Perception vs Reality

I had a boss once who was fond of saying, “Perception is reality”. It didn’t work out too well for him (he was in jail, last I heard) but I don’t think it plays well as a life motto in general. It’s certainly not what I want to be known for. I don’t want to live a life governed by the opinions of others. I want to be true to myself and the values I hold dear. I don’t want to be perceived as something, I want to actually be that thing, you know? Otherwise it’s just an act and I’m a big phony. Authenticity is important to me. And, although I no longer feel the urge to defend myself, I do feel the need to speak some truth. Because honesty was drilled into me from the cradle by my wackadoodle mother and because perception is NOT reality. Reality is reality. The things we say and do matter. Who we are matters.

My father and his wife showed up at my house this morning unannounced. I was at Walmart, buying pedialyte and meds for Boogie, who’d been violently puking for several hours. Melissa was working outside but heading in to help with the latest round of vomit when the car drove up. She says she said something like: oh, FUCK this day! as she went inside to Puketopia, leaving them in the driveway. (And, really, how else would you sum up a morning like this?) Melissa went in the house and called me to say my dad was there. I literally walked away from my full cart and got in the car. I arrived home less than five minutes later and found Melissa hugging a sobbing Bean in the driveway. Dad and Darla were nowhere to be seen, but there were two jars of Dad’s Damn Good Jam sitting on the ground at Bean’s feet.

It took me a few minutes to untangle the whole story, but apparently Bean decided she wanted to speak her mind and went outside to talk to them while Melissa was in Puketopia with Boogie. She said my dad hugged her (“he hugged me like he didn’t expect me to be angry with him!” she sobbed) and she didn’t really know how to say all the things she felt, so she sorta froze up. Dad started shouting about how the kids can’t be mad at him for not being around because it was her parents’ fault, not his. Bean says she told him that he’d chosen this and he didn’t get to be mad about it now, at which point he put the jam on the ground and they left, still yelling as they got in the car.

I’ve had both my dad and Darla blocked for months, but i was simply too mad to ignore his behavior. I unblocked them both and called first him, then her. At least three times each. It’s probably good they didn’t answer at first – I would not have been able to manage my emotions. I called him a coward for not answering, which I know is his trigger button and would get a response.

His :ahem: perception is that he did nothing wrong. I mean, naturally. That’s pretty much his MO in everything. He’s got a chip on his shoulder so large it blocks the sun and he’s always the victim of being grossly misunderstood. His perception is that he’s a good guy who tried his best and I am a truly ungrateful and disrespectful child who’s making all of this drama up “for a good story and so people will feel sorry for me”. (Direct quote from today’s convo. Touching, ain’t it?) His perception is that I have poisoned my children against him and have sullied his reputation with my lies.

Ahhh, that perception. She’s a tricky one.

Here’s a dose of reality. I am fully aware that I see every situation through my own biases and core beliefs. (Working through that and rooting out the icky ones has often been a topic here; I don’t think I have a transparency issue.) So, although I might misunderstand his motives, the actions are reality. These things happened. You did what you did. Maybe you didn’t intend to run over the cat; doesn’t make it any less dead. What happened, really happened. I am not crazy or hallucinatory.

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me either. That’s not why I do this. This is part of me working through my emotional baggage. And I think that these things I struggle with are pretty universal, so maybe it’s a way of trying to help someone else along this same path. I don’t want pity for the things I feel; I’m explaining it as vividly as I can because you need to know that grief can feel like you’re actually dying. You aren’t crazy because you feel so deeply. And that someone else has been there and they survived, so maybe you can, too. That is why I write this blog.

My dad ended our 16 minute conversation when I said that everything I’ve written here is true. It is absolutely astounding to me that, after nearly two years without his grandkids, we were even talking about a blog to begin with. Like… THAT’S where you wanna plant your flag? Let’s start with you berating and swearing at my child. How about we discuss the twenty different ways you pushed me out of your life? Should we talk about the fact that you didn’t invite me to your wedding? That you’ve called my friends and my bosses to talk trash about me? I have a lengthy list of things I’ve never discussed publicly. It’s a kindness he doesn’t deserve, especially after attacking Bean and driving away this morning. Coward doesn’t even begin to address the things I’ve called him in my head today.

Then the text message barrage started, so I re-blocked them both. Good riddance. I will not be gaslit into rewriting my own story and I will not feel sorry for speaking the truth. Maybe try be a better human being so the truth won’t sound so shitty. Perception is not reality. Reality is reality. And the reality is that you’re not anyone I want to be around.

PS:

Hi Dad. Gosh, hope you were telling the truth when you said you hadn’t read my blog in a year. That’d make it pretty awkward to get mad over, right? Cuz you always tell the truth.

In the words of my mother: WHAT. EVER.