She rolled her eyes. “You are moping at this table like a half-drowned kitten because that man had the good sense to dump you. It’s more than fair: It’s accurate.”
“You really don’t believe in me,” I muttered.
“We’re realistic about what, and who, you are,” my father conceded bloodlessly. “That’s the only way to really love a child.”
If someone had asked me two months ago if I had a badchildhood, I would have emphatically said no. My parents kept a roof over my head, they pushed me to greatness, they were always there, they stayed together, our situation was stable…all things I’d associated with a “good childhood.”
But now I realized there was more than one way to have a bad childhood. Like, for example, they could withhold all affection from you except when you aced a test or skipped a grade or got an advanced degree…leading you to feel like you’re only worthwhile to other people if you’re perfect. And, since you know you can never be perfect, you isolate yourself until you’re completely alone in the world.
Yeah. There was more than one way for your parents to screw you up forever.
And oh boy, had my parents screwed me up.
I analyzed the situation.
Problem: Being around my parents makes me miserable, reinforces all my worst fears about myself, and leaves me feeling unloved and unlovable.
Proposed Solution: Detach from the parental units.
Engage Primary Experiment.
“I need the two of you to listen to me,” I said. “And I need you to not interrupt. Can you do that?”
“We’re not stupid, Scout.” This time, it was Dad’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t talk to us as if we—”
Deep breath. Here goes everything.
“Yes, you gave me an education. Yes, you worked hard so I could fulfill my academic potential. But you also robbed me of alife. When was I supposed to make friends between lectures and studying? I don’t know how to cook. I can barely make friends. Navigating relationships? Forget it. And after the Lloyd Exeter thing, you made me feel like I was a broken machine that I could never fix. Butyouraised me that way. You made me ignorantabout the world. You made me not understand. You put me in a position to be taken advantage of…only because I didn’t know any better.”
They both spluttered, trying to break theirno interruptingagreement. I raised my voice and powered on until they stopped.
“I hate myself. Youmade mehate myself. And I can’t begin to describe how exhausting it’s been, sabotaging and holding myself back at every turn because I don’t think I deserve anything better. Here’s the thing, though. I can change that. I have that power. Starting right now.Because I don’t hate myself enough to sit here and listen to this anymore.”
I reached for my jacket. Mom and Dad entered panic mode. Their threats bounced off and burned away like pebbles against a rocket booster.
“Scout. Scout, don’t you dare get up from this table. After all we’ve done for you—”
“You’re not thinking this through. If you leave now, we may not come back.”
I left without any hesitation. Once I was in my taxi uptown, the adrenaline subsided, giving me just enough brain space to evaluate that little experiment.
Experiment complete.
Result: Immediate relief.
Supplemental Notes: I wish I could tell Hudson about this.
42
What’s Your Greatest Weakness, You Piece of Shit?
A humble redbrick building on a quiet side street, from the outside, SkyTech looked nothing like I thought an aerospace company should look. It was soft, almost. Warm. And when I approached the glass doors, the inside matched. Yes, there were LED screens mounted on the brick walls, displaying their latest projects. But there were also comfortable furnishings and tables that didn’t look ripped out of an Apple store.
It wassounlike my time at GalacticSolutions.
Ringing the front bell to be buzzed in took more courage than I’d like to admit. Last night, after leaving my parents, I texted the number Hudson had given me, and Malcolm McEwan responded lightning-fast, working his schedule around my frantic BuzzCorp one so we could meet up during my lunch break.
I wasn’t in there to get a job. I was just there to prove to myself that I could try. That I was more than my mistakes, that I was more than my flaws. That all these lies I’d been telling myself—that I wasn’t competent enough, that I was a perpetual failure, that I was too emotional to lead, that I was only good enough tomake sex toys, that I needed to minimize myself in order to stay safe, that I was unlovable and unimportant—was just bullshit holding me back.
