I don’t cook. Thanks to therapy, I finally figured out why.
My mom worked a full-time job and was home around six on most evenings. Then she cooked, always a full meal designed around the “meat and three” philosophy. Sometimes she would spend over two hours cooking, which meant we didn’t sit down to eat until around eight. After the plates were made, she sent one of us out to find our dad, who was always tinkering with a car or fixing something. If the first attempt at telling him to come in for dinner didn’t work, she’d send another kid out. There were four of us. Four tries at convincing him that we were sitting with our plates in front of us, waiting on him to sit down before we were allowed to start eating.
“Not eating everything meant having to sit at the table alone for hours with whatever food we hated in front of us as everyone else got up and went about their evening.”
When he finally did come in, the food was often cold, but we ate it anyway, often in silence. The temperature of the food made it even harder to “clean our plates,” a rule we quickly learned. Not eating everything meant having to sit at the table alone for hours with whatever food we hated in front of us as everyone else got up and went about their evening.
For years, I was made to feel guilty for not spending hours in the kitchen cooking for my family. The belief that wasting food was an insult and financially careless also carried with me into adulthood. It’s just now sinking in that I don’t actually have to “clean my plate.” It’s a hard thing to undo. In restaurants, the thought crosses my mind that it’s wasteful to throw half of the food away, but in reality, they don’t give you a discount for uneaten food. You’re going to be charged the same amount no matter how much you eat. Continuing to eat well past the point of full was only harming myself.
Understanding why I don’t cook and learning to feel full without feeling guilty about “wasting food” made me wonder what other things I was doing that I didn’t have to. I had expectations of how I was supposed to act, but I wondered who exactly was expecting me to act in certain ways. I cried when I realized it was me.
“I wondered who exactly was expecting me to act in certain ways. I cried when I realized it was me.”
I was fifty-one years old and still living as if there was some chart with gold stars for being a “good girl” and doing what other people want me to.
I learned…you don’t have to clean your plate (or make the food on it).
When I saw the pictures from my daughter’s wedding day, it all really hit home. I’d spent months driving around, spending money, constantly searching for the perfect things for the wedding. Certain flowers we didn’t end up using. Special floating candles that we never lit. Beers and wines nobody drank. Snacks nobody ate. My body hurt from all the frantic activity. When I crawled into bed at the end of the night, my body shook so hard from exhaustion and anxiety that I couldn’t sleep.
A few days later, when I saw how sick and tired I looked in the photos, it occurred to me that almost everything I’d done for the wedding were things nobody asked me to do. I did it because I thought I should, that it was my job to get everything right. I did it expecting someone to thank me profusely and give me one of those gold stars for a job well done. In the meantime, I found out I was battling a serious infection, but not taking any time to rest. I had literally worked to the point of exhaustion and sickness because I expected it of myself.
“When I saw how sick and tired I looked in the photos, it occurred to me that almost everything I’d done for the wedding were things nobody asked me to do.”
I learned…you don’t have to do it all by yourself.
When you’ve lived your life with the expectation to put everyone else first, it’s a very uncomfortable feeling to start choosing yourself.
Being the “good girl” means you feel uncomfortable with confrontation; you run from it and sacrifice your own wants and needs to keep the peace. You can’t stand it when people don’t like each other, and you just want everyone to get along. You teach yourself the art of negotiation even when conflicts don’t really involve you. You become the go-between, the one who tries to make both sides see the other one’s motivations and reasons for the way they’re acting. It’s exhausting. Then one day, you realize you don’t have to do that anymore. It’s okay if people don’t like each other. It’s okay that people have arguments and fights.
“It’s okay if people don’t like each other. It’s okay that people have arguments and fights.”
I learned…you don’t have to “fix it” for them.
There are those of us who live as if we’re asking permission to live our lives, often overexplaining everything, as if we’re gauging our choices by the other person’s reactions.
When I would ask for days off at work for doctor’s appointments or vacation, I always felt the need to give every little detail about what I’d be doing that day. Whether or not the person granting permission deemed my request worthy was my test as to whether or not I deemed it worthy myself. I felt like I didn’t deserve time off unless the other person agreed. Breaking that habit and stopping myself when I start to overexplain requires a conversation in my mind, reminding me to stop talking, to just let my request be only the request. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for using time that’s mine to take.
I learned…you don’t have to explain.
Learning to trust in my own likes also means not being influenced by the latest trends or life hacks. If I fold my towels a certain way, but the latest influencer does it differently, that’s okay. If I take longer to clean my house than my friend, that’s okay. Doing something one way, the way that works for me, doesn’t mean it’s the wrong way. Not giving in to the pressure to do what other people are doing and voicing my opinion when it may not be the most popular in the group was at first very uncomfortable. Now I’m proud to defend my way of doing things.
I learned…you don’t have to do it their way.
When someone tries to talk you into doing something their way, one of their reasons might be: “We’ve always done it that way.” So we keep doing things we no longer want to do. We keep hosting the holiday parties. We keep volunteering for fundraisers. We keep decorating for every season. We keep the relationship. We avoid conflict because we think we’re keeping the peace. But the truth is that while we might avoid confrontation within a relationship, we do so by sacrificing our own peace — not keeping it.
“The truth is that while we might avoid confrontation within a relationship, we do so by sacrificing our own peace — not keeping it.”
Let’s say a friend of yours asks you to invest in a business they’re starting. You have some money you want to invest, so you agree. Every month for a year, you put $1,000 into your friend’s business. You believe things are going well, but at the end of the year, your friend breaks the news that they didn’t actually build a business with your money. Maybe they spent it on bad habits, or gave it to others. You are devastated and now have to make a very important decision. Would you keep investing in this “business?”
Of course you wouldn’t. If it doesn’t work in this scenario, why are you continuing to invest in things that don’t bring you any return? Foods you don’t really like eating, books you should have stopped reading chapters ago, TV shows you’ve lost interest in. These are all things you can give yourself permission to stop.
I learned…you don’t have to keep doing it.
I’ve always been a big person, almost ten pounds as a newborn and six feet tall since the eighth grade. Dainty would never be used to describe me. A family member once joked that I was “built like a linebacker.” That isn’t a compliment for a teenage girl. So in order to try fitting in, I learned how to shrink. Physically, I pulled my body in and hunched over, trying to appear smaller. Mentally, I kept quiet and didn’t call attention to myself, not making much noise.
Undoing those behaviors is both liberating and scary. Working on posture in my fifties and holding my head high is empowering, allowing myself to take up space and use my voice.
I learned…you don’t have to shrink.
“Working on posture in my fifties and holding my head high is empowering, allowing myself to take up space and use my voice.”
I’ve wasted so much time, energy, and money wanting to be liked and included, sacrificing my own spirit and wellbeing trying to keep everyone else happy. The return has not been worth the investment. I’m learning to make those investments in myself instead. No matter what we do, there are going to be people in our lives who are unkind to us or want us to go along with their preferences. We can’t change those people, but we can change how we interact with them.
None of this is easy to change. As women, we’re conditioned to be agreeable and nice, told that arguing or defending our opinions is rude or embarrassing. I’ve worked hard to undo the behaviors that no longer benefit me. It’s okay that I like pea salad, take two-hour baths, collect ceramic cats, listen to Rick Astley, and drink stout beer. I don’t have to explain my love of those things to anyone. I also don’t have to explain why I’m doing things or justify my beliefs or keep doing things expected of me when those things make me miserable.
I don’t have to clean my plate.
Regina McKay is the wife of a firefighter, mother of five adult children, and passionate advocate of all things vintage, especially her pink bathtub. She works as an accountant but plans on using her experiences with mental health treatment to transition into a career in Criminal Justice/Mental Health reform. After hitting her rock bottom, she learned for her happiness didn’t come in a pill bottle. She now strives for contentment and appreciates moments of joy when they come.
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