I’m thinking up with Amanda again this week to do some thinking out loud. This week, the primary subject on my mind is my family. More specifically, how my inherited traits have impacted me.
Parental influence is hard to escape, am I right? I have spent years trying to run from the genes that I don’t like and avoiding the personality traits of my parents that I would rather not posses. The fact of the matter is, I am a product of my parents, for better or for worse.
I have my dad’s nose, his straight torso, his brown eyes. My dad and I share a bizarre and expansive vocabulary, a tendency to avoid large crowds, and a certain practicality about life. We both love cheese, cured meats, and coffee. We have trouble sitting through movies and tend to speak before we think.
I have my mom’s smile, light hair color, and height. My mom and I both find amusement in absurdity, we can both be very sensitive individuals, and we both like being able to help others. She and I enjoy shopping, especially if it involves buying gifts for others. My passion for social work comes from my mom, as does my love of animals.
Whether we like it or not, our parents influence us more than we are able to realize. I spent a number of years cursing the ways in which I was predestined to being a failure, a loser, or simply an all-around undesirable person. I hated the genes that I had inherited and blamed them for the things I disliked about my body. I hated the personality traits I had that were similar to my dad because they alienated me from my mom and brother, while simultaneously hating the personality traits I shared with my mom because they alienated me from my dad. It has always been hard for me to see the value in these traits, to see that they have combined to make me the unique individual that I am.
I am on a journey to accept that my genes are not worse than anybody else’s, nor are my personality quirks. Both have challenged me through the years, but both make me the person that I am today. Although it takes effort, I am sincerely trying to step back and question myself when I am cursing something I got from my family. Rather than wishing I were different, I am trying to see the ways in which I can use these unique parts of myself for the better. I used to hate being tall because I felt it made me stand out, but it helps me reach things on high shelves at work. I was always insecure about feeling uncomfortable in large crowds of people, but I have embraced it as a part of my personality. The more we can accept and adapt to these parts of ourselves, them more capable we are of accepting ourselves as complete, perfectly imperfect individuals.
That’s it for this week’s thoughts! Have a great Thursday!