Time somehow has a mystical way of slipping through the hour glass. I’ve been thinking about that concept a lot as I am spending the last few days left in my 40’s. Fifty seems old to me. The beginning of the end. The end of the beginning. I never pictured myself growing old. I have some regrets. Not so much for the things I’ve done, but for the things I didn’t do early enough.
I sacrificed my childhood and young adult years worrying about adult problems that really weren’t mine to bear. Childhood was never fun, magical, or carefree. I don’t have good memories to tide me over on the hard days. I had to think for a very long time to come up with one good memory. My good memory of childhood was playing badminton in our yard with my parents and brothers.
I didn’t feel like I had the freedom to live my own life. My mom didn’t want me to leave. She wanted me to stay close by because she needed me. I didn’t realize what I was giving up. I went to the college closest to home. I studied psychology in hopes of becoming a counselor. Then I would be able to SAVE my family from their dysfunction. I could FIX them. I was young enough to think my education would change things. Being a caregiver was what I was good at. I was the 6-year-old who was watching her younger brothers in the lake by herself after all.
I was too stupid and worthless to try other things. That’s what my dad said anyway. My mom said if I tried new things I wouldn’t be perfect and would fail. I totally lacked confidence and self-esteem. I did have other interests such as music, genetics, microbiology, library science, and probation and parole. Some of those programs weren’t offered at the local college. I didn’t even try out the choir because I wouldn’t be good enough.
Fast forward another three decades. My family of origin is just as dysfunctional as it always was. Somehow at times it still is surprising to me because I don’t know how anybody could stand to live that way.
I don’t regret the family I have now. I didn’t waste a lot of my young years in a bad marriage. I love my kids. My husband and I met because we lived in the same apartment building when I was going to college. The good things in my life happened because I stayed close to home. Or maybe it was just the choices I made.
Most young folks stay near/at home for their parents help, not to help their parents. Sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I left home sooner. If I could go back in time, I would tell my younger self to live your own life guilt free. It’s not your job to rescue your parents. You don’t have the power to fix them. It’s hard enough to change the things you don’t like about yourself.
Time flies.


