This week: Am I Loved? Edited by: THANKFUL SONALI Library Class!  
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| Recently, I saw a video of a guy in his thirties, the second son of his parents, talk about how he felt unloved. It resonated with me -- an only child. Then I realised, it's not the position in the family that determines whether we feel love -- it's ourselves. |
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Dear Reader,
I watched the guy on the video with rapt attention. "I always got second-hand clothes," he was saying. "My parents gave the new stuff to my older brother. They didn't love me."
I found myself nodding. Yeah, I know what it's like to feel unloved. I've felt it too. In fact, many of my stories on WDC have dealt with my feeling that my Mom didn't really care for me, and some of these stories have helped me place in the official contest. (Yeah, yeah, applause  -- but I bring that up not to boast, but to say it's tough to place in the official contest, and those stories must've come from deep within, and resonated with the judges, too, to find a place on such a hard-fought podium.)
But hey, wait just one minute. I never had second hand clothes. Well, except a couple of times when my aunt gave me some of hers that I liked. I am an only child. I've always had new clothes. I've had lots of toys. My parents built some extra shelves in my bedroom just to hold my dolls and soft toys. Both my parents were always there when I acted in a play at school, and even after, when I grew up and theatre was a hobby. We had lovely holidays together. My Dad took me on camping trips.
So -- unloved? 
Well, I had a Nanny.
Wait. I'm getting to the 'unloved' part, I promise!
I had a Nanny. Nothing new, many middle-class kids in India have a Nanny. My Nanny pampered me silly. (I know you're wondering where I'm going with this.) Well, my Nanny pampered me silly. She took me to the bathroom, gave me a bath, escorted me to school, cooked for me, did all the cleaning, tidied up my bookshelf and toy-shelves, made my bed, fed my parakeet and cleaned his cage, watered my plants ... everything.
With the result that I didn't learn to do anything by myself. Heck, I didn't even know things needed doing. As far as I was concerned, food appeared on the table, dust disappeared from the floor, the trash can emptied itself, clothes picked themselves up, washed, dried and ironed themselves and neatly sat in the closet waiting for me to need them again.
So when my Nanny retired (when I was thirty-seven years old) i had to learn that things needed to be done, and how to do them. And i had to un-learn the attitude of 'it's not my job'. Because, in my childhood and youth, I had sometimes attempted to lift a finger for myself, only to be reprimanded that there was someone around who could do it faster, neater, better than I could, and I shouldn't presume to interfere.
I grew up feeling that I'm not good at doing stuff around the house. I'm slow, I'm clumsy, untidy, bad. That feeling persists to this day when I try to do any housework. I'm fifty-one now. Each day, doing housework means overcoming this huge mental block that says I'm not good at it and it isn't my job anyway. I forget to take my water bottle upstairs to my bedroom sometimes and just stay thirsty (not my job to go downstairs and get it - and we need to drink purified water here in India, can't just drink from the tap!) I wear wrinkled clothes while meeting friends because only work stuff needs to be ironed. I didn't realise they noticed, till one of them saw me on my way to meeting an out-of-town visitor, wearing an ironed top. "This person must really be important," my friend remarked. "You've ironed your clothes for this meeting."
And there's a growing resentment that my parents didn't love me enough to understand that I'd have to have a future without a Nanny, and they'd do well to prepare me for it.
See, we got to the 'unloved' bit, didn't we? It took a while, but we got there.
So -- guy in video in hand-me-downs, and me, wearing new clothes and having extra shelves built to store all the toys ... both feeling unloved. Each would probably gladly trade places with the other (greener grass on the other side, you know) and then find out that it's not very different there! For all you know, the video-guy's older brother thinks his parents loved the younger brother more because they gave away all his favourite shirts, toys and bicycle to him!
I'm not sure what the answer is. It probably lies in the fact that feeling loved is a basic need. Probably as basic as, if not more so than, air, water and food. But air, water and food are more tangible and objective. You can feel them there. You can, broadly, know when you have them and when you don't. "Love" is subjective. Nobody but you can know whether you feel loved or not, and what is needed to make you feel that way. Different people feel loved in different ways. Parents, spouses, teachers, doctors and other caregivers need to understand this and adapt accordingly.
But what if we turn that upside down?
What if the recipient of the love realised that it was love, even if the form wasn't exactly the way they wanted to receive it? Yes, I wanted a little more independence, and I got teddy bears instead -- but those teddy bears were my parents' way of saying 'we love you'.
Love is, after all, about communication. About understanding the language. And if someone expresses themselves differently from the way you expected them to -- please interpret their words/actions to mean 'love'. You'll be far happier that way.
Thanks for listening!
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Spiritual: March 27, 2019 Issue [#9455]
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