SquarePegBooks

My parents were not as supportive of my desire to write and publish as I would’ve liked them to be. It wasn’t until the last few years of my father’s life that he became a little more  (vaguely) supportive of the notion.

I don’t know what he was thinking during those last few years. He was scared, and in various levels of pain, I know that. Perhaps he wanted to try to make amends before the end he fought so hard against.

What I do know is that being ruthlessly crushed time and again from a young age through adulthood about the idea of being a published writer took its toll. Such that I’m almost 50, but I’m still deeply struggling with the idea of being capable.

It’s probably why I feel a deep reluctance to write as a profession, to set things up as a business, why it’s so hard to overcome my own excuses, despite the fact that I know they are just excuses and not much more than that.

I’ve also recently figured out that a lot of my mental focus at home is directed towards avoiding certain family members, because they take a lot of my mental focus away from me and my projects.

They want to share their creative concepts, to bounce ideas off of me, to receive encouragement for their stories, their projects.

I’m torn between listening to them, having actual conversations about how and what and why, encouraging them to explore their ideas; and hiding from them, dodging them, wanting to tell them “stop! You’re using up what little I have reserved for me!”

The moment they see me, they pounce with excitement, knowing I won’t tell them “no”; knowing I’ll listen, and offer some thoughtful input, before I “have to use the bathroom” as an escape, if I can. Sometimes I can’t. They lay in wait for any opening–while I’m doing chores, while I’m cooking, while I’m driving, if I leave my door open while I’m laying down because I have a headache, watching TV, walking the dogs…

I’m half-expecting them to be waiting outside the bathroom door to pick up the conversation again once I’ve finished my personal business.

Realizing what it is, and how I feel about it, makes me feel horrible. What kind of a parent doesn’t want to encourage and support their kids?

I know what that’s like. I know how easy it is to be crushed and discouraged by a harshly dismissive phrase, casually tossed off at me as though I knew it was true, I just needed to be forced to accept it as reality. Again. I know how long it can take to even begin to get over that kind of repeated, subtle cruelty.

I don’t want to do that to them, but at the same time, they unconsciously demand that I give them all of me, all of the time.

How do I balance my personal needs against theirs? When do I receive support that is more than just empty words spoken before they zip the conversation back around to their creative endeavors? Am I alone in this kind of family dynamic?