Parents setting limits--and not in the good way

The other day, talking to a friend, he was telling me about how his father’s death—though it was incredibly hard on him because he was close to his father—was also essentially liberating, because his father’s judgments prevented him from expressing his true self in certain ways. As I said to him then, it’s amazing how much influence our parents can have on us, even in our late 20s and 30s. I was reacting to his situation, but I was thinking too of myself.

Although I have been thinking about homesteading at some point in the future and have been making plans and gathering the knowledge we’ll need, I have never mentioned it to my mother. She is a very critical, judgmental person, and from a young age I started hiding my dreams from her. Most of them, of course, were silly dreams that I probably couldn’t have done even with her support, but I knew I wouldn’t get it anyway, so I kept it to myself. In many ways, I continued to do this ever since, at least to a point. Besides being judgmental, my mother also doesn’t really think outside the box—and a small box it often is—so anything outside the ordinary draws her scorn.

So I knew that my plans for a homestead would sound crazy to her and I never mentioned them. However, talking to this friend got me to thinking. I’m thirty-one. I’m a perfectly competent adult—not as experienced as many, but smarter than more than a few, I’m pretty good at my job, my personal finances are solid, and I seem to be handling my personal relationships just fine, from my relationship with Lauren to my friendships. Why, in other words, should I have to hide any part of myself from my mother—or anyone else? I’m not counting on her for financial support or technical expertise, so what does it matter if she doesn’t think it’s a good idea or that I can do it?

Thinking thusly, I told her about my plans. She responded with a sort of disbelieving snort and a disdainful look that said elegantly that I either wasn’t serious or shouldn’t be. It’s good that I wasn’t expecting anything else. It would have been nice to have been surprised, but it didn’t really hurt me.

I saw the same attitude echoed today. Lauren and I decided months ago that we would have cupcakes instead of wedding cake, baking and icing them ourselves; we decided that they would be presented on a cupcake tower, which we would build ourselves. We saw some such things selling for $30 that would only hold 24 cupcakes, which would mean we’d have to have several of them or we’d have to pay someone from the caterers to refresh them, or they would be set out in an inelegant herd. We decided we could create something better and do it cheaper. I’ll blog more about that tomorrow when I can go to the library to use faster internet and post pictures. As Lauren and I were talking about doing this, my mother looked on with a look on her face that clearly said she thought we’d be better off buying something. When we got back from Lowe’s where we got our lumber, she asked if people at Lowe’s had told us how we could build the cupcake tower. As if we’d asked anyone! As you’ll see in tomorrow’s post, it turned out pretty well, at least as much of it as we finished, and the rest should be relatively easy.

I know that other people have the same kind of problems with their parents—parents who don’t seem to take them seriously as competent adults—but I also know people whose parents accept them as equals, to the point where they can admire their childrens' strengths and even look up to them. Some people, though, can’t seem to stop seeing their children as 6 or 16, even at 26 and 36 and beyond. I’d be curious to hear of your own experiences, as either children or parents, and any thoughts you care to bring to the topic.

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