After you wipe the distress on your face from hearing that question, if you start thinking about it, I am sure you’ve already asked yourself that. Perhaps, during that deep sleep phase that we all wish to recreate every night when we go to bed, without any satisfactory outcome in the next morning.
We all grow up surrounded by “models” and I will further refer to our family members as such.
Some were really anxious and isolated, some were way too outspoken and extroverted, others were caught in arguments all the time and pretty much none of them seemed at least 50% normal.
I have put myself under a short analysis and came to the conclusion that I am just as outspoken as my uncle, stubborn to the point it annoys everyone like my biological father, naive and shopaholic like my mother and paranoid like her sisters.
Haven’t I won the family lottery? Certainly, I have.
These models were supposed to show us the best we can achieve and be, teach us kindness, determination to achieve that very best, critical thinking to be able to make the right decisions and all the “dull” stuff they teach you in philosophy class.
I am not saying that my role models failed miserably, I am saying that they didn’t seem aware of their role, so they kind of sucked at playing the part.
It sometimes feels like I took care of myself while growing up and I was fortunate to have it all: the entire Barbie collection with the house, horse and car, all the new Lego stuff, tennis and horseback riding lessons, got my first computer when I was 6 and by the time I turned 7 we already had dial-up internet, which led to me being curious about everything, thus I grew up reading a lot about *insert anything you can possibly think of*.
I turned out just fine, my childhood was pretty much blessed by not having to know the downside of life or its struggles — if you don’t count growing up in a loveless marriage with constant fights and mental torture, yet a lot of guilt gifts — the downside of life.
It only seems normal to start wondering about this when we become adults, as we approach new stages in our lives: moving in with the partner, passing the tests, having a career and climbing the ladder, wanting a family and all that jazz. It’s nature’s way of pushing us towards continuing to populate this planet with more of our fucked up little selves whilst trying to mend ourselves at the same time. Poor thing, you would think that by now we would have figured it out already: we are on the edge of finding ourselves in the midst of a new war, the worldwide political scene is like a Hitchcock film and we haven’t found tangible cures for depression or anxiety. Jolly, isn’t it?
But pardon my deviation, I will return to my main question: Are we becoming our parents? I agree, we were fortunate enough to miss the 90’s hairstyles and clothing choice, although they keep making these scary comebacks; we lack the pressure from these models to procreate and start families, or at least some of us do.
I love both my mother and her side of the family. But still, every now and then I wonder the same thing: How am I going to avoid ending up like either of my parents?