My journey to becoming an adult was not easy. As a gender non-conforming child, I stuck out in my small town. And my family did not approve. I learned at a young age that if I was not being myself, then I was depressed and not good for anyone. I grew up in a family that expected me to look, act, and behave how they thought I was “supposed” to.
My parents chose my clothes, my hair style, my food, and even what toys I was allowed to play with. Except, I did get to play with my brother’s Hot Wheels on Fall Feast morning, which made it my favorite day of the year!
I was never disrespectful or mean, but I am a highly sensitive human and I have always felt things very strongly. And I am also a critical thinker and a questioner: so if something doesn’t make sense, I want to talk more about it. But I was consistently and severely punished for having thoughts, feelings, and ideas that differed from those of my family.
But getting punished just made me want to fight harder to be myself. To feel like I mattered. Because being silent didn’t feel right. And I wanted to help other people feel like they mattered, too.
Staring with my Adventure People.
The only thing I loved that wasn’t boyish was my dollhouse. Not a typical dollhouse, but a house my dad made as a direct replica of the house we lived in. I detested dolls, but my Adventure People had the sweetest digs around. What I loved to the most was to decorate. My favorite task was to rearrange the furniture. To change the location of beds, couches, chairs, and rugs. I liked to position things in ways that made sense to me. In ways that made the rooms feel “right.” I just really wanted my Adventure People to feel comfortable.
The master bedroom had a striped blue and white rug that used to be in the baby’s room, but I thought it would look better with the solid maroon wallpaper of the master suite than the yellow speckled paint surrounding the crib. So I moved it.
I checked in with my dollhouse daily. Were the inhabitants comfortable? Was the furniture in the right spots? Did everyone feel OK in their environment? I didn’t have anyone doing this for me in my world, so I wanted to at least make my Adventure People happy. I was forced to wear dresses and tights on Sundays, had a horrid pink room with lots of flowers and a white lace bedspread, and was not allowed to have Matchbox cars or Hotwheels because they were too masculine. And no one asked me if I felt OK or asked me what I needed.
I spent a lot of time alone. My oldest brother hung out in his room and wanted nothing to do with me, my mom talked on the phone or attended meetings, and my dad was often at work. I sometimes hung out with friends in my neighborhood, but when they weren’t available, I played by myself. I snuck some play time with my brother’s trucks (when no one was looking) and had them move the sand by the lake, attached my Adventure People’s boats to fishing wire so they could ride down the creek, and climbed all the crooked trees in my yard.
But Sundays were different. After horrible dress-wearing-church time - I changed into my real clothes, ate Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch, and watched Vikings Football Games with my dad. This was the highlight of my week. I tried to learn everything I could about the game so that I could have smart conversations with my dad. What were the players’ names? What did they do? What did that matter?
During half-time, my father and I would play catch. I practiced all week so that I could make the most of my time with him. I wanted to catch and throw like a pro so he would be proud. And I wanted to be good enough so he wouldn’t ever stop playing with me.
But Sundays always ended too soon. Monday would inevitably come and then I felt alone again. That is until I got home from school, opened the doors to my dollhouse, and put the purple couch in the sitting room. There. That felt better.
It took me another 30 years to realize that I watched football to make my dad happy. As a teacher and a previous stepparent, I learned that it is more impactful when we take the time to understand what makes our kids happy- that we need to take an interest in their passions. I had spent my entire childhood trying to make my family happy, but they showed very little interest in doing that same thing for me.
I also realized that I moved the furniture to feel some sort of control in my environment. I still do. Whenever I am having overwhelming feelings that I am trying to process, I move things around in my house. It always makes me feel better.
I got divorced at the beginning of the Pandemic and have lived alone ever since. I think I have moved almost every single piece of furniture to a different spot (and sometimes back again) throughout this ordeal. I frequently check in with myself to see how I am doing. I make sure my wants and needs are attended to. I am selective about which people I let into my heart. As a result of all these efforts, I have now created an environment for myself that feels “right” and is consistently, emotionally safe. And as overwhelming as a Pandemic can feel - for the first time since I can remember - I have been experiencing frequent moments of contentedness and feeling like I matter.
But, hold on. I think the kitty condo would look better in my study…
