It was hard love every step of the way,
Hard to be so close to you, so hard to turn away,
And when the stars and sentimental songs dissolved away,
There was nothing left to sing about but hard love.
A little while ago I was talking to Caitlyn about how many times I've been raised.
By my parents until I was 15, my grandmother, my dad afterwards,
and now by Caitlyn's family.
When I was growing up, it was... the truth is, I barely remember...
It's not that I don't remember those days, I do and always will... but about my parents' child rearing techniques, I haven't a clue. I seemed to always know the difference between right and wrong. I knew drugs were bad, I never felt tempted to drink or smoke, I didn't steal or get into fights and I did my homework. I don't know what it was that veered me off the dangerous paths,
I just knew it wasn't worth it.
My mom prayed for me every night, and I know that had something to do with it. I wasn't a fluke child; my brother was the same way. Our parents didn't tell us what we COULDN'T do, they just told us that they trusted us to do what WE knew was right. From a young age I was told that I was trusted and respected.
I never had a curfew, but I never came home too late.
I was never told not to spend time with certain friends, but I steered away from the ones that pressured me to do things I would rather not. I wasn't given a specific age to date, but I waited until I knew I was ready... for the most part.
I guess I just did what I thought would make my parents
keep their respect for me.
So I loved you for your courage and your gentle sense of shame,
And I loved you for your laughter and your language and your name,
And I knew it was impossible, but I loved you just the same,
Though the only love I gave to you was hard love.
After my mom died and I moved in with my grandmother, my entire world changed. There was no more "hugs and soothing words fix everything" ideals, but a lot of "If you want me to treat you with dignity, prove to me that you're not a kid anymore. I think that I had to grow up pretty fast in order to deal with everything that was happening, and she knew that. Most of the time I resented her,
but I grew to respect her opinions and rules... all 5000 of them.
My world had never been governed that way before, but I've learned that neither way was "wrong"... just... different. The shock of my grandmothers death hit me harder than I would have ever expected it to. Before I was moved, once again, to a new residence, she had become my best friend. The last day I saw her was on mother's day, which I think fits. She was definitely a great mother to me when I desperately needed one.
So I’ll tell you that I love you even though I’m far away,
And I’ll tell you how you change me as I live from day to day,
How you help me to accept myself and I won’t forget to say,
Love is never wasted, even when it’s hard love.
Now, I don't know how to explain my father's love after my mom died. Mainly my love was mixed with confusion, anger and fear; his with remorse and guilt. I know he didn't know how to parent me without my mom, so instead of trying and failing.. .and hurting me, he didn't try at all and stayed in his safe den of grief. That way. he could blame my pain on that.
I know it wasn't the best way of dealing with things, but even in his darkest moments, he would still knock on my bedroom door to tell me he loved me and he was sorry. That obviously didn't make things better,
but I always felt it was sincere.
I know that I'll never have the same relationship with him
that I did before mom died, but
we're both trying to salvage whatever is left, and I know he loves me.
Yes it’s hard love, but it’s love all the same,
Not the stuff of fantasy, but more than just a game.,
And the only kind of miracle that’s worthy of the name,
For the love that heals our lives is mostly hard love.
Where I am now, it's yet another kind of growing up.
There may be less hugging and all that then when I was a kid,
and a lot more people than at Grandmother's, and a lot of "tell me what is wrong now so we can fix it", unlike my life with dad.
The thing is, I'm not used to people caring.
Well, I knew my dad cared, but he didn't want to deal with it. Caitlyn and Kellie and everyone do. There's actually answers and solutions. It's different than bottling everything up, and I still have to get used to Caitlyn always knowing when something is wrong.. but it's good. And I know I'm loved.
I sometimes... or a lot of the time... doubted my father's love for me when he would push me away or disappear for a week. That doesn't happen now. I have things to rely on, there's stability and structure.
I also adore the letters I get almost daily from my aunts telling me they love me.
Despite the different ways I've been raised by different people, I've always known, one way or another, whatever way it was shown, that it was love.
…And to tell the two apart is always hard, love.
Hard to be so close to you, so hard to turn away,
And when the stars and sentimental songs dissolved away,
There was nothing left to sing about but hard love.
A little while ago I was talking to Caitlyn about how many times I've been raised.
By my parents until I was 15, my grandmother, my dad afterwards,
and now by Caitlyn's family.
When I was growing up, it was... the truth is, I barely remember...
It's not that I don't remember those days, I do and always will... but about my parents' child rearing techniques, I haven't a clue. I seemed to always know the difference between right and wrong. I knew drugs were bad, I never felt tempted to drink or smoke, I didn't steal or get into fights and I did my homework. I don't know what it was that veered me off the dangerous paths,
I just knew it wasn't worth it.
My mom prayed for me every night, and I know that had something to do with it. I wasn't a fluke child; my brother was the same way. Our parents didn't tell us what we COULDN'T do, they just told us that they trusted us to do what WE knew was right. From a young age I was told that I was trusted and respected.
I never had a curfew, but I never came home too late.
I was never told not to spend time with certain friends, but I steered away from the ones that pressured me to do things I would rather not. I wasn't given a specific age to date, but I waited until I knew I was ready... for the most part.
I guess I just did what I thought would make my parents
keep their respect for me.
So I loved you for your courage and your gentle sense of shame,
And I loved you for your laughter and your language and your name,
And I knew it was impossible, but I loved you just the same,
Though the only love I gave to you was hard love.
After my mom died and I moved in with my grandmother, my entire world changed. There was no more "hugs and soothing words fix everything" ideals, but a lot of "If you want me to treat you with dignity, prove to me that you're not a kid anymore. I think that I had to grow up pretty fast in order to deal with everything that was happening, and she knew that. Most of the time I resented her,
but I grew to respect her opinions and rules... all 5000 of them.
My world had never been governed that way before, but I've learned that neither way was "wrong"... just... different. The shock of my grandmothers death hit me harder than I would have ever expected it to. Before I was moved, once again, to a new residence, she had become my best friend. The last day I saw her was on mother's day, which I think fits. She was definitely a great mother to me when I desperately needed one.
So I’ll tell you that I love you even though I’m far away,
And I’ll tell you how you change me as I live from day to day,
How you help me to accept myself and I won’t forget to say,
Love is never wasted, even when it’s hard love.
Now, I don't know how to explain my father's love after my mom died. Mainly my love was mixed with confusion, anger and fear; his with remorse and guilt. I know he didn't know how to parent me without my mom, so instead of trying and failing.. .and hurting me, he didn't try at all and stayed in his safe den of grief. That way. he could blame my pain on that.
I know it wasn't the best way of dealing with things, but even in his darkest moments, he would still knock on my bedroom door to tell me he loved me and he was sorry. That obviously didn't make things better,
but I always felt it was sincere.
I know that I'll never have the same relationship with him
that I did before mom died, but
we're both trying to salvage whatever is left, and I know he loves me.
Yes it’s hard love, but it’s love all the same,
Not the stuff of fantasy, but more than just a game.,
And the only kind of miracle that’s worthy of the name,
For the love that heals our lives is mostly hard love.
Where I am now, it's yet another kind of growing up.
There may be less hugging and all that then when I was a kid,
and a lot more people than at Grandmother's, and a lot of "tell me what is wrong now so we can fix it", unlike my life with dad.
The thing is, I'm not used to people caring.
Well, I knew my dad cared, but he didn't want to deal with it. Caitlyn and Kellie and everyone do. There's actually answers and solutions. It's different than bottling everything up, and I still have to get used to Caitlyn always knowing when something is wrong.. but it's good. And I know I'm loved.
I sometimes... or a lot of the time... doubted my father's love for me when he would push me away or disappear for a week. That doesn't happen now. I have things to rely on, there's stability and structure.
I also adore the letters I get almost daily from my aunts telling me they love me.
Despite the different ways I've been raised by different people, I've always known, one way or another, whatever way it was shown, that it was love.
…And to tell the two apart is always hard, love.
