That's not why I'm so hard done by

According to pop psychology and after school specials I should have grown up riddled with guilt and self doubt. “

If only I’d been a better kid my parents would have stayed together.”

“If only I had cleaned my room like my mum asked she wouldn’t have become an alcoholic.”

“If only…”

What a load of bullshit.

I have zero sympathy for people that fall into that thought cycle. Unless you’re six, it doesn’t fly with me.

My parents separated when I was so young I have absolutely no memory of them being together. How was I ever supposed to mourn the loss of something I never had? That’s not to say I don’t ever wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a two parent family. I also wonder what it would have been like to have an older brother. It just was never going to happen.

My dad left me when I was… I dunno… five? Seven? I have no idea. I just remember being excited that he was coming to pick me up and he never showed. He wasn’t around much to begin with so it wasn’t really any skin off my nose. When I got older I would get sad that my dad didn’t love me enough to want to see me but I my mindset wasn’t “what’s wrong with me?” it was always “what’s wrong with him?” I still feel this way. My father is a broken man, and he was broken long before I was born.

My dad remarried and had kids. Apparently I was supposed to feel like I was being replaced. I felt quite the opposite actually. It was the only time my dad was really a part of my life. It had everything to do with my stepmother making sure we stayed in touch, but when they divorced things went back to the way they had always been. Again, not my fault. I tried, he didn’t. The man has demons.

I’ve never blamed myself for my mum’s drinking either. That was her issue, and I couldn’t cause it any more than I could have stopped it.

There are so many people in the world that use their childhood as an excuse. I use mine as an example. I know that I will spend the rest of my life working on ensuring that the best of my parents come out in me and not their worst. I want to hold onto the gift of gab bestowed upon me by my father (I talk a thousand times better than I write and my father can spin a yarn with the best of them) and leave the temper I inherited from him in check. I want to run with my mum’s sense of humour while ensuring that I always remember that I deserve to be loved better than some men know how to love.

I am the product of my parents. I am the product of my childhood. I would rather be defined by the lessons I’ve learned rather than the excuses I’ve made.