I once told my mom that I was waiting to hit rock bottom.
And in some ways, I think I meant it.
I meant that I had no inclination to change my behavior until something prompted me to do so. I figured that thing would be catastrophic, some jarring event that would cause me to spring into action because I’d have no choice.
I know that motivation is something self created, but more often than not, it takes an external push for me to do things.
While I’m eternally grateful to my parents, I’ve learned that they will be there to bail me out. Luckily, I haven’t needed to be sprung from jail or needed money for them to pay back a drug dealer. Still, they have paid off credit cards, taken care of my college education and have let me move back into their house more often than I’d care to admit.
In fact, it might happen again.
I don’t know if I could have gone through with this pregnancy with my life as it is if I didn’t have them in my life. I don’t know if I’d have the reassurance I need to feel like everything is going to be OK one way or another.
I wonder what that would have been like if my whole life had been the same way.
I think there is a part of me that feels guilty for accepting their help, for depending on it and in some ways, taking it for granted at times.
It’s a safety net that allows me to fuck up without a whole lot of consequences. Lose a job. Lose an apartment. Get broken up with. Get into credit card trouble. Need help moving.
Have a baby.
I’ve relied a little too much on them always being there to the point that I’ve turned into a not so self sufficient adult.
As my therapist likes to remind me, there is no right or wrong way of going about things. But I could be doing a lot better for myself and just haven’t yet found a reason to make the changes I need to.