I have a goal
Posted: Wed Jul 17, 2013 12:26 pm
This goal will probably get submerged in the swirling cauldron of my life but it's still a worthy goal. My father was highly capable man. He built many things with his hands; things that haven't crumbled like so many things I've made. He would be out and working at home every Saturday when I grew up, improving the lives of his family and those around us.
I feel so much shame about this time. I remember so many weekends, he would be out and about, getting things done. I remember hiding in my room. And as I think about it confusion sets in as to why. I was going to say, 'I lay in bed not wanting to get up'. I was going to blame depression even back then. But I'm not so sure it was that simple.
There were days when I was sad. I was sad that I wasn't out there helping Dad. But it wasn't always my choice. As I recall now there were many weekends I couldn't be around Dad because I wasn't getting my school work done; and that, in our family, was priority. And Dad was a teacher, a professor. But you can't always be teaching; sometimes you just have to get the work done. Dad often just had to get the work done.
So it's beginning to dawn on me that, not only did I spend a lot of time banished to my bedroom all alone (till I finished my homework which never got finished) while the rest of the family went on with their family lives; but when I did get to spend time with my father, he was working on something or lying on the couch taking a break.
Was it me or was it him? I don't know but we didn't take much time to get to know each other. It feels like so much whining, especially when people here have so much more extreme things to deal with. But this might be important to me. I've got this hopeless feeling that won't go away. I need it to go away.
I was going to say I have a goal to forgive myself for not helping Dad more when I was young; for not doing more of what I was supposed to do. But I'm not sure it's that simple.
I feel so much shame about this time. I remember so many weekends, he would be out and about, getting things done. I remember hiding in my room. And as I think about it confusion sets in as to why. I was going to say, 'I lay in bed not wanting to get up'. I was going to blame depression even back then. But I'm not so sure it was that simple.
There were days when I was sad. I was sad that I wasn't out there helping Dad. But it wasn't always my choice. As I recall now there were many weekends I couldn't be around Dad because I wasn't getting my school work done; and that, in our family, was priority. And Dad was a teacher, a professor. But you can't always be teaching; sometimes you just have to get the work done. Dad often just had to get the work done.
So it's beginning to dawn on me that, not only did I spend a lot of time banished to my bedroom all alone (till I finished my homework which never got finished) while the rest of the family went on with their family lives; but when I did get to spend time with my father, he was working on something or lying on the couch taking a break.
Was it me or was it him? I don't know but we didn't take much time to get to know each other. It feels like so much whining, especially when people here have so much more extreme things to deal with. But this might be important to me. I've got this hopeless feeling that won't go away. I need it to go away.
I was going to say I have a goal to forgive myself for not helping Dad more when I was young; for not doing more of what I was supposed to do. But I'm not sure it's that simple.