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I wanted to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid. I mentioned this in my last post, so it seemed a good time to expand on the more serious sides of this desire. As I said in that post, I loved the ocean. The ocean felt like home to me, and I wanted to be a part of it. There’s a lot more to Ariel’s story, though, and it is directly tied to the trauma I carried.
Ariel didn’t fit in with her sisters. She was presented as quirky, gifted vocally, and her father’s favorite. Not to mention her sacrifice to pursue a love outside her world. Her hoarding of things. Ahem. I was quirky, I loved to sing, and I was a “daddy’s girl,” too. When I was little, my dad was my pal. There are pictures in my albums of my dad and I passed out together on the recliner – from the days I was drinking a bottle through the time leading to my parent’s divorce. We played together, napped together, and loved each other. He used to give me a back massage every night before I went to sleep. No one has ever loved me like my dad did when I was young.
I was so often the new kid that I never found a sense of “fitting in.” I didn’t have siblings for the first 10+ years, so the only way I could fit in was through friends (my family is small.) It’s hard to make friends when the friend groups at your new school are already made. In first grade, even the teacher treated me like an outcast. My parents moved me to a new school, where things got a bit better. Listening to Ariel’s sisters resonated with the way I was treated; I felt judged and rejected by my peers. These feelings carried with me into adulthood and became part of my trauma and anxiety. Only through the continuing love and support of my adult friends have I learned to trust that I am no longer an outcast.
Ariel’s sacrifice of her voice for a chance at love is the original model for the sacrifices in my relationships. She sacrificed precisely the thing that was presented as her strength. A lot of people blame the film for girls learning that they need to sacrifice who they are to find love. I don’t know, it’s possible, but I think the feeling that love is conditional is the true foundation for that (see earlier post: Love me?) Ariel wanted to be part of Eric’s world. She didn’t feel like she belonged, and joining Eric’s world appeared to be a chance at acceptance and love. This wasn’t a situation where he imposed the sacrifices on her. Perhaps, instead, it’s an example of the manic state of teenage love? Teenagers, in general, are manic about love. They will sacrifice to feel the passion and closeness without concern for the consequences or cost. It’s the madness of love that Shakespeare talked about. It worked out for Ariel and Eric in the movie, though.
I related to Ariel’s need for a cavern of things to herself. I also felt a need to have a safe space to myself, and almost everything I got was hand-me-downs so I hoarded my things. One could say that I also had a collection of discarded treasures, so to speak. I was incredibly lucky to live in a small town where there were trees to escape to, fields to run through, and dirt hills to race over. Back in the days of kids running around on their own, I could escape and just sit in the trees. Sometimes I would read or write, but most of the time I would just wander and take in the trees. I recommend trying that, if you haven’t.
By now, I usually analyze further. This post is different; I’m opening up about my experience and the connection to Ariel. I’m going to tell you a story that isn’t funny. But, I promise to end with something that is funny.
The first time I had real feelings and didn’t immediately run/implode set me on a path to finding myself (unfortunately, I still ran/imploded in the end.) I found out how remarkably true it is that we fall in love with people like our parents. Yeah, it’s a cliché, but it’s stunningly true. When I look back, I realize that I sought out the love that I once had with my dad. My dad’s an oddball. So, there aren’t a lot of people in the world like him. He promised to put me first, but then he got a girlfriend – I wasn’t first anymore. He promised a lot of things that never came through, but that one was the one that broke me. My dad had been my cheerleader, but one day I realized that he was surprised when I accomplished things that he’d been so confident about the day before. The lack of followthrough and consistency in a relationship is a red flag, but when it’s your parent, you don’t know any better. I felt like no accomplishment was truly “good enough” because I never received the response I was looking for.
I forgave him for the lack of followthrough and for how sad I felt when his support was misaligned, etc. I forgave him again and again. I gave so much that I was the one giving him unconditional love, and the parent-child relationship became flipped. My dad truly believed that I inherited his mother’s soul. So, the relationship was flipped. He looked to me for guidance, love, and support. This is probably why I’ve had friends look to me for the same things my whole life; I had to grow up quickly and parent my dad. Before I cut my dad off, we had a long argument (the same argument we’d had hundreds of times, but more intense because I was a pregnant adult and it was in person.) I managed to deescalate and genuinely address him about his burden. He heard me in the moment, but like all the other conversations, he’d forget by morning and respond with vitriol. It’s why we don’t talk anymore.
So, the man like my father had the same upsides and similar downsides. He loved, appreciated, and supported me more than anyone had ever done – the most like my dad of anyone I met in my life. He looked to me for guidance, love, and support – which I was happy to give. However, he didn’t follow through on things. He freaked out about any circumstances that might risk hurting one of us. So, we both got hurt. I moved into a trauma space when he told me he was in love with someone else, still. I jumped back in time to the days when my dad chose my stepmother over me, and I tried to win his love (like I’d tried to win over others’) with messages of appreciation and love that could all be summed up with a “Will you choose me this time, Dad?” as the underlying message. Will someone choose me? No. I have to choose myself.
That’s the lesson, and the ending of this particular story. You will likely also be drawn to the complicated and messy relationships like those you hold with your parents. Any unhealed parental trauma will show up in your relationships. Work to heal that trauma first. I’m still healing mine, so I’m not looking for love – at least, not for now. Also: you might not find your trauma without falling into those relationships and patterns. You also might not find it without therapy. Good luck, Love.
I’m going to follow up with a funny and brilliant story about my dad. He wasn’t all bad, not by a long shot. Like I said earlier, he was my pal.
Something my dad and I both severely struggled with in our lives was a nail-biting habit. My dad’s fingernails were always bitten as far down as they could go, and when he ran out of fingernails he would pick-fidget with his hands. He never found a way to break the habit, not in childhood or adulthood. In my reflection on his situation, I can see that he certainly had anxiety issues and that was one of the presentations of his anxiety. I was a child nail-biter (I also had/have anxiety…), but my dad decided to hold a contest to see which one of us could go the longest without biting our nails.
The winner would get to “pie” the other in the face. I think he always intended to lose. He was an adult who had not been able to break the habit, but he found a brilliant way to incentivize me to stop biting my nails. It worked. I managed to break the habit after we completed our contest, compared our nails, and I was the winner. I shoved a pie tin of whipped cream in my dad’s face, he laughed and had fun with it. Bonus: I got to hose him off after! As a kid, it’s a lot of fun to pie your dad in the face and then turn on the hose and rinse him off. I have a picture of how soaked he was after, and the memory gives me joy. We had so much fun together, me and my dad. He was great when I was little. It’s why he has a special place in my heart.
No matter who hurts you in this life, you won’t know you’ve healed until you can think of them and revel in the good times you had with them. I hope you get there.
With love, kindness, and healing, -S.
Shells from a Beach 