At War in Did I Mention?

I am always at war with myself.

Don’t take that lightly; it’s a fucking brutal, gore soaked battle ground between my head and my heart. They’re always fighting over every little thing, and sometimes I literally feel delusional.

What kind of example can I give? Hmm…

My father’s job has made a lasting and profound impact on my life and the way I think about everything. He trained me from a very young age to think differently about the world, and how it related to me and the people around me. More often than not, his advice was sound and reasonable. I, however, was eventually a teenager and sound reasoning was not in my agenda (you know the ones they gave you at school to write down your assignments in? Yeah, never do I recall sound reasoning being in there). There were all kinds of hormones taking charge and doing things that were unreasonable to him, and that was a problem. For instance, my first girlfriend was a problem. Aside from the fact that she was a terrible influence and was on the fast track to jail, she was a girl.

Did I mention my father is a minister?

Insert conflict here.

In my head, my whole life up until this point, I was raised to believe that a woman’s place was in the home. She was supposed to marry a man, have children and take care of everything minus anything to do with money. That is the Christian fairytale.

When I met Brittany, those beliefs tasted like vinegar and I threw them up. I never felt like it was fair, that women had to do different things from men with their lives. That women were expected to act differently from men, even at a young age. The church that I grew up in, my father’s church, reinforced these roles in so many disgusting ways it still pains me to think about it. The fact that all the women wore dresses, and it was frowned upon if they didn’t. Meanwhile, men weren’t even expected to wear nice shoes or slacks to church? Or how about when the boy children were allowed to run around outside and play tag, but I at the sweet age of 4 was told it was unladylike.

I had decided at a young age that I didn’t want children, I didn’t care to get married. I’d rather not if it meant I couldn’t do everything I wanted to. What’s the point of living life if it’s not for me? My father would tell me, “it’s for the Lord” and he wouldn’t hear anything else.

Growing up in that environment and being so completely different from it at my core was… complicated. I’m still conflicted with what I feel and what I “should” think, even though it’s not what I believe.

And the word “should” needs to be erased from all languages. That expectation will kill.