Day 2’s got off to a terrible start. I was in tears when my parents left, about half an hour ago, but not because I didn’t want them to go; I couldn’t wait for them to leave. When they came round to say goodbye before going back to the south of England, they went into overprotective overdrive again. Before I knew it, all my furniture had been moved into a layout my parents thought best, even though I never asked them to, and I’d enrolled in a lecture for dumb-dumbs, being told basic things like ‘turn things off when you’re not using them’. I know all this, everyone does, and when I asked them to stop patronising me, they got angry, ‘We’re just trying to help,’ they said.
I do appreciate their help, and I understand why they care so much; I’m moving out for the first time. But sometimes parents care too much, and in trying to help they begin to take over, becoming control freaks, suffocating their child in bubble wrap so nothing can hurt them. The irony is that this is even more damaging.
In trying to protect their child from the pains of the world, parents can distort their reality, almost to a point where even the cuddliest of teddy bears seems to be filled with cyanide and knives. I believe that those who live in fear do so because their parents taught them to, based on the belief that anything can hurt you. And while this way of living does hold some merit, for anything could hurt you, the reality is that not everything will, and eventually, and unavoidably, you will get hurt. It is therefore foolish to live in perpetual terror, because it doesn’t protect you from pain – it locks you in a claustrophobic cell of anguish.
On reflection, I feel bad for winging and crying as if I were a toddler who’d been refused a second chocolate bar. But perhaps this was a good thing, being angry with them for stressing and worrying over me, because I made it clear that in living alone I want to be as self-sufficient as possible. I feel that the mollycoddling should end, that I should break from the shackles of safety and live my life the way I want to.
It’s just gone 9pm as I write this, and what a difference a few hours make. This morning it felt like I’d locked my parents in a capsule and blasted them off to space, never to be seen again. Now, after a few apologetic texts, I feel that I’ve partly made up for my antics, and at the very least have tried to explain why I behaved in such a cantankerous fashion. I didn’t give them excuses, mind, I know I behaved somewhat childishly and said sorry for doing so. But I did give some of the reasons why I acted how I did, in the hope that a repeat situation can be avoided. I guess we’ll see.
All I’ve left to do today is unwind. But right now I can hear a cluster of explosions. I hope they’re fireworks and not gunfire. If I never blog again, it was probably the latter. Or a stray Catherine wheel screaming through a window and into my head.
On a side note, I had my first guest today – a man who came to inspect the broken washing machine. It has two electrical faults.
In a bit,
Click here to read an interesting blog post by Christian Mihai. I found it after writing this, and it’s similar to the first half of this post, but more broad and general as it covers the pains of life, rather than just the pains of moving out of the family home.