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A Musing on Agency.
Feb. 16th, 2021 08:13 amOne thing that has been really weighing on me lately is the question of agency. I keep feeling this sense of pressure, and this sense of entrapment, I suppose. It's not really about the pandemic. It's about the fact, I guess, that I've never spent this much time in my dad's company in my life. My mum, sure. I was homeschooled. I had years of being with her all the time, and I'm used to that. What I'm not used to is everything else.
It builds up in small ways. It's like: your father constantly misrepresenting your behaviour, not in a bad way as such, just in a way that makes you feel hidden. Saying that you must have really loved a sandwich because you had the remaining half so that it wouldn't go to waste. Saying "are you thirsty?" when you pass him after getting a glass of water. Saying "do you have a headache?" when you have a painkiller. Saying "I thought you liked hot curry?" when you went to get a glass of water in the middle of tea. Not asking how you wanted your eggs cooked and assuming you want them fried, and then admitting that he was assuming. Making a cup of tea while you're in the bath and not making you one - not even asking if you want one but you'll get out the bath to come get it, not asking if you'll be out of the bath soon. Assuming you want exactly the same things as your mother. Assuming the things you enjoy are the same things as your mother. Not letting you take a plate or a cup out of his hands and instead making you let him put it down - but taking things out of your hands when the situation is reversed. It's going into your room to sweep when he knows you hate people in your room. It's going into your space just to look out of the window. It's not telling you that he's in the process of putting lunch out so you have to rush to put your stuff away. It's when he puts your lunch down and then you move your stuff and he physically picks up the plate and moves it two inches closer to you - and you take a weird pleasure in moving it two inches back, because you hadn't actually finished putting your stuff away.
It's being talked to while you're working, no matter what. It's being asked if your partner is awake. If your partner got anything good at the shop. If your partner talked to you while you were in the bath. If you've spoken to your partner today. If you're working today. If you're not. It's assumptions like - like being asked about if your eggs are runny enough and saying you actually like them jammy and being told "well then you couldn't dip anything in them" and then every time after that you have eggs hearing "yay, I made it nice and runny!" when you specifically said that's not what you wanted. It's being asked every single meal if your food is okay while you eat it. It's hearing "[deadname's] laughing her head off over there" because you giggled at joke on a tv show.
I know they're all small. But there's so fucking many. And that's not even getting into all my mum's things - pick your feet up. what's that noise. what are you doing. come watch this video. why are there two towels on the towel rack. can you switch on all the lights, even the ones in rooms i'm not in. Take my plate. put this away. put that away. don't pick your lip. your poor beautiful perfect pretty little princess skin.
And - then when I try and explain why I feel bad. "I felt misrepresented and hurt by something dad said." "Well, he didn't mean it badly, so it doesn't matter."
I know. It doesn't matter. I ask for a specific simple lunch on a specific day so that I'm comfortably in time for my office hour. It goes on the schedule. And then the day comes around and I'm told we're actually having eggs on toast, isn't that wonderful?
It's things I used to like - getting a cup of coffee while I'm still in bed. Having pastries for breakfast on Sunday. Being pat on the shoulder when I get brought a cup of tea while I work - being turned into biting moments of being waited on.
And the reason it all bothers me so is - I can't think of a single thing in my life I control. I have to do certain things on certain days because of work. Stuff I'll get told off for if I don't do enough of, dad does before I can. It's where and when I get to do my hobbies. It's when I eat meals and what I eat. It's when I get up. It's when I clean my room, or do any chore at all. It's not just the pandemic. I've always had these problems. It's just now I have two full time parents policing my every move, and I can't even add anything in because either I don't have time or that would be policed too. "Why don't you come for a walk with me and the dog?" What, so I follow you around on whatever walk you want to go that I wouldn't have chosen, have an anxiety attack, be unable to talk to my partner for an hour at whatever time you choose, and have to hold your hand like a little girl because you insist on coastal paths that scare me because I'm disabled?
No, thanks.
I just wish I controlled something about my life. I wish I could express this to my parents and be heard and loved. But they don't mean it badly, so it doesn't matter. Be quiet. Sit down. Go away.
It builds up in small ways. It's like: your father constantly misrepresenting your behaviour, not in a bad way as such, just in a way that makes you feel hidden. Saying that you must have really loved a sandwich because you had the remaining half so that it wouldn't go to waste. Saying "are you thirsty?" when you pass him after getting a glass of water. Saying "do you have a headache?" when you have a painkiller. Saying "I thought you liked hot curry?" when you went to get a glass of water in the middle of tea. Not asking how you wanted your eggs cooked and assuming you want them fried, and then admitting that he was assuming. Making a cup of tea while you're in the bath and not making you one - not even asking if you want one but you'll get out the bath to come get it, not asking if you'll be out of the bath soon. Assuming you want exactly the same things as your mother. Assuming the things you enjoy are the same things as your mother. Not letting you take a plate or a cup out of his hands and instead making you let him put it down - but taking things out of your hands when the situation is reversed. It's going into your room to sweep when he knows you hate people in your room. It's going into your space just to look out of the window. It's not telling you that he's in the process of putting lunch out so you have to rush to put your stuff away. It's when he puts your lunch down and then you move your stuff and he physically picks up the plate and moves it two inches closer to you - and you take a weird pleasure in moving it two inches back, because you hadn't actually finished putting your stuff away.
It's being talked to while you're working, no matter what. It's being asked if your partner is awake. If your partner got anything good at the shop. If your partner talked to you while you were in the bath. If you've spoken to your partner today. If you're working today. If you're not. It's assumptions like - like being asked about if your eggs are runny enough and saying you actually like them jammy and being told "well then you couldn't dip anything in them" and then every time after that you have eggs hearing "yay, I made it nice and runny!" when you specifically said that's not what you wanted. It's being asked every single meal if your food is okay while you eat it. It's hearing "[deadname's] laughing her head off over there" because you giggled at joke on a tv show.
I know they're all small. But there's so fucking many. And that's not even getting into all my mum's things - pick your feet up. what's that noise. what are you doing. come watch this video. why are there two towels on the towel rack. can you switch on all the lights, even the ones in rooms i'm not in. Take my plate. put this away. put that away. don't pick your lip. your poor beautiful perfect pretty little princess skin.
And - then when I try and explain why I feel bad. "I felt misrepresented and hurt by something dad said." "Well, he didn't mean it badly, so it doesn't matter."
I know. It doesn't matter. I ask for a specific simple lunch on a specific day so that I'm comfortably in time for my office hour. It goes on the schedule. And then the day comes around and I'm told we're actually having eggs on toast, isn't that wonderful?
It's things I used to like - getting a cup of coffee while I'm still in bed. Having pastries for breakfast on Sunday. Being pat on the shoulder when I get brought a cup of tea while I work - being turned into biting moments of being waited on.
And the reason it all bothers me so is - I can't think of a single thing in my life I control. I have to do certain things on certain days because of work. Stuff I'll get told off for if I don't do enough of, dad does before I can. It's where and when I get to do my hobbies. It's when I eat meals and what I eat. It's when I get up. It's when I clean my room, or do any chore at all. It's not just the pandemic. I've always had these problems. It's just now I have two full time parents policing my every move, and I can't even add anything in because either I don't have time or that would be policed too. "Why don't you come for a walk with me and the dog?" What, so I follow you around on whatever walk you want to go that I wouldn't have chosen, have an anxiety attack, be unable to talk to my partner for an hour at whatever time you choose, and have to hold your hand like a little girl because you insist on coastal paths that scare me because I'm disabled?
No, thanks.
I just wish I controlled something about my life. I wish I could express this to my parents and be heard and loved. But they don't mean it badly, so it doesn't matter. Be quiet. Sit down. Go away.
