About Hate

Growing up, I didn’t know much about hate.  Except that I was full of it.  I hated my circumstances, and I had no way to change them.  I hated the rules my parents imposed on me, and I had no way to change them.  I hated the punishment I got when I defied their rules, and I had no intentions of changing my defiant ways, and therefore, I hated them for making me do things the hard way.  I hated green beans and country music.  I hated the smell of beer and cigars.  I hated mean girls who wanted me to be a certain way to fit in their crowd.  I hated the teachers who wanted me to be the perfect little angel and sit still in their classes.  I hated piano and violin lessons, even though I loved playing and performing.  I hated my sisters, because they were good and obedient and never got into the kind of trouble I got into.  I hated when my cousins would leave after spending the night.  I hated it so much because it felt like my heart was breaking and I didn’t know what to do.  I hated that I was loud and talked too much.  I hated my frizzy hair.  I hated wearing all those ruffly dresses that grandma made me wear.  I hated panty hose and curlers and sitting still to have my hair combed.  I hated baths in the winter because it was so cold.  I hated my parents because they wouldn’t let me do all the things “the other kids” were doing.  I hated detention, and the consequences my parents gave me when I got one.  I hated curfew.  I hated how everyone talks in a small town.  I hated and I hated and I hated.  And when I got older, I hated some more.  I hated the way I felt alone all the time.  I hated the way I felt disappointed in my marriage, because my husband didn’t live up to the expectations I’d placed upon him.  I hated my long hair.  I hated my short hair.  I hated my fat body.  I hated my body that betrayed me every month when I didn’t get pregnant.  I hated how some people I worked with only showed up to punch the clock and do the least amount of work possible.  I hated that we were always broke.  I hated how even in a big city, there were small minds.  I hated military life.  I hated being away from my husband so much.  I hated when he was home, how he would try to control the TV remote.  I hated the political struggles that happened in our jobs.  I hated how every time I tried to ask for something, I was denied; while manipulative, greedy people were granted their requests.  I hated how I didn’t have babies on “accident”, and how degraded and imperfect and broken I felt at every doctor’s appointment.  I hated people who got their babies and rocked them, and then got tired of being a parent, so they pawned their kids off on family members.  I hated myself for hating all these things.  I hated the feeling I felt when I felt all that hate.  But I couldn’t figure out how to change it.

I did not learn hate.  My mother didn’t hate.  In fact, I am only now, at forty, learning about things she mildly dislikes.  To this day, I have never heard my mom say she “hates” anything.  I don’t think she knows how.  My dad wasn’t really full of hate.  He had things that made him mad, frustrated, disappointed. but he never told me that he hated anything.  We didn’t grow up hating people for their ethnicity or religion.  My best friend was Catholic.  My babysitter was atheist.  There were no real ethnic people in our town, so I didn’t know to hate them.  In college, I met a couple of gay men, they were nice.  I didn’t hate them.  When we moved to the South, we lived in the ghetto, and were the only white people in our little ‘hood.  I didn’t hate any black people.  So why, why was there all this hate in my life?

Probably because I did not know how to effectively communicate my feelings.  I didn’t know what it meant to be frustrated or angry or disappointed or embarrassed.  I didn’t know how to articulate the emotions and powerful thoughts and ideas I had.  I only knew how to feel.  And when I was growing up, children did not talk about their feelings.  In our house, children were not allowed to have opinions that mattered to their parents.  A parent would tell you how something was going to happen, and that’s the way it happened.  No “If’s, And’s, or But’s”, as my dad would say.  It was their way or the highway.  And I remember how I felt when they told me that it didn’t matter what I wanted, and they didn’t want to hear what I had to say.  It made me hate them.  It made me more angry.  It made me want to scream.  I had all these feelings inside, and I wasn’t allowed to get them out.   Not in a disrespectful way, which I completely understand.  But not in a healthy way either.

I never want a child to feel alone.  I never want you, my child, to feel like you can’t express your feelings openly with me.  I want you to be comfortable and to know that I am for you.  I love you.  I want to know what’s going on with you!

I hope that I am teaching you how to articulate your feelings.  I hope I am teaching you how to be your own advocate, and assert your needs.  I hope that you are seeing in me, the LOVE that has come from all that hate.  It took a very long time to get rid of all that hate.  It took a very long time to learn how to say the things I need to say without feeling a little bit anxious, or irritated, or hateful.  It took a lot of work, a lot of practice and a lot of patience from others, in order for me to learn how to express my feelings in a way that is respectful to others, and also, preserves my own dignity and integrity.  I want to teach you that now, so that it’s the only way you know.  So that when you are old, like me, you will not have to be learning it.  Because, sadly, there are lots of grown up (“old”) people who were not given the proper tools to articulate their needs, feelings and desires.  And even more sadly, they will be in your life.  And I want you to be able to deal with that.  Because it’s tough.  It stinks.  It’s not fair.  But it is part of life, and there is no reason to hate anything.

Now that I’ve had some good teachers and helpers and seen some great therapists who have given me wonderful tools that help me to use words and be mindful of everything… and maybe also because I’m 40 and I just don’t care anymore… I no longer hate.  I don’t have time for it.  I have no purpose for it.  Sure, you will hear me say, “I hate this…” I try not to.  But if I do, I’m whining.  That’s all I’m doing.  Because I really don’t hate… a pair of shoes, jeans, winter, the birds, hardwood floors, etc.  I’m just whining because I’m tired or hungry or not feeling appreciated.  When you’re older, you will learn all these wonderful variables that play into life ad make perceptions and realities two sometimes very different things!  But for now, let’s just keep saying that “hate” is a naughty word.  We don’t hate anything.  We strongly dislike it.  It frustrates us.  It makes us uncomfortable.  We are dissatisfied or disappointed in something.  We don’t hate.  And we have no reason to hate people.  Everyone is different.  Everyone has needs.  Everyone has a voice and an opinion and rights.  Not everyone is going to make you happy.  It doesn’t mean that you hate them.

But the most important thing I want you to remember about hate is this verse from the Will Smith song, Just The Two of Us, “Throughout life people will make you mad, disrespect you and treat you bad.  Let God deal with the things they do, ’cause hate in your heart will consume you too.”  Never have more true words been spoken.  In fact, there is much Scripture about it.  But the bottom line is this:  hate will consume you.  Stay away from the urge to hate anyone or anything.  And if you start to feel hate in your heart, deal with it.  Talk about it in a respectful way.  Use your words.  Because I am raising you to do that, and I am giving you the tools right now!

I love you, even when you are on BLUE.

Love,
Mom