When I was in high school I put my parents through hell. Entering freshman year I was still angry about having to move houses, school districts, and changed friends the year before. I was also, I suppose, still angry about my parents’ divorce seven years prior. Those frustrations fed my rebellion against anything helpful which came from my parents or step parents.
My freshman year I cared more about my social life, my boyfriend, and rebellion than I did about my GPA and how my decisions would change my future. My parents did not approve of many of my decisions from my early teens. My choice of friends was not great, and neither were my actions.
Whenever my parents attempted a conversation, I turned away. I took all my anger out on them. Even though I ignored their help, they still supported me. I had no idea why they continued to give me hugs even though I rejected them, or why they continued to tell me everything was going to be okay when I was convinced it would not be.
Generally, I knew what my parents thought of my friends; which friends they wanted me to spend more time with, which they hoped I would spend less time with, or which they wished I had never met. Surprisingly, the friends my parents did not like were the friendships which did not last.
In my final year of high school I grew out of my rebellion stage. I worried about my grades and the fact that I had not done best throughout the few years before. Yet, my parents refrained from saying “We told you so;” they only encouraged me to work harder once I had realized how important my decisions were. Although this transformation took place after a fallout with my best friends, a group my parents had always disliked, it was better late than never. I finally realized my parents might know a little more about me than I had thought. By the end of my high school transformation I had found a group of friends my parents adored. My boyfriend was the only boyfriend my parents had been able to sit down and have an actual conversation with, and in correlation, my longest relationship thus far.
Since the end of high school, I no longer dread talking to my parents. I actually like the conversations. I used to hate even speaking to my mom, now I look forward our talks. I call my dad for advice, and my step mom for homework help. I no longer hide my personal life from my parents; in fact, I enjoy sharing.
My parents never gave up on me, no matter how annoying, rebellious, or mean I was. Because of them I believe in unconditional love; the love which is there no matter what mistakes I make. My parents love me no matter how awful I am to them. They were right, things got better. Now I’ll listen when they say, “We told you so.”
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