It’s not always about me.
I stopped writing a while ago. I got my panties in a wad because I told my daughter that I was writing here on Medium. While we were on the phone talking about me always wanting to write, she quickly signed up, followed me, and then never read a single word I wrote.
My daughter and I have always been close, and her disinterest in my interest bugged me.
I got all in me feels.
I saved her crayon drawings, I listened to her bad, (really bad) attempts at playing the violin in third grade, her practicing guitar in her teens. I went to all her school music shows, swim and volleyball meets. I paid a fortune for her prom dresses and pictures. Picked her up when she called me when she was drinking and later drove her back to her car after she sobered up, and we went for chicken and waffles.
The least she could do was read an essay or two.
Then I got my nose out of joint because I finally told my big sister I was writing, and she also showed no interest. In fact, when I told her I was taking a writing class, she seriously couldn’t comprehend why I would do that. She takes craft classes all the time. WTH
I don’t know how often I invested in her money-making opportunities to be supportive. Tupperware, cleaning supplies, food, and she can’t spend five bucks a month to read my stuff.
Have you ever done that? Got in your feels so much, that all forward motion stopped.
I could send my writings to them, but I’m stubborn and wanted them to show interest. At the time, I also thought they could read them for free. If they can, and still didn’t. Oh well.
I’ve learned some important lessons recently.
- It’s not always about me.
- Everyone is in their own head space.
- I know they love me.
- We all have different love languages.
- It’s not my business what other people think of me.
My daughter (yes, the same one) is in a self-discovery phase and has been imparting her wisdom to me. She has recently been diagnosed with adult ADHD and is on the spectrum. She tells me things, shares opinions, and firmly…