Every expectation you have of someone is a way your parents have failed you

I have been failed. A lot. I wanted someone to understand me and to take the pain away. A lap, a soft hand, gentle words. Something. Anything. Nothing was enough. It wasn’t possible to live like this. I needed a crutch to sleep, to wake up, to breathe. It was no life to live. And so, when I let go of my crutch, I died.

We expect the world to save us from this death. To live without anything and still be able to breathe. This is what happens when we walk into the world empty-handed, bereft of nurture, to cushion life’s blows. The soft fat that keeps the blows away, and that coats our insides, is made of love. When we haven’t been fattened with an overindulgent set of parents, we are emaciated. The slightest graze against the softest wall, is torture. Our defenses so easily fall away. We so easily destruct. We are fragile.

I was fragile; a child in an adult’s body. I was an adult physically, but if you looked a little closer, my clothes were inside out, my eyes had day old make-up that wasn’t completely removed; I had somehow been magically dropped into an adult’s body without the skills to care for it.

I didn’t know how to save for a rainy day. Every day was a storm.

I didn’t know how to make sure my credit card was paid on time. I was running on empty.

I didn’t know how to go to the gym. My legs were tired of running.

I just wanted to stay, cowered in a corner till someone peeked under the table, beneath the cobwebs I had wound myself in, to rescue me.

I wanted someone to make my bed, wipe my face, cut the tags off my clothes and put me to bed.

Someone to make sure I didn’t break.

It never happened. Nothing was enough. I had to die the death that was coming, so I could learn to live again. We have to fall to learn to stand up. We have to break to learn the art of coming together. And so, I died.

But I came back to life with a start. Suddenly everything was clear. How could I know how to bathe, eat, move, save and live, when I didn’t know how? No one showed me. There was no one there. When they appeared again, my subconscious had solidified into survivor mode. Who was I to thrive?

wknd@khaleejtimes.com