“You love that I debate with you; only you hate that it comes from your daughter and not one of your sons!”
“Well it sucks to be you.”
As best I can recall, this was the ending to one of the many tiring debates between myself and my father. I believe I was around 20 years old. Though I don’t remember the details of this small war, I’m sure it was something about the bible and no doubt how women were treated. I was female, and due to my lack of penis, I was supposed to shut the fuck up.
While my father was still a pastor, he feared what I would do and say as a teenager. I was a wild card (no, please stop your snickering pastor’s daughter comments right now), I was vocal and I didn’t fit into the proper mold. I was told “You don’t want your mother and brothers to end up on the streets because I lost my job due to your actions, do you?”
So I lived a double life. I attended all mandatory events, put on a sweet smile and tried to suppress who I really was. Sometimes I even tried really hard to be the good girl. Who I was certainly wasn’t OK, so I learned to be very sorry and apologetic.
A good friend posted this picture on my Facebook wall saying, “I imagine this was how you looked as a child.” In attitude, yes; in looks, well not so much. Yet the words resonated and pierced me “too big, too loud, too emotional, too edgy”; simply too much. I’ve always been a little too much. When you’re too much you learn to acclimate and accommodate. You take up too much space so you learn to be smaller.
“Calm down! You’re getting all riled up!” Too much.
“So tell us how you really feel! Ha Ha Ha.” Too much.
“Stop being so sensitive!” Too much.
You lose pieces of your soul, bit by bit, when you have to hold back who you are. Yet you can only hold it in so long, well I can only hold it in so long before not having the capacity to contain it much more.
So I’m though apologizing for being me.