Proud. in Phoenix

I’ve come a long way, baby. I mean, really. And I’m goddamn proud of myself. I’ve struggled through so much in my life that maybe some wouldn’t have survived. I did, and I’m stronger mentally and emotionally than I ever imagined possible. I’m so very proud of me.

Throughout my life, as I have progressed on this insane journey, I’ve been with men who felt like cheerleaders at times (usually in the early times, before things inevitably took a turn for the worst), always telling me what a great job I was doing, how much progress I’d made… and how proud they are of me. Every one of them, I think. Always telling me how proud they were.

And that always rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. I could never quite put my finger on it, but someone who had little, or nothing, to do with my personal mental and emotional trials, tribulations, and progress telling me that they’re proud of me just bugged me.

I’m proud of myself and my own accomplishments. I did that, I made choices and studied and learned about my illnesses and adopted techniques to manage them. No one else did that. Yes, other people have affected my life, but those guys telling me how proud they were of me? Each and every one of them was actually terrible for me. They hindered my progress, held me back, held me down.

I’m proud of my children because they are definitely my greatest accomplishments. I had a hand in who they are and who they will become. That’s something to be proud of.

But one person being proud of another person feels like it implies… ownership of some kind. Like I’m some thing they created and have a right to be proud of it.

A different type of person, perhaps a more self-aware person, does not say they are proud of me. They say I’m incredible, amazing, impressive. They say a hundred nice things about me but don’t say they’re proud. Because they aren’t trying to own me. I don’t run around telling people I’m proud of them. I tell myself and I tell my kids. If I’ve taught someone something and they’ve successfully executed it, I may tell them I’m proud of the good job they’ve done. Because I don’t feel it’s my place to say I’m proud of someone because of things they’ve accomplished all on their own.

Am I a freak? Is being overjoyed at the knowledge that the person whose opinion probably matters to me just about the most in the world hasn’t told me they are proud of me a freak thing? When the realization hit me, that this person has never said they’re proud of me, it was like magic. An epiphany. Another stone lifted from the weight I’ve carried around for far too long.

Yeah, I’m probably just a freak.