On being defensive

I have often been described as a drama queen. In fact, my family have had me firmly slotted in to this role for as long as I can remember. I must admit that I have certainly played up to the expectation in the past - in the not so distant past if I am completely honest - but it is only as I get older that I have started to question my "natural" over-dramatic reaction to things. While I once accepted that I am "too emotional," or "hot-tempered," I have started to find myself taking time to analyse things before reacting or being able to laugh at myself more often. Perhaps I am not burdened with genetic programming to be forever kicking and screaming and shouting at the injustice of my life and the world in general?

There is a comfort in accepting yourself for who you "really" are, even if you hate that person. A lazy, easy comfort which means you don't have to change certain behaviours. I have been thinking about this a lot lately as my sister has been going through a bit of soul searching - which has led to her searching the souls around her as well. Suddenly someone other than me is questioning my parents' reactions and behaviours, and because I am not the one doing the questioning my parents are responding to this line of questioning to me. The over arching theme in these responses - Defensiveness.

The more questions my sister asks, the more she demands changes in their lives or answers for their past, the further they both plant themselves on the back foot. My mother defends her commitment to motherhood, my father his lifestyle choices - both of them defending their parenting practices to me unsolicited. They are angry and caught off guard, they react quickly and with little reason. They are behaving, well, a bit like I used to. Given further thought, I realise that this behaviour is something that has existed as standard in my family for as long as I can remember. Everyone is always defending themselves, always justifying and reacting before and accusation can even be made. All of us ensuring that we will be the first to strike, lest we be struck upon ourselves. A family who should have a throw cushion with the motto "The best offense is a good defense" embroidered on it.

I have been thinking about what underlies my defensiveness, about what makes me react the most negatively and with the intense need to protect my image/actions/behaviours/personality. It didn't take long to make the connection between my greatest insecurities and the things about me I defend the most. We react this way to protect the fact that deep down we are petrified it is the truth - the truth we have the most difficult time facing about ourselves. For me it is the implication that I am stupid, cruel, unattractive, oversensitive or false in any way. So obvious, as these are the insecurities that creep in when I am left alone for too long. I fight so no one can see that the very things they are insinuating (or not, but that I have percieved them to be) are the cold dark truths I am trying to hide from everyone else.

Not long ago I would have labeled my parents' defensiveness as cruelty and a failure to keep their temper/sense of humour in check when dealing with their children. Today I am starting to look at how scared they must be that the things my sister is touching on, that I touched on so many years ago, are actually true. What fears and insecurities go through my father's head when lies down at night? Is he afraid that a terrible diet and a lifelong battle with obesity will be the end of him? Does he think he is no longer of any use to his daughters now that they have grown up and built lives that he wasn't able to give them as children? And what about my mother - what fears are keeping her awake? Does she worry that her children will never forgive her for past indiscretions? That she will be alone forever? That people only loved her because she was young and beautiful? That she doesn't know how to be a good mother? It is frightening, saddening and incapacitating to think of my parents with such insecurities, with any level of fear or self-doubt.

But perhaps the thing I find the most difficult is how a family full of people who are so unsure of their own value, so desperate to defend their own insecurities, can fight past this heated reaction to find a common ground. Who better could understand my need to feel attractive in order to be valued than my ageing mother - the woman from whom I learned such behaviour? Who could know my need to hide any trace of not knowing the answer better than my father - who is more insecure about his lack of education than anyone I have ever met? Who better to share my concerns about not being a good parent with than my sister, who was raised in the same house and with the same unsure parents that I had? We all have so much support and advice and direction that we could offer each other.

If only we could stop trying to convince each other that we have no insecurities or faults at all.