because he wore nice clothes and always had a nice, 2 year old car. My youngest brother's wife, who worked a well paying, full time job her entire life, was stupid for going to the salon to have her hair and nails done once a month. This person was stupid for buying designer clothing for their kids. That person was an idiot for going on a cruise. Anyone who had anything nice or spent any money on themselves earned his scorn. When I was little, one of the few ways I could earn his approval was by joining in and I confess I became quite a tattletale. If I saw anyone pop up with something new and nice, I let him know so we could talk shit about them. I still cringe to remember it, but hey, I was like 6 so... yeah.

My mother, a former cheerleader and homecoming queen who would have dearly loved to have a Nissan Altima and perhaps a new mattress that didn't look like an elephant had been sleeping in the center of it for 40 years, learned to buy her clothes at thrift stores, cut and color her own hair (using the cheapest box dye she could find), and be satisfied with beat up junker cars and garage sale sheets with stains and holes in them. The only time she went to the salon was when one of us gave her a gift certificate for it, and then she felt the need to downplay how much she enjoyed it. Until the day she died, the only time she could allow herself to enjoy shopping was if she was buying nice things for other people. Never herself.

One of the first lessons I learned was to lie about how much I spent on things with the money I saved from babysitting, selling spider plants to indulgent neighbors, mowing lawns and washing cars. Most people see $9.99 and mentally round it down to $9. In my frightened little world, I rounded down to .99 and hoped that was cheap enough to mollify him about the new t-shirt I bought. Even better I could say a friend gave it to me because she didn't want it any more. Free + castoff = approval.

To make things weirder, as I got older and the dynamic between my father and I shifted from abuser/victim to snarling enemy combatants, he began using expensive gifts to keep me in line and quiet. I admit, my 15 year old self quickly took advantage of this. Before long I had a new pair of Justin Roper boots in every color made, a show horse, a car, even regular and expensive visits to the hairdresser. What I didn't count on was that now, to anyone outside looking in, I was incredibly spoiled. I certainly couldn't tell them what those nice things had cost me. Broken fingers. Split lips. Bruises they couldn't see. Suddenly I'd gone from the selfless child to the spoiled one, the smiles and approving nods from the church members now pursed lips and harsh stares of disapproval whenever I behaved in a manner they found unacceptable. And believe me, I gave them plenty of unacceptable behavior to tisk over. By the time I was 17 I let the hate flow in a way that would have made Palpatine shed tears of joy.

I did try to tell people about the abuse at home, several times, but no one ever believed me. I was so spoiled, you see, just look at everything my father had given me. How dare I be so ungrateful, me, an adopted child who was lucky to even have a family? Even my youngest brother, 10 years older than me and out of the house since I was 7, called me a liar. Bullshit you're their favorite, he would yell when I would show up at his house seeking sanctuary. He knew our dad was abusive, he just refused to believe that now I was on the receiving end. After all, I got anything I wanted.

It wasn't long before I developed a new behavior to counter this. I quit taking care of anything nice I had. Before long it wasn't nice any more. Why yes I have a 2 year old truck but it's a pile of crap, breaks down all the time. Yes I have 20 pairs of boots but see how worn out they are? Scuffed and dirty and old. This self sabotaging behavior continued for a good chunk of my adult life too. Get a decent car? Trash it and then buy one that's total shit. Move into a nice apartment? Go find a roommate who will fill it with tomcats and trash and never pay her share of the rent until at last I have to move to a dump AND lose my deposit. Even better let me buy a termite riddled house I can never hope to repair and am ashamed to let anyone inside. Get a job I love? Act like a douche so I get fired.

After all, I don't deserve nice things.

I don't make new year's resolutions, but I am working on making repairs to myself and the big one now is leaving behind the toxic lessons of the past and embracing the fact that the ones who taught them to me are no longer a part of my life. I DO deserve to have nice things. It's OK if my house is pretty, it's OK if I buy a new pair of jeans, it's OK to feel pride over something I own and if someone compliments it, it's ok to simply say, "Thank you".

Welcome to the new year.