I have stories. Many… about this very thing. The questioning parent needing me to be perfect was not/is not my Mom. It was/is my Minister of a father. At 36, I still am not freely me because, you know, his image and such. Add the fact that I am unmarried and childless to the equation and the shame piles on. There is hope in my kid sister, though. All money is on her.
My father does not truly know me. I am scared to reveal bits of me to him. He needs the bubbled version of me. I let him keep it. I love him enough to let that be so. I love me enough to continue to be me, though.
Secretively. Get this, this is the part that hurts the most. I understand, Kare. I felt this, it gripped me. I hear you.