Link to Part 7

I think some of the reason that I de-prioritized my needs – or at least my wants – after my daughter was born is because when we found out my wife was expecting, people – my mom, mainly – impressed upon me that the purpose of my life was now to provide for my child, and that making sacrifices for the good of my offspring was the only accomplishment I had to look forward to. (That’s not verbatim, but it’s definitely the lesson I retained.) No one said this to my wife, just to me. Maybe the people who knew me best saw me as a selfish manchild who was likely to trade his baby for a mint-condition copy of The Incredible Hulk #180 or a life-size replica of Han Solo in Carbonite. Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever come across that way, but there had to be a reason that multiple people felt the need to tell me this.

I’ve always been pretty easygoing, the sort of person who goes with the flow and tries not to make waves. I suspect this behavior was modeled by my mother, with whom I spent a lot of time growing up. Additionally, while my parents were good providers who made sure I had everything I needed and much of what I wanted, there were no promises or guarantees made about anything in the latter category. I grew to not like asking for things.

To be clear, my parents didn’t scream at me or physically abuse me if I asked for something. They didn’t send me to my room for not being happy with what I already had. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for me to get the thing I was asking for, though depending on what it was I usually had to wait for my birthday or Christmas. But again, I didn’t like asking.

The lesson I should have taken away from my upbringing is that parents need to see to their own emotional and financial needs before indulging their kids. When you’re on an airplane listening to the safety demonstration, they tell you that if there’s a change in cabin pressure you must put on your own oxygen mask before assisting your children with theirs. If you don’t take care of your own needs, you’re not going to be able to see to those of a child.

(More than a decade before I became a parent, I remember trying to impart this very lesson to a much-older cousin who found himself in a similar boat. This was a person who, while raising two young children solo and in an isolated setting, regularly found himself overextended and couldn’t make time for self-care. We were close, but I doubt he appreciated the unsolicited (but sound) advice from a kid twelve years his junior who had barely started living.)

Unfortunately, the lesson I actually took from my upbringing was that my needs are less important than anyone else’s, and this programming came back when I was told that my own life was essentially over once I became a father. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself for not learning the other lesson. It’s not as though the messaging I received once my baby was born – not just from people I knew, but to some extent from cultural osmosis – was anything but “Your own journey as a person stops here.”

In the years since then, I’ve tried to justify it by convincing myself it was for the best. “My own journey wasn’t leading anyplace good [though in moments of clarity I know that this is 100% untrue] and the most important thing I’ll ever do is raise my daughter to be a strong and successful adult [this is probably true].”

In that respect, I seem to be succeeding.

Up next: The Parent Trap, wherein I consider that my parents might be partially responsible for the mess that I currently am. More than I have thusfar, I mean.