How much does your upbringing influence you later in life?

My sister and I were raised to be someone's wife and mother. It was what was expected of us. An iota of attitude to the contrary was met with disdainful gaslighting, and we'd be reminded that this was our destiny. That we'd thank our lucky stars that we were trained early on and pawned off to some guy they deemed worthy. 

My brothers got to relax in front of the TV on hot summer Sunday afternoons. I was tasked to clear the kitchen table, which I had helped to set, then I was expected to wash, dry, and put away the dishes. After the kitchen was clean, I was to iron the upcoming week's school uniforms for all four of us. Only then could I relax. 

As a female, my opinion was inferior and my voice was never to be heard out of turn — especially in anger or retaliation. You never challenge your elders. It isn't appropriate behavior. 

Fast forward to me emigrating to America post-college and becoming an adult in the States. I've finally realized that my inability to express myself or speak my truth stems from the fact that I was never given the tools to be myself. I was always the daughter of — or the sister to — but never just me. I wasn't allowed to be. 

We had to be perfect children

My dad was a prominent figure while I was growing up. We had to be perfect children — polite and poised. Talented and articulate beings with pristine manners and the ability to make the perfect cup of tea when guests arrived, after which we were supposed to play a sonata on the piano for their entertainment. Like puppets. I didn't always want to, but it wasn't what I wanted… that didn't matter. It wasn’t for me to speak up, and say so.

Man, that tool would've come in so handy when I was second-guessing what I said in opposition to my peers. Did I offend her by having a different point of view? Was it ok that I tried to express myself and not float along with the current? Would it make me less likable? 

I've realized that my assertiveness tools may be blunt, but they do actually exist. It makes me proud when I can say no. But it’s not perfect. I still worry about what I say or how I say it because don't want to be the cause of discomfort. “No” should suffice — and that's just that. But I pine and stew and spiral. Overthinking that I’ve caused offense. I kick myself, but I am secretly proud of the small victory where I was my own advocate. But the very fact that I am aware of this is huge for me. It's like I've been asleep all my life and only now — finally — had this life-changing epiphany that I still feel like that little girl. Afraid to be scolded or nervous when speaking out of turn. Afraid to be rejected or worse, not worthy of love. It's not an ideal tool kit, but it has afforded me the gift of immeasurable empathy and patience.

I don't know yet how my upbringing will serve me. 

I didn't realize at the time what I was suffering through while having what seemed like a wonderful childhood. It wasn’t until I dissected it later in life that I realized what I survived. That ignorance was such bittersweet bliss. But I choose not to be a victim. I was born into privilege, honor, and admiration just by carrying my family name. I am proud of who I am. Although sometimes I don't know if I know who that is, I'm still figuring it out as I go. The world is a classroom. And I am its student.