The Tyrant

I've heard about it before, but never experienced it in real life. Suburbanites with the most sturdy belief you've ever seen that there is ONE right way of doing things, ONE right way of raising a child. If I had heard the circumstances from a third party, I would have just told them to ignore it, or to cut the unsupportive persons out of their lives. I would have been wrong. Nothing is that simple.

I know that this viciousness comes from a place of hurt and regret. It was a confluence of an old world view, and my decision from the outset that those who didn't respect my choices as a parent would not get to babysit. How could I let them, in good faith, when I knew that everything that was important to me would be dismissed as foolish? And so, from there, it grew into an uglier thing. Despite the hundreds of thousands of people who are parenting the same as me, those who have told me I'm doing a good job and the best I can, it still stings. Despite the way they treat their children, and the many ways I disagree with it, it still makes me momentarily lose faith that my choices have been the right ones.

I've heard of people like these. The ones who conditionally support their children in their endeavours, giving some love, but not all. It is alien to me. Affection is as necessary to me as air. I breathe this same life, this same love, into my son. I am not sure how that could ever be wrong.

All I can do is try and follow my own advice: brush it off, move on. I know I will get the last laugh, as I see my son blossoming under our unconditional love and attachment. I know I am not "raising a tyrant" just because he wilts beneath the force of their need to be needed. This waivering faith must be bolstered by the knowledge that I am mother, I am goddess. There is no way that I can be totally downtrodden. I can only weep for the pettiness that others hold against me, and continue on.