here is how it has gone.
i was raised in a remarkably supportive and open home. my father never judged, for he was weird as well and fostered the things in us that brought him happiness in himself. Be a creator, not a consumer. Be a thinker. Follow your joy.
My mother taught me endless generosity. Nary a problem I would have that she wouldn't fix, nary a friend I would make that she wouldn't host, she poured good into the world to make up for how bad her past had made her feel.
And yet.
She would never show anger except when she was bursting at the seams. And so I never learned how to show it.
And my father was gentle and thoughtful, but passive, not active, so I never learned how to act in the world.
I am an adult now, and carry their dysfunction with me. I am unhappy. I am afraid. I am just like them.
I never learned how to solve my problems because they were solved for me. I never learned how to set my boundaries because they never enforced theirs. I knew generally that I ought to be a ""good person,"" and yet. And yet.
What is the point of being a good person if it is only in service of assuaging your own fear?
What is the point of being kind when it comes from the fear of everyone hating you?
I never learned my feelings. I still don't know them.
My mother is unhealthy and I don't know if she will ever be well.
I am unhealthy and I am trying, very hard, very very hard, to be well.
The transition from seeing everything as if I am a frightened cat, to just living in the world, is a hard one. But I'll know it when I see it, and my growth is justified in the way I was raised.