On colors, and shades of gray

I spent much of my childhood seeing the world in black and white. Some things were right, others were wrong. In the beginning, when I was very young, there were a lot of gray areas with no moral judgement. But as I got older, and my parents were sucked deeper and deeper into the world of quiverfull, Christian homeschooler fundamentalism, specifically the Gothard branch of that movement, the gray started to fade, and more and more of the world was taught to me as black and white, good and evil, with little to no middle ground. Wearing long skirts was good. Wearing skirts above the knee, or pants, was bad. Wearing anything that showed my curvy feminine body shape was bad. Wearing baggy, shapeless clothing that hid my form was good, no matter how frumpy and unattractive it made me feel. The fact that I longed for something different, being able to dress cute and fashionable and fun like other teens was bad, I should instead feel sorry for and pray for those misguided, immodest youths who either had no idea that wearing shorts and a tank top on a summer day could turn every man who saw them into some kind of insane lustful animal; or they did know it, and dressed that way on purpose, in which case they were behaving like harlots. At least in my mother's opinion. 

Listening to hymns and classical music was good, even healthy. Singing hymns was good too. But listening to pretty much any other kind of music, whether Christian or secular, was wrong. Particularly if it had a beat that made you want to tap your foot or move your body or (horrors!) dance. 

I could list many other examples, but these will suffice for now. So I was trained to see the world this way. Black and white. Right and wrong. Because my parents or Bill Gothard or some other teacher said so. Not because it was in the Bible really, but because some very wise teacher had uncovered some long-hidden "Biblical Principle" that wasn't really spelled out in Scripture per se, but this wise teacher had found it by reading between the lines, digging deep, and praying and fasting. So if you didn't follow this special set of rules, you weren't "really" godly or spiritual or holy or whatever. 

And then I finally, finally got out into the real world. When I was 25 years old. And I realized that I wasn't prepared for it. At all. It was so much more complicated and scary and wonderful than I had expected. And it certainly didn't fit into my black and white worldview. It was full of color and nuance and shades of gray. Nothing was as clear or as simple as it had been in my little authoritarian world where I was surrounded by others who thought and acted and dressed and talked almost exactly like my parents. It was overwhelming at first. Still is at times,  8 years later. But looking back on those 8 years of learning to step out of my caged existence and live in freedom, I have realized something. I still struggle with seeing some things in black and white. Except it has flip-flopped from my childhood world. Now anything that reminds me of that world seems bad, like a symbol of slavery, a gilded cage. Others may look at that cage and think it's pretty. But for one who grew up trapped inside, and is still trying to learn to fly, it's nothing but a symbol of bondage. An example/confession? I can't watch the Duggar's show, Nineteen Kids and Counting. It's too similar to my own experience. I was the oldest of 10 kids and raised my siblings. Others may watch the show and think it looks wonderful, all I see is a gilded cage. Others may enjoy wearing long skirts and dressing ultra-little-girly-feminine with lace collars and ruffles and long hair... It reminds me too much of my cage. It's what psychologists refer to as "triggering" to me. It makes me feel panicky, like if I ever go there, if I wear those clothes again, go to one of those conferences, listen to that music, I'll somehow get sucked back into that world and lose my freedom. It's an irrational fear, I know. I can't go back there. I see through it now. I know better. I'm an intelligent adult, not an impressionable child. Someday I'll learn to see shades of gray in even that world. It's not all bad. Not all homeschoolers over-shelter and emotionally abuse their kids. Not all large families overwork the older siblings and force them to grow up too fast and become parent figures to their siblings. My childhood was certainly not 100% bad. But I still struggle with that black and white thinking, only now it's the opposite of how I was raised, normal American culture seems good to me, and everything that reminds me at all of legalism and fundamentalism is bad. Which just creates this deep sense of confusion in my heart because I know that's not quite true. There's this cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, in some ways my parents were great parents. They really did what they thought would be best for us. But on the other hand they worked me like a slave as a young teenager until I finally left the household at 25. With very little appreciation, on the contrary, no matter how much housework or whatever I did it was never enough. It was rarely done well enough or fast enough or cheerfully enough. I was so tired, and depressed, and physically ill for so many years... How could they have not seen or cared? But then again, I also have happy memories of outings to the lake, camping trips, wonderful pets on our farm, family movie nights or game nights. My parents being impressed with my creativity and artistic skills. How can those parents be the same people who yelled at me and told me someday I'd regret not helping my mother more? Who told me I was airheaded, rebellious, and had no work ethic? Who castigated me for "always making the soft choices" and told me, when I was sick or exhausted or both, that I should just "work sick" like they did, and reach down to my inner reserves of strength through sheer force of will, and put a smile on my face and a spring in my step and just "sparkle up" so I could be a good example to my younger siblings? I ended up learning that so well that I worked myself into complete physical exhaustion, with severe health problems. Still to this day i have trouble listening to my body and taking care if myself, and not working myself to exhaustion. How can that be the same Dad who also called me sweetheart and asked my opinion about things and sometimes brought me special treats, just for me? And taught me to paint with water colors and told me I could do anything in life, and encouraged my love of singing?  It's so confusing! So are they good people or bad people? Are my parents good people who just made some bad choices and were misguided? Or are they bad people who manipulated and used me for their own selfish ends and to meet their own emotional needs, and the good times were just "honeymoon periods" between abuse, when they were manipulating me into trusting and trying to please them? Or are they both just complete narcissists who saw me as an extension of themselves, used me as they saw fit, my needs not really entering their mental scope at all?  And are they incapable of seeing themselves as ever wrong?  I really, really, truly don't know. I just feel so confused.