So, almost immediately after gushing past my self-censorship hurdle with the last post, I discover with a laugh that my dad is not the sole reason I keep my mouth shut when the shy patrol is out. My dad is just the guy I've placed it on all these years.
It's me. I'M the reason. It's me who's got the good-girl syndrome. All my life I'm the one carefully crafting my good girl image to garner as much popularity as possible. Okay, as much love as possible. Love is deeper than popularity. And the good-girl syndrome came out of a very real need to be loved. (Gotta be good to get it.)
But I'm here now, past the part of life where I wonder where to get it and how. Wonder who will love me if my daddy don't. Wonder the different ways I'd smash my image to bits at Grandma's retirement home if I say anything without a smile. Show up at church with my forehead pierced in a skirt short as sin. I exaggerate. But my point is made. I'm loved. I'm original. And I'm scintillating as a stump as long as I'm hiding out behind fears that are more old habits than bonafide terrors.
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An interesting "epihany". I think many of us come to the same conclusion in our own time and in our own place.
ReplyDeleteMine was similar to yours. Always to be the "good lad", or else. I didn't see the threat as a lack of love as much as a desire to not diappoint my mother with my behavior.
I do believe it served me well for as long as it served me. It helped me navigate dangerous waters until I possessed the "good sense" to do so on my own.
Now, as far as being loved, I know you are. ;)