Ever since I was young, my parents were overly strict. They needed to know where I was going, who I was going to be with, when I was going to be home, etcetera, etcetera.
Growing up, that was the worst burden in the world. What preteen or newly-turned-teenage kid would want the decidedly uncool task of having to give Mom and Dad a call to let them know that their location changed from one house to another? This was especially strange when, to me, it seemed as though my friends never had to do such an annoying thing. Their parents, the "cool" parents, let them ride their bikes until the street lights came on and stay out with little more than a "goodbye" and a wave when they left in the morning.
As I got older and started dating, my parents acted like "boyfriend" was a curse word and never, ever would consider allowing me to be alone with said boy. I tried to use the argument that all my friends were doing it, that their parents didn't care, but they weren't convinced.
Their daughter, they decided, wouldn't be doing that.
Boyfriends passed and with that did milestones. As each one did, I was left feeling disappointed in myself. Why, I often wondered, do I feel so bad for doing what is "normal" for girls my age?
Well, it was because of my strict parents.
Because of their hold, and the way they instilled in me that their daughter didn't do certain things, I felt terrible just for living for fear of disappointing them. I felt that by living a normal life with my boyfriend and my friends, I was doing something wrong. After all, I didn't do those things. I didn't stay out until one a.m. with a beer by a fire, did I? How could I be that girl?
The looks of disappointment from my dad and sighs from my mother as I came home from my boyfriend's in the morning made me feel like I was doing a very public walk of shame. It made me feel dirty, gross, and wrong.
Nothing about that is okay.
Being the child of strict parents didn't make me better. It made me scared, afraid of breaking the mold, and afraid of being a disappointment.
