I want you to know why I'm so twisted up and wrecked on the inside.
Get comfy, this may well be a very long blog.
I grew up as a very serious girl with a massive forehead. I think my forehead was huge because of all the worrying I did. People can remember right back to being 2 or 3 years old sometimes but for me, my memories start at being 5. I don't remember 'being' any earlier than that.
I have glimpses of before I was 5 years old - quick flashes of images that are so hazy, I don't know any more if they're real or not.
Like, I remember living with my Mom, Aunty and Grandmother - in a dirty hut close to a river. The river was dirty and the smell was horrible. I remember a straw mat. I remember my Mom's deep, throaty voice when she sang. I remember a tiny old television with little ceramic dwarves decorated on the top of it. I think they were miniature versions of the dwarves in "Snow White". I remember their bright colours and how much I liked to play with them. I remember that I had a little pink dress with frills on the sleeves and along the rim of the skirt. I loved that dress. It was my favourite thing ever. I remember being mad at my Mom and wanting to hurt her, so I told her I was taking Dad on a holiday and that she wasn't invited. I remember their laughter when I said that.
And that's it.
Nothing else.
My memory - who I am - started with the 5-year-old version of me, being told I was "getting a brother or sister soon". I remember feeling terrified. What would happen to me? I remember knowing - whether I came up with it on my own or whether "someone" had told me - that I wasn't needed or wanted anymore. I knew it. I remember reasoning that if my parents had a little boy - then they'd have to keep me because surely my Mom wanted one of each, right? One boy and one girl. I remember knowing deep down - like DEEP down - that if they had a little girl - I would be entirely forgotten. Dismissed. Disposed of.
And that is scary, right there. I can't even tell you. For a little girl to take that on - that is terrifying.
I know I've said this a lot - but I prayed with all my heart for God to send a baby boy. That way, there would still be a place for me in this family.
The logic of a 5-year-old, eh?
And the moment my brother arrived - my life was different.
So different.
Two kids, two parents, one house and two extremely different, diverging pathways.
Because my parents - my Dad in particular - treated us as opposites.
I could never do anything right. I was "too serious", "too sensitive" and a burden. A worry. I was "too emotional" and always made my parents frown or sigh in exasperation. My parents were very hard on me - always telling me off, always disappointed with me, always annoyed.
Life for Jay - was so different. It was so much more. Jay was celebrated. Always. My parents cherished him and were always so proud of him. They rejoiced in him and built him up, believing he could do anything. Believing he was everything to them.
The little pictures I created for my parents - MY pictures - used to line the walls of our home. When Jay came along - they were ALL taken down and replaced with Jay's artwork. Wall space wasn't shared equally - it was all about Jay. Conversation was always about how wonderful Jay was. I was constantly being compared to Jay "he's so good at school, he has so many friends, his teachers love him, look at what he made/drew and how amazing it is...Jan - why can't you be more like this?" and the 'rules' didn't apply to Jay. Just to me. I was disciplined. I got smacked a lot. Jay was very, very rarely smacked or told off. It was almost a daily occurance for me. Things I wasn't allowed to do - Jay was allowed to. Things my parents expected of me "work hard, do chores, get good grades at school" were not expected of Jay. My parents excitedly celebrated all of my brother's birthdays and school achievements. They went to all of his concerts/plays/functions and they very rarely went to mine.
Christmas was a time of great shame and sadness for me. Jay would be opening gift after gift from my parents "oh wow! So cool!", tearing them open with abandon, always getting more than he could ever wish for or dream of. At first, Christmas "wasnt that bad"...but as Jay and I got older, I grew more resentful because I was smarter. I started looking up the prices of things in the sales catalogues and when I compared what my parents had spent on me to what they had spent on Jay, the figures were out by a few HUNDRED dollars. It is petty, I know...but I started to physically compare what Jay had to what I had. I even measured our bedrooms and Jay's was 3 meters bigger than mine. In every house we lived in! I started mentally counting the time, praise, affection and literal monetary amounts my parents gave to the both of us and it grieved me deeply to find I was really badly lacking.
Why was this?
I literally grew up in the same house as my brother - with the same parents - and yet, life for both of us could not have been more different.
I grew up cautious. reserved. quiet. careful. cunning. (< more on the 'cunning' bit later).
Jay grew up confident, carefree, noisy, joyful, loved and cherished.
I grew up watching everyone around me (especially my parents) very, very carefully. I wanted to survive (what a weird thing for a young girl to want), and in order to do so, I decided that people pleasing would be my best bet...so I would watch people's body language, listen carefully to their tone of voice - and therefore learnt to assess and react very quickly to whether someone was happy or not. I decided my job was to make as many people happy as I could. So that's how I shaped and modified my behaviour. The happiness of people around me - heavily influenced how happy I was with myself - so that vicious circle of people pleasing began and just grew stronger as I grew older.
I guess I grew up with a lot of contained rage, too. A lot of bitterness and resentment for how my parents loved and adored my brother while simultaneously expecting so much more of me and distancing themselves from me. I didn't know what to do with the anger so I turned it in on myself.
I hated and loved myself. I hated and loved my parents. I hated and loved my brother.
I got bullied and ostrasized (sp?) at school. I wanted teachers and my peers to like me so instead of standing up for myself when the other children hurt me, I laughed along with them. I didn't 'tell anyone' all the pain I was going through. I didn't understand why the other kids hated me so much. I hated me, too. I didnt understand my wiry hair and oh-so-dark skin when my parents and my brother were all so light. I didn't understand why my brother loved school and had so many friends - why he was a 'leader' and everyone followed him around...while I had to deal with the kicks, the shoves, the jeers, the pain of it all. Jay would come home from a 'great' day of school to be adored and loved by my parents. I would come home from war, really - battling to keep my head above water - and get instantly told off for being 'surly' and 'miserable' from my parents. My Dad used to chant to me "I'm so lonely, nobody likes me...I think I'll go and eat worms". I'd frown, wondering why worms would help in this situation, holding back the tears from an exhauting day...and maybe Dad saw it. Maybe he saw the hurt because he'd ruffle my hair "Cheer up, chook - it can't be that bad"
But it was that bad, Dad. You had no idea.
Get comfy, this may well be a very long blog.
I grew up as a very serious girl with a massive forehead. I think my forehead was huge because of all the worrying I did. People can remember right back to being 2 or 3 years old sometimes but for me, my memories start at being 5. I don't remember 'being' any earlier than that.
I have glimpses of before I was 5 years old - quick flashes of images that are so hazy, I don't know any more if they're real or not.
Like, I remember living with my Mom, Aunty and Grandmother - in a dirty hut close to a river. The river was dirty and the smell was horrible. I remember a straw mat. I remember my Mom's deep, throaty voice when she sang. I remember a tiny old television with little ceramic dwarves decorated on the top of it. I think they were miniature versions of the dwarves in "Snow White". I remember their bright colours and how much I liked to play with them. I remember that I had a little pink dress with frills on the sleeves and along the rim of the skirt. I loved that dress. It was my favourite thing ever. I remember being mad at my Mom and wanting to hurt her, so I told her I was taking Dad on a holiday and that she wasn't invited. I remember their laughter when I said that.
And that's it.
Nothing else.
My memory - who I am - started with the 5-year-old version of me, being told I was "getting a brother or sister soon". I remember feeling terrified. What would happen to me? I remember knowing - whether I came up with it on my own or whether "someone" had told me - that I wasn't needed or wanted anymore. I knew it. I remember reasoning that if my parents had a little boy - then they'd have to keep me because surely my Mom wanted one of each, right? One boy and one girl. I remember knowing deep down - like DEEP down - that if they had a little girl - I would be entirely forgotten. Dismissed. Disposed of.
And that is scary, right there. I can't even tell you. For a little girl to take that on - that is terrifying.
I know I've said this a lot - but I prayed with all my heart for God to send a baby boy. That way, there would still be a place for me in this family.
The logic of a 5-year-old, eh?
And the moment my brother arrived - my life was different.
So different.
Two kids, two parents, one house and two extremely different, diverging pathways.
Because my parents - my Dad in particular - treated us as opposites.
I could never do anything right. I was "too serious", "too sensitive" and a burden. A worry. I was "too emotional" and always made my parents frown or sigh in exasperation. My parents were very hard on me - always telling me off, always disappointed with me, always annoyed.
Life for Jay - was so different. It was so much more. Jay was celebrated. Always. My parents cherished him and were always so proud of him. They rejoiced in him and built him up, believing he could do anything. Believing he was everything to them.
The little pictures I created for my parents - MY pictures - used to line the walls of our home. When Jay came along - they were ALL taken down and replaced with Jay's artwork. Wall space wasn't shared equally - it was all about Jay. Conversation was always about how wonderful Jay was. I was constantly being compared to Jay "he's so good at school, he has so many friends, his teachers love him, look at what he made/drew and how amazing it is...Jan - why can't you be more like this?" and the 'rules' didn't apply to Jay. Just to me. I was disciplined. I got smacked a lot. Jay was very, very rarely smacked or told off. It was almost a daily occurance for me. Things I wasn't allowed to do - Jay was allowed to. Things my parents expected of me "work hard, do chores, get good grades at school" were not expected of Jay. My parents excitedly celebrated all of my brother's birthdays and school achievements. They went to all of his concerts/plays/functions and they very rarely went to mine.
Christmas was a time of great shame and sadness for me. Jay would be opening gift after gift from my parents "oh wow! So cool!", tearing them open with abandon, always getting more than he could ever wish for or dream of. At first, Christmas "wasnt that bad"...but as Jay and I got older, I grew more resentful because I was smarter. I started looking up the prices of things in the sales catalogues and when I compared what my parents had spent on me to what they had spent on Jay, the figures were out by a few HUNDRED dollars. It is petty, I know...but I started to physically compare what Jay had to what I had. I even measured our bedrooms and Jay's was 3 meters bigger than mine. In every house we lived in! I started mentally counting the time, praise, affection and literal monetary amounts my parents gave to the both of us and it grieved me deeply to find I was really badly lacking.
Why was this?
I literally grew up in the same house as my brother - with the same parents - and yet, life for both of us could not have been more different.
I grew up cautious. reserved. quiet. careful. cunning. (< more on the 'cunning' bit later).
Jay grew up confident, carefree, noisy, joyful, loved and cherished.
I grew up watching everyone around me (especially my parents) very, very carefully. I wanted to survive (what a weird thing for a young girl to want), and in order to do so, I decided that people pleasing would be my best bet...so I would watch people's body language, listen carefully to their tone of voice - and therefore learnt to assess and react very quickly to whether someone was happy or not. I decided my job was to make as many people happy as I could. So that's how I shaped and modified my behaviour. The happiness of people around me - heavily influenced how happy I was with myself - so that vicious circle of people pleasing began and just grew stronger as I grew older.
I guess I grew up with a lot of contained rage, too. A lot of bitterness and resentment for how my parents loved and adored my brother while simultaneously expecting so much more of me and distancing themselves from me. I didn't know what to do with the anger so I turned it in on myself.
I hated and loved myself. I hated and loved my parents. I hated and loved my brother.
I got bullied and ostrasized (sp?) at school. I wanted teachers and my peers to like me so instead of standing up for myself when the other children hurt me, I laughed along with them. I didn't 'tell anyone' all the pain I was going through. I didn't understand why the other kids hated me so much. I hated me, too. I didnt understand my wiry hair and oh-so-dark skin when my parents and my brother were all so light. I didn't understand why my brother loved school and had so many friends - why he was a 'leader' and everyone followed him around...while I had to deal with the kicks, the shoves, the jeers, the pain of it all. Jay would come home from a 'great' day of school to be adored and loved by my parents. I would come home from war, really - battling to keep my head above water - and get instantly told off for being 'surly' and 'miserable' from my parents. My Dad used to chant to me "I'm so lonely, nobody likes me...I think I'll go and eat worms". I'd frown, wondering why worms would help in this situation, holding back the tears from an exhauting day...and maybe Dad saw it. Maybe he saw the hurt because he'd ruffle my hair "Cheer up, chook - it can't be that bad"
But it was that bad, Dad. You had no idea.
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