I made a sort of vague reference in yesterday’s post about jealousy, so I’m going to try to expand on that.
I think my family is jealous of the things I’ve told my friends, and that I haven’t told them.
It’s pretty well established in this blog by now that I don’t talk to my family overmuch about anything. You learn pretty quickly to keep your opinions to yourself when you’re bound to be told how stupid or ill-thought out or plain weird they are the second you open your mouth.
The truth is that I just don’t trust my family with anything especially deep that concerns me. I would love for them to actually understand and accept me and my feelings, but it’s becoming pretty clear that it’s a stupid thing to hope for.
So I’m a pretty private person, according to my family. They say that I’m secretive and don’t tell them anything. Knowing what you know, can you blame me?
I’m very open with those I consider my friends. I daresay that my friends know more about me than my family does. My friends know very deep, personal stuff about me–stuff I’d never tell my family in a million years.
For some reason, this doesn’t make my family (namely the Keeper of the Holograms and the Bestower of Righteous Silliness) very happy.
Example: I speak with my teacher weekly. This is no secret in my house, though the nature of our talks is. When it became known that I was setting aside several hours a week for this, the questions began.
Who was I talking to? Why was I talking to them? What did we talk about, and why did I think it was so important that I couldn’t tell them (the family, that is) about it?
When I declined to state the answers to these questions, they got more insistent.
My mother’s favorite method is the injured victim tone. She’s my mother; why can’t I talk to her for hours the way I do with this lady I barely know? What do I say to this woman that’s so important that I guard the time spent with her like I’m hoarding precious treasure? Above all, what the heck do I talk about? Do I know how much I’m hurting her (my mother) by being all secretive like this? How dare I?
My sister likes to present solutions that all have to do with my lack of belief in Christianity. I wouldn’t have to have long conversations with people if I believed in Jesus. Don’t I know that Jesus is the answer for whatever problems I have (and they must not be real problems anyway, since what do I have to worry me)? Jesus is the answer to everything, and if I went back to the church and allowed Jesus to work within me, all would be well and I wouldn’t need to associate with crazy ladies who’ve reeled me in with lies and fantasies! (Note: this is my sister being nice.)
Do they hear me when I say that a) talking to them is like ramming my head into a brick wall and b) does not help? Ha! No, the problem is that, get this: I don’t want them to know anything about me.
Yes, you read that right, ladies and gents! I don’t want to talk to them because I like not talking to them!
…Yeah. It makes my head hurt too.
Why this jealousy? I’m a rational, thinking woman, well over the age where I can choose my own friends. If I choose not to have my family among those I talk to beyond basic pleasantries, why is it a cause for interrogation worthy of the Inquisition? I certainly don’t care who my mother and sister choose to confide in. Why can’t they give me the same courtesy?