fawning, boundaries, and a life lived for others
this post is a rambling vent. feel free to read, but this is more to get some thoughts off my chest than to come to any great conclusions.
it took well into my mid twenties for me to realize i'd never lived without compromising on some aspect of myself, and once i did, i fell into such a deep depression that i fear i'm still not out of it yet. in some ways, it was survival; part of a childhood i wouldn't wish upon anyone else. in other ways, it was growing up; nobody taught me about autonomy and how i could be myself, and other people were supposed to respect that, not push me to conform to what they wanted. at heart, i spent most of life teaching myself skills i wish i had someone to help me with, but when it came to dealing with others who had ideas about what i should be, they taught me to fawn, to acquiesce, and to be whatever i needed to be in order to survive.
in a sense, i survived. in another sense, it was a survival that brought a physical body to adulthood; there was no sense of self in the way those my age felt when they grew up and got to choose what their life would become. i'd read about how people experienced ego death, realized who they are was so fragile and not really something at all, and had to start from scratch in finding who they were... and go about my day, subconsciously aware that i was a bundle of traits sewn together, with interests and hobbies that'd make it seem as if i had a personality and sense of self. i couldn't face that for a long time. when they slowly fell apart, there really was nothing beneath the persona i'd constructed but a chasm of other people's promises, that maybe i could become something if i did as they said.
i stopped dreaming as a child. my teachers would ask what i wanted to be when i grew up, and i remember thinking i didn't really have any dreams; my parents told me i'd be a good christian, that i'd have a family of my own, perhaps, and that was all that mattered. i remember the family bit was more implied. dreams were more something i'd put on to the world, to prove there was something inside me that was human.
i'd say i wanted to be an author, and my teachers would coo with delight, tell me that was a Wonderful Dream, that they'd love to read my published works when i grew up, and how i could absolutely achieve it. i had no intention of doing so. i'd given up on dreams early, and where other kids wondered whether they could become astronauts, doctors, or superheroes, i sat quietly with myself, knowing a life of being a good christian with a family awaited me.
looking back, my home life was rigid, yet my parents would say they were easy on me. expectations were high; my father would sit at the dinner table and ask me whether my marks were better than my classmates', going down the list by name of all my peers who did gifted and talented classes with me, of my friends, of the other good christians at my primary school. what hurts is that whenever i wanted to do something of my own volition in this time, i couldn't betray it was something i liked. piano had to be because i had a family history in music, sports were because i had a family history in sports, and i wanted to try new things desperately; it was the age where kids form their sense of self, yet my prescribed life gave no room for this experimentation without reason. my parents would bemoan the state of the world, complaining about how people were being too soft on their children, all while encouraging a climate of fear so bad that i was terrified of becoming a teenager, as that'd mean i'd hate my parents and rebel, and, ergo, they'd have to punish me harder.
it was only once i learned identity could be forged by the things you did, and not the things you felt, that i escaped this magnifying glass of terror. they'd still ask about my grades around the dinner table, and i'd dread low marks more than anything else in the world, but no longer did they press in on my sense of self... because i was now a musician.
i think it's unfortunate that it was something i loved. the expectation became that i had to be the best at what i did, not that i enjoyed what i did, and as a result, i ended up dropping instruments i loved because the pressure was too high. i'd chase niche instruments nobody else would play because it meant i'd be the best; piano was too competitive, and for a time, the trumpet had fierce competition for first chair, competition i couldn't avoid because there were so few to begin with. my other instruments were safe havens... but even then, it was once again unfortunate that music is a field rife with expectations. it wasn't like i had a choice though; if i wanted an identity, i had to be the best. sports wouldn't have been much better in that respect, and academics were something i couldn't quite nail, so i couldn't hone in on that. even "fun clubs" were distractions, and my parents weren't a fan of me filling my time with extracurriculars where i wasn't openly excelling or forging an identity for myself. it'd be, "are you sure you want to do this?" and having to justify, yes, i do want to join a club that's just for my enjoyment, versus, "alright, here's the entry free."
in a sense, i lived for myself at first, but slowly, i was living for an identity that wasn't quite mine, and prestige that always came at higher and higher costs. i wouldn't have been the only kid with parents determined for their kid to be the best; that said, the support i received at home was spotty and conditional. my instruments were too loud to practice, so i somehow had to be the best at what i did... without practicing. my groups needed extra rehearsals, but they couldn't infringe on church; religion came first, and if they clashed, i could only miss church if it was an important event (i remember this one being an issue with honor groups, as naturally, they were prestigious, but they couldn't infringe upon church forever). by the time high school came around, i pretty much stopped asking for help at home, as everyone assumed i was entirely self-sufficient, despite the expectations ramping up considerably. eventually, i'd spend two hours a night in my room, practice mute in my trumpet (the only practice mute i could afford, therefore the only instrument i could practice), spending the only free hours in my day trying to get ahead.
so i suppose the question lies, where does fawning enter the equation? this is a life lived for others, and at no point did anyone teach me that i could set my own boundaries and live a life i enjoyed, without having to engage in all the competition and misery...
... but fawning was a constant in order for people not to work out the truth. at home, i had a father who raged, so fawning meant i could avoid being in the line of fire from an early age. i had a mother who often vented to me in a fashion children shouldn't have to handle, and if i wasn't able to support her, her mental health would worsen dramatically, or she'd be upset at me for not supporting her once i got older. i had teachers who preferred it when i was an "old soul," or "mature for my age," rather than depressed or defiant. after a time, i struggled to make friends, but this came after years and years of fawning so people would like me. once i realized i was saying things only so i'd be liked, i stopped; funnily enough, my friends stopped liking me too.
the music world lives and dies on connections too. really, all you have to do is fawn, and everything falls into place. it's how my mother did so well, and why other family members did so poorly; so long as you get along with others, it's very easy. the problem is, with a family legacy, people come in with preconceived notions... especially when you've got a couple of cantankerous elders and a fawning mother. somehow, my mother's fawning managed to piss off the head of music at my high school (which i only attended for a niche subject on the advice of a g&t teacher), but the fawning he required in order to be one of his favorites was also... monumental. the department was deeply unhealthy in numerous ways, but the worst part, by far, was the fawning.
i was terrified of him at first, but soon fawned as best i could. nope. wrong type of fawning. that, coupled with untreated mental (and physical) health issues, meant i was already off to a bad start compared to the hordes of giggling students crowding around him at any given moment [if you read this and go, "wait, giggling? was the fawning he wanted flirting fawning?" then you'd be right, and i'm damn astounded none of my peers have looked back on the culture of the department and noticed that what he wanted, coupled with the grooming he did that hit the news, meant we were in a pressure cooker designed to work out who would make for easy and convenient victims]. my parents wanted me to succeed here; it was a prestigious school, and if i made first chair here, then i'd be worthy of love.
hahaha... hahahaha... i ended up not telling my father about anything music related while i was at the school, as besides my few successes, that damn HoD made life desperately difficult despite my best efforts (not that i could tell why entirely at the time; i think he wanted to see how far i'd go, and once he realized i'd go far, tried to push things... which is a whole other story. i'm lucky to have made it out relatively unscathed). my mother believed i was doing well, but when she came in to the department a few times (ignoring the fact no parent does this, and it immediately made me stick out once again, alongside the untreated mental health), realized i really, really wasn't doing well, and first chair could mask that i was on the outer from the HoD's inner circle. after that, i stopped mentioning music things to her in the hopes i could maintain some semblance of distinction between home life and music life.
after all, i needed the scraps of support my parents could give me more than anything else, even when my father was giving me nothing and my mother was wrapped up in her own issues. no teacher in that music department could give me the support i needed beyond music; no teacher in that school could even give me the support i needed, mostly because i needed something beyond praise and security. sure, it helped far more than any of them will ever know, but it shouldn't have had to be that way. nobody outside of school could give me that support either; no conductors, no friends, no family. everyone had their own lives, and for the most part, i'd gotten good at pretending all my needs were being met. to do otherwise would put immense strain on the people around me, even if they needed the support too! in fact, due to a situation beyond my control "for my own good" in my teenage years, i couldn't actually face that my mother was neglecting me as it'd result in worse neglect in the state system, and every authority i spoke to denied that my father would want to abuse me either. no support, no help, no way out.
can you see the issues? how poor boundaries meant i fawned and lived for others, and how living for others meant poor boundaries and fawning, and how fawning meant poor boundaries and living for others?
by the time i graduated high school, my sense of self had been shattered a second time, thanks to that stupid HoD taking an axe to my music career through indirect actions that turned direct once i tried doing something about it. there was nothing. my identity was now "wooo, i'm off to university out of town!" and the people in my life were supportive, if blissfully unaware of just how hard i was clinging to this new identity. such things can't last forever. i did a good job trying though, but made no headway in beating these problems that kept rearing their heads. the whole year was one big fawn-fest; boundaries were impossible to keep without others around me; i knew doing uni was what people supported me for, so when i had to drop out, i knew people would be disappointed.
what came after were a number of cycles of hurt. i'm still reeling from all of them, even if i'm just now working out who i am. i think it's easy to look back and say things could've gone differently, but when i consider that from the moment i could express myself, i was told who i was meant to be and what i'd do in life, it's not a surprise that things went the way they did. even now, my mother gets upset when i don't forgive (others).
it's hard to articulate why this makes life terrifying. everyone will always have ideas of what they want people to be, but the thing i've found is that people who want others to be that idea come in numerous forms, and it's harder to find someone who actually wants me to grow as i am. i'm a man who isn't traditionally masculine, which makes life scary enough in this climate as is; when i take into account that most people in my life prefer me as a woman, and would rather i stay the meek, kindhearted woman they know than turn into the strong, gentle man that's always been there, sometimes i want to give up! very few people understand who i am, and chasing the treatment and love i need is a challenge. the place i live is easy on my disability; it's hard on my sense of self.
so far, i've been trying to set boundaries. i say 'trying' because with some, it's tricky but it sticks; with others, they refuse. some of these other people are even convinced that they're sticking to my boundaries as they cross them, over and over again! it pisses me off. there's some people i haven't tried with, as i know it'd go down poorly based on past experience; there's others who i've expected it to be easy with, but as it happens, they put up their own fawning personas to hide their stubborn, unchanging minds.
i've stopped fawning with my mother most of the time. in fact, i've had to tell her not to offload her emotional anguish onto me, as i can't handle it, but it's also not appropriate given our relationship. i've seen this referred to as 'parentification', but i'm terrified of using the word because even talking about her raising me neglectfully as 'neglect' puts the fear of god into me. recently, she said she stopped reading the news, so i [knowingly] asked where she sources her news from. "god... and the bible," is a laughable answer that my therapist will have a field day with, but when i dryly asked what god had to say about the latest political assassination she was deeply grieving, she said, "we're fighting a spiritual war..." and blathered on in a way that made me wonder why i didn't notice i had OCD sooner if she'd raised me with this deeply evangelical religious scrupulosity.
in terms of living for others... i'm working that one out. i fear that might be the hardest one of all, given i've been living for others since the moment i was born. what do i live for now, if not them?
... i still don't know. i try my best though, in the hopes i'll find something and a sense of purpose will strike me like i've seen in others. often i say my dream is "to inspire others," but this is a half truth. my dream is to inspire others... because maybe if i give enough out into the world, someone might inspire me.
damn. there really is no saving me!!!
just kidding. i think i'll find a way to shift the focus of my dream so it's not simply inspiration for someone else's sake, nor inspiration so someone else will save me; maybe i'll find inspiration so an endless wellspring will erupt within me, and i'll never be without ideas a day in my life. after being told all my life i must live for others, because only sinners and the selfish live for themselves, it's strange centering my life on me.