Against the Grain

If ever there was someone born constantly going up against the ‘grain’ I’d have to say it was, is and likely will continue to be me. I’m sure I came out of my mother's womb advocating for freedom of choice and speech from the moment I could put two words together, “can I” please? Freedom was what I longed for most from a very young tender age – I often justified asking for space by reminding my parents (well actually more so mom) that since I had completed my chores and homework could we get out to do something fun. I was an obvious prickly thorn at times for her, as I entered my pre-teen years she had no choice but to succumb to my request to get out of the house – go visit relatives or shopping or anything but staying home bored out of my mind. I haven’t swayed much to the present from that distant train of thought despite getting older slowing me down a little.

Anytime dad sensed tension in the house between the girls (I had 4 siblings) and our mother he would simply come up with an excuse to go out – exiting is something I too in time inherited from him just to keep things calm. However that didn’t imply I was not going to speak up or fight for what I wanted, believed or thought I deserved. While this may all appear as I had a sense of entitlement it didn’t appear to me that way at the time. Further it certainly wasn’t from me carrying out the “Princess” syndrome as I was far from that nor wanted to be. It was me not accepting a barrage of continual no’s as an answer. In time I despised the word no and still shudder at hearing it when not applicable – meaning by my book it always required some form of logic or justification and still does. Trying to explain that to my exceedingly strict Italian parents was a near impossibility yet I always foolishly tried.Each time my requests were denied was followed by a myriad of questions leaving my mom (in particular) speechless and dumbfounded. Similar to the time at age fourteen I queried the ministers at our place of faith or worship on certain topics yet they were unable to provide me with straight forward answers but rather beat around the bush as politicians often do. The analytical side of me knew how and what type of intelligent questions to ask. My defiant nature while demure and subdued knew how to carry on business.

What to many appeared as my being rebellious and insofar as insubordinate at times was simply due to my strong leadership skills as I refused to follow what was mandated or considered the norm, in particular if the matter at hand went against my grain, thoughts, beliefs or ethics. Perhaps being a Leo also had something to do with my feisty demeanor. As a young freedom fighter I took it as my responsibility and role to pave the way for my sisters to gain freedom I missed out on such as being absent at my own graduation. I harboured that resentment for years often reminding my parents of that being one of their biggest mistakes. It was mom who was the firmer disciplinarian and when sensing an intense argument was going to ensue I actually encouraged dad to go out as I bravely fought for what I believed to be right. As the years unfolded I often felt sorry for dad being up against six women each and every day – it was a no win situation for him. That’s not to say that I didn’t harbour some feelings of anger when he didn’t intervene to help ease fiery situations.

I vowed from my early teens that if ever becoming a mother I would never put my children in that position of being torn between two parents that couldn’t agree on disciplinary measures or decisions. In time and actual fact I maintained that promise to both myself and my sons.

It was a habitual fight to get consent from mom on anything ie going on outings or to the public library, shopping or even sleepovers with girlfriends. Lest we dare bring up the topic of boys? The constant struggle convincing mom to let go of her rigid ways only maximised my energetic, inquisitive nature as the eldest who believed in and fought for independence. The constant no’s gave me no choice but to start lying or distorting the truth; I even became familiar with taking off occasionally from classes once I got to high school. It was rather a shame because my initial intentions were simply wanting to go to the mall shopping with my girlfriend. Those innocent excursions took on a different meaning once our hormone and estrogen levels increased and suddenly boys entered our minds. We were never fully able to enjoy our escapades fearing our parents would find out and that would lead to serious consequences. In fact we did get caught on two occasions but managed to mutually cover it all up while cunningly getting away with it. It wasn’t until many years later that dad admitted to knowing all along that my girlfriend and I had taken off school and could only imagine what we had been up to. He in a round and about manner insinuated that sometimes ‘ignorance is bliss’ – that what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

As my wicked teen years progressed the rebel in me escalated. While I grew older, my patience ran thinner, the anger and temper increasingly flowed out of every square millilitre as I desperately needed space to breathe, to be me. I felt suffocated and actually reached out to speak with our family physician. He had no problem understanding my predicament and made sure to speak to mom about letting go of the apron strings. He also reminded her of the raging anger deep within me. Unfortunately the doctor’s advice didn’t suffice. As the arguments increased I started exiting just as my dad had been doing for years –running out the door to cool off outside knowing well the tension I would be returning to inside. Those scenarios were always followed by lengthy bouts of crying myself to sleep until I finally figured it out – don’t get mad, get even. Find a solution rather than venting and complaining. I ran out of steam in conjuring up white lies, tip-toeing around my parents and frankly fed up with asking for permission. In realising that being submissive wasn’t working I chose to be the opposite. The answer was to stop running temporarily but escape in the literal sense, by moving away from home.

At the time I worked two part time jobs while still going to school but managed to save up enough for first and last month’s rent of an upper flat I had found a fare distance from home. My determination in achieving what I was desperately fighting for had already taken over my seventeen year old brain. I literally planned my escape by packing a few of my belongings into an overnight bag and didn’t return home after my shift from work one evening. At the same time I was sneaking around seeing the man I ultimately married – that in itself was another disaster but it was my choice, my poor decision and one I had to decipher on my own. I had an aunt call my parents that night telling them I had found a place and was not returning home. That escapade lasted about two weeks; each day that followed either mom or dad were calling me at work begging me to return home while promising things would change. I let them fester with worry for several days, negotiated the conditions, sealed the deal and returned home being assured of certain freedoms. Little did I realise what that in essence really meant. While becoming more lenient on the exterior it was later disclosed that my dad placed pressure on the guy I was dating to marry me sooner than later. That was supposedly the ideal and only solution for my old fashioned parents. I found myself so caught up in the excitement of wedding plans that it never dawned on me until years later that the boyfriend (not even fiancé) never got down on one knee to propose let alone provide the traditional engagement ring. To make matters worse, while the reins were loosened slightly I failed to both comprehend let alone deter the obsessive jealousy of the man I was ‘set’ to marry. Those reins were far tighter and hurt like hell much worse than the ones my parents pulled. I didn’t know who I was nor the person I had become; yet I still made my way to the altar as an honourable daughter and bride to be. It appeared back then that honour dictated all.

It did not take long for me to realise where it all went wrong – allowing the control of those around me to take over in order to appease their needs. This was likely a major turning point in realising that arguing is excusable but only if winning or accomplishing something. Those boiling points when substantiated were worth every effort but not when or if the results weren’t favourable. I subjected myself to nine years of precisely what mom had told me not to take – abuse of any type while failing to interpret or realise her restrictions were a form of abuse. My mom apologised for this a mere few short years ago and just prior to her recent passing. She did that to finally provide me with the validation I so desperately needed even after sixty two years. Sometimes there is also honour in putting up a good fight or going against the norm.

The “work in progress” on myself took several years; at times disconcerting while others reassuring.I started smiling from the interior again not superficially as I had for numerous years. It was the love for my two sons that kept me intact and together. Only upon becoming the real me was I able to instil in my young sons the values necessary to achieve personal growth and satisfaction for themselves and not solely because of others. I strongly believed in the relevance of that mindset and in particular the importance of being allowed the freedom to be your own person as leaders not followers succumbing to peer pressure for the sake of approval or being cool. That meant no drugs, smoking, gambling or any other type of addiction – but to focus on education, objective not subjective thinking, being responsible and surrounding themselves with positive people helping them grow not stunting their growth, capacities or beliefs.

It took me years to realise that mom likely should have been born in a different era given her strength in character; often times considered excessive likely due to her own inner fears watching me develop from a child to young woman. I finally understood her a little too late in life. She could very easily have been a much earlier version of Gloria Steinem.

It was once I made the decision to grow up, stand firm in making decisions and suffer the consequences whether good or bad that my life took on a whole new meaning. I was no longer insecure, had no more reins stopping me from being who I was meant to be.I no longer needed to do as I was told or follow others; I became a leader in my own right. In order to accomplish that feat, I had to free myself from some while getting to profoundly know myself better in becoming me and not what others wanted or saw me as needing to be.

What has changed in the past several years is what people now know to expect from me; within my circle this simply entails my brutal honesty when asked or when discussing any topic of interest; there’s no sugar coating in my presence. I don’t always say what people are hoping to hear but what they need to hear. If this isn’t going against the grain then I don’t know what is.

While the volatile rebel in me has subsided significantly that doesn’t mean I’ve been silenced. I certainly never shy away from taking a stance on important social issues, causes or injustices. My outspokenness is handled with far more reflection, diplomacy and researched accuracy. Of course it’s always in the hope of accomplishing change. I’ve acquired enough life experiences, knowledge and in some cases expertise to speak out freely when necessary and no longer with fear of rejection or disapproval. If there’s one thing I’m convinced of is that we cannot meet everyone’s approval and more so, don’t require that to be happy.

A prime example of this was when several years I formatted a committee addressing important concerns of citizens. At that time consumers were hit with a hefty increase in vehicle insurance rates. Within the span of three months the committee members and I circulated a petition of 3,000 signatures at a local rally we had organised. While leading up to the rally we made TV and radio appearances to introduce our organisation to the public, voice our concerns and intentions and advertise for the event. It was at that gathering that we collected the signatures for the petition; the following day the petitions were dropped at the office of the local Minister governing the insurance sector. Within a few short weeks later insurers announced a decrease of 1.5% in rates contrary to the intended 2.8%, evidencing our efforts proved worthwhile.

Perhaps you’ve concluded by now that I’m also likely the very person to file some type of complaint with any utility company hiking up rates. I don’t simply ask but demand an explanation and am always prepared for the debate. The very fact that I defy their defence while presenting mine has at times worked to my advantage often getting the desired result I aimed for while those complacent continue footing the bills. I’ve somewhat adopted and mastered the adage or motto– it’s not what is said but how one says it. Most likely all this rationale is stemming from something called maturity or coming of age at a time when the mind and breath cannot be wasted. Every day is now considered a new day – one to be appreciated and lived to the fullest while still fighting for convictions held in dearest regard.