Avoiding Crisis

needing approval

with 6 comments

Everyone has an opinion.  That is, everyone except for my mother.  She couldn’t possibly have an opinion on anything to do with this blog.  That would be, well, because, she hasn’t read any of it.  I’m not going to even go there with my father.  They’ll probably read it soon…after my non-stop nagging.  They will also read this posting and get very annoyed at me.  Oh well…but it sucks that they haven’t read anything that I’ve written and it hurts.  Yes, I am telling everyone about how I feel and I really don’t care.  I love my parents…they’ll get over it.   

Why, at the age of 29, do I care so much about what my parents think?  Why is it that their opinions are the end all and be all.  When will I grow out of this stage….will it ever end?  My mother doesn’t need the approval of her mother, or so she says.  Why do I?    

This is just one of those things that gets to me.  I know that it doesn’t bother my brothers.  In fact I can honestly say that they don’t care too much about what my parents think (or at least that’s what they tell me).  Yet, on the other hand, I happen to need constant approval from my folks.  Please, someone tell me, is there a trick to getting out of this rut? 

You’d think, after all these years, with kids of my own, separated by thousands of miles, it just wouldn’t matter any more.  And it was so much better 2 years ago…that is, before Vonage made an international call a local one.  I hate Vonage.  I love my parents;I hate Vonage. 

Why can’t I just be proud of myself.  Why does it matter what my mother thinks of my hair (she says it’s too long), or my clothes (too tight), or the weight I put on when I was pregnant (I think the phrase “beached whale” was used).  Why do I feel the need to call her almost immediately after sending out pictures to see what she thinks of her grand-kids?  Like she is going to say something negative about her grand-kids.  I think not. 

I want my parents to be proud of me…of who I’ve become.  They say they are.  I know deep down that they are.  But part of me thinks that they are just a little bit more proud of my brothers.  And that gets to me.  My father calls me the accountant of the family because I’m always keeping track of what everyone has.  “The doctor,” well, he’s a doctor.  And my twin, well, he had to overcome a lot of obstacles in his life to get to where he is.  We all cried the day he graduated from college, with honors I may add, because he started out being classified as learning disabled.  Me, on the other hand, I graduated at the top of my class from a rather pretigous college and had a job waiting for me in Washington, DC.  But that was just what I did…that is what they were used to…that was typical me.  They didn’t expect anything less.  

Upon receiving my diploma, the President of my college, who happened to know my father, said to me, “your father must be very proud of you.”  I smiled.  Nodded. Walked across that stage.  My father must be proud, I thought…hmm…I think he is, I thought.  Did it matter that I was proud of myself?  Did it matter that I was proud that I had made it to that day, that I was alive, that I wasn’t in some mental institution dealing with all the crap that an over-achieving 21 year old deals with and then some?  That should have been one of my proudest days…apparently it was for my father, at least according to the President of Barnard College.   

I’ll admit it, what my parents think matters to me.  Is that so bad?       


Written by nicolemarie

January 20, 2007 at 11:04 pm

6 Responses

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  1. I’m a 58 year old psychologist enjoying two grown kids and a 25 year marriage. Both my parents have been dead for years now, but when I accomplish something that I think would have made them proud I still have the impulse to call them. Unfortunately, Vonage doesn’t have that service yet. You’re fine. We all worry about these things even when we try to hide it from ourselves and others.


    January 22, 2007 at 12:02 pm

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