Gratitude writing prompt

You Were a Bad Parent. Here’s What I’m Grateful For

Your gift changed my life

When I was 12, I saw no reason to get a job. I barely spent any money and stayed well within my allowance.

You thought differently.

You forced me to create flyers advertising my babysitting services and put them in our neighbor’s mailboxes. I hemmed and hawed. Dragged my feet. Delayed any way I could.

“I want those out today,” you demanded in your don’t-mess-with-me tone. I was petrified by that tone. I distributed the flyers.

To say I was an anxious child is laughably understated. I was a little anxious the way The Hulk is a little pissed off. Even walking up to people’s homes terrified me, never mind the prospect of actual babysitting.

As per usual, you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Much of my childhood looked like this. You had no patience for my fearful ways. You put me in the deep end of a pool and made me swim back unassisted. You set up playdates and forced me to socialize with strangers. You made me take buses downtown as a child because you didn’t feel like giving me rides. Later on, you got me a part-time job in sales, of all things.

I despised you for it. Over and over. You showed no empathy, gave no hint that you knew how much agony you put me through. You also didn’t encourage or support me, either. You just forced me like a drill sergeant.

Today your sledgehammer methods wouldn’t be tolerated. I would’ve had a much more comfortable childhood if I’d been born in the last decade.

But I’ll tell you something. I’d probably also have a much worse adulthood.

I’d hate you with every fiber of my being as I did these things, terrified.

But I did them.

I learned how to swim, and spent the entirety of my childhood in every public pool within a 5-mile radius. Swimming was my sanctuary, maybe the only time I felt carefree the way a child should.

I grew to like the freedom of having babysitting money. I could pick my own clothes and buy my own meals. I also loved the kids I looked after. Through those experiences, I developed an appreciation for children I didn’t have before.

All those forced playdates taught me how to make friends. I’m an ambivert, with a decidedly social side. Now I’m able to make a connection with just about anyone.

You weren’t a good parent. Your childhood was a shitstorm from which you never recovered. Despite being strong and street-smart, you never found the agency to get help.

You took your pain out on us every day.

But you loved me. The best you could, the best you knew how. You loved me enough to force me through emotional agony, time and time again. You tried to cure me of my abundant fears.

Guess what? It worked. I’m a more fully realized adult because you forced me to interact with a world that petrified me.

I can at least feign confidence when walking into a room full of strangers. I’m told I’m a good public speaker. I solo travel. I enjoy trying new things.

You gave me that. You let me hate you so I could realize I was all I needed to thrive in difficult situations.

I learned to self-soothe. I learned to be brave. I learned to appreciate the rush of adrenaline you get from doing hard things. You gave me no choice.

You noticed. “When you finally do something, you really commit,” you said with grudging admiration. It’s the only no-strings compliment you ever gave me.

Being your daughter was the toughest thing I’ll ever go through. You’ve been gone for years, but the scars won’t fade.

Even so, you loved me. Because of that, you gave me the confidence to take a place in the world.

For that, I’m grateful.

This is a response to Yana Bostongirl’s gratitude prompt in “Know Thyself”. Thanks, Yana, for getting me to write this. I’m grateful for you, too.

Here’s the best article I’ve ever read on living with anxiety. Thanks to Dawn Bevier for this.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this article, you may also appreciate this short post.