Feeling Guilty for Living

Hey ok so I didn’t post last week because I do love indulging in a little escapism through solo traveling every few weeks. And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that. Because it makes me happy! And that itself is enough justification.

I grew up in a household that hated spending money. My parents are immigrants, they didn’t grow up with a ton of extravagant materialistic bullshit. They raised me to be frugal and only spend money on practical, necessary things. Resisting the urge to spend money on fun things that didn’t serve a purpose beyond fulfilling my basic needs. Because if it wasn’t necessary for survival then it was a “waste of money”.

The only restaurant we went to was either a a fast food place like McDonalds-which we only went to when we received coupons like “2 Big Macs for $4!” for it in the mail or the local Chinese buffet down the street because you could get the most amount of food for the least amount of money. My parents would encourage me to fill yet another plate from the buffet to eat after I had finished one so that their money spent on the meal would be “worth it”.

I had never been to an actual restaurant-one that was neither a buffet or fast food place until 9th grade when I went to Olive Garden with a group of girls I thought I wanted to be friends. Which, spoiler alert I no longer wanted to be friends after that dinner because they talked shit about this girl who happened to be one of the few people who were actually nice to me. Anyway, my first time at Olive Garden, I thought,”Holyshit, this is fancy! We have a menu? What the fuck is an “appetizer”? We have a server? I tell them what I want and they bring it out to the table for me? Holyshit this is just like what I see in the movies! Oh my god $16 for the fetuccini alfredo?? That’s how much it is total when both me and my dad go to the Chinese buffet! And I only know what fetuccini alfredo is because that’s one of my favorite tv dinner meals that my mom gets for me at Meijer! (our local grocery store we go to because we’d receive weekly ads promoting their discounts and sales in the mail) Ugh! I’m so fucking selfish for spending this much money on just myself when it could be used to feed my parents too!”

I remember working up the courage to ask my parents if I could go to Olive Garden with my friends after being invited a few days prior. “Olive Garden?? Oh that place is too expensive! Why not ask them if you all can go to the Chinese buffet instead?” But obviously I wasn’t going to do that! I had never hungout with these people before, they were all friends with each other, I’m already starting off as the outsider! Doing that would seal my spot as the fucking weirdo odd one out. So instead, I ran up the stairs to my room to shed a tear or two on my pillow and sulk in teenage angst.

Later that evening, my parents called me down to the kitchen. Fuck! They’re about to say some shit that’ll make me wish I was never born I just know it! I went downstairs, sat at the kitchen table with them, and they lectured me for about 30 minutes. About how hard they work to provide for me. And how I need to make perfect 100% A+ grades in school and never make any mistakes ever so that I can make a lot of money and build a good life for myself. Or else I’m nothing. After that whole spiel, which I spent staring at the floor, nodding, and yes, feeling guilty for being alive, they put a $20 bill on the table so I could eat at Olive Garden. Thank you thank you thank you, I’ll be smart with how I use this! I promise I’ll make it worth it!

After taking full advantage of the free breadsticks, scarfing them down my esophagus, one right after another, I ordered the highly anticipated fetuccini alfredo. And listen, I know people are super condescending about Olive Garden. “Eww Olive Garden?” But the only pasta I had ever eaten up until that point were from tv dinners in those little cardboard boxes. So, to me, that fetuccini alfredo was the best fucking thing I had ever tasted. I finished every bite, scraping every ounce of cheese off the plate. Followed by “Wow someone’s hungry!” by the girl sitting across from me. And maybe I was? I don’t remember. But what I do remember is that the whole time at dinner, while everyone talked over each other amidst their shit talking, I was busy inhaling my food and scrutinizing myself in my head. Thinking about how horrible and selfish I am. This $20 could pay for their meals too, but instead I’m spending it all on myself. And that too, made me feel a little resentment toward the people I was with. Because why did they have to invite me? If they didn’t invite me, then my dad would still have this $20 in his wallet. This is so stupid. I wish I never came. At the end of the meal, I took the remaining breadsticks and put it in a to-go box so I could bring it home for my parents to eat too. Because if I can’t get friends out of this, I can at least get these fucking breadsticks.

But the funny thing is, we weren’t poor. We were middle-class with a poor person mindset. Which makes sense because my parents didn’t grow up with much. So they held onto that mindset even when their environment and circumstances changed. And I don’t blame them. Because although they raised me this way, they also raised me to feel extra grateful for everything I have. And gratitude’s important. Sometimes people don’t realize how good they have it until they don’t anymore.

Now, don’t get me wrong. My parents spent money on a few “fun” things too. They bought me a TON of toys as a kid, I think I had more than anyone I knew. I actually formed a superrr strong attachment to my Bratz dolls because since I didn’t have a lot of close friends as a kid, I felt that they were my friends. Like, they were there for me! Waiting for me in their spot in the living room everyday after 8 hours of doing multiplication tables and learning shit I already knew at school! Likeee ok! Most of what we’re being taught here is common sense, everyone else’s brains in this bitch need to catch up because I’m bored!

Anyway, my parents did buy me a lot of the things I wanted. If we’re being honest, most of the things I wanted. They just made it a huge deal every time, emphasizing how hard they work to make me happy. We’re buying this Bratz doll you’ve spent 30 minutes staring at because we love you. They weren’t affectionate or emotionally expressive, so that’s how they showed me their love. Which, btw, my love language now is gifts. Omg you’re spending your hard earned money on me? You’re working hard…for ME?? Investing in me?? You must really love me!

All this to explain how I was…programmed? To feel a wave of guilt for spending money on anything deemed unnecessary. I make my own money now, I can choose how I want to spend it. But not without hearing those echoing thoughts of, “Ugh no Brittany, you don’t need it” or “No, you don’t deserve it. You’ve been so badly lately, you’ve barely done anything productive this week”, “List out all the reasons you should spend money on this”. But sometimes the only reason is that it’ll bring me a little bit of joy. Even just for a second. Don’t I deserve that? Don’t I deserve to feel joy? No, that’s not a valuable enough reason. But why? Why is my happiness not important?

I love my parents. If I knew something would make them happy, like a plane ticket to Vietnam so they could visit their family, or even a freaking lavender scented bottle of lotion (my mom’s favorite scent), and I had the means to give that to them, I would. Why? Because if it brings them joy, even the tiniest ounce, I’d want them to have it. Because I value their happiness. And that’s reason enough. They don’t need to do anything extra. They don’t need to “deserve” their happiness.

So why do we struggle to do that for ourselves? Why is it difficult for us to value our own happiness? And why do we feel guilty when we do? I think a lot of people share these subconscious thoughts. Feeling selfish for doing something solely for their benefit. Feeling like it needs to provide more value than that in order to be worth it. Because apparently our happiness isn’t valuable or necessary enough. But it is! Your happiness is important and you’re so fucking deserving of it too. It doesn’t need to be earned, you don’t need to work yourself to death to be worthy. Your happiness in itself is valuable enough.

The world emphasizes giving giving giving! “What are you contributing to society?”, “What are you doing to make the world a better place?”, “Give back to your community!”, “Wow, this person is so amazing and selfless!” And of course, that’s great! Caring about others is so fucking important. But so is caring about yourself. You can do both. It can be easy to forget about yourself, but hey you exist too! You’re here too, and you’re allowed to have a nice time and contribute to your happiness too. Without any guilt. Without any further justification. Without needing to prove yourself worthy of it.

Don’t just be alive, fucking live!

If there’s something that brings you joy, something you love-whether that be a fancy handbag or shoes, or a week of traveling, give yourself the grace to give that to yourself.