“You have no right to do wrong“

A nurse told me the truth. She told me without knowing me, without knowing my situation outside of my Dad’s rapidly failing health. She felt inspired to speak to me, the authentic me. She talked of God and fear and joy. She talked of ways to die with peace and dignity and ways to die holding onto fear. And in the midst of her spiritual counsel she looked me in my eye and said “You have no right to do wrong.”

God’s property. She told me I was god’s property, given life by his will, and I had no place doing wrong with his belongings.

This is not the first time I’ve been told this. But God keeps trying with me. Keeps sending me messages and messengers. One has been steadfast, giving years of his life to communicating with me. And I am like my father. Headstrong and determined to do what I have willed myself to do. My father would rather rush to his grave than to suffer through a thing he has decided is not for him. His desire to be right may take his life. And he must know this but still he holds fast.

I am my father’s daughter. Determined. Steady. Strong when I want to be. But so many times I hold fast to what’s wrong. I mean, really, I put a death grip on the thing, the desire, the idea of what is best for me and no matter how many times I’m told or even shown that I’m wrong, I will not let go. In fact, those times of telling me strengthen my hold. Because I stand to lose even more if I’m wrong now that I’m facing of such opposition.

My family is into appearances. But not just to look good but to overlook or even hide what we really do and who we really are. My family expects me to present as a good daughter, educated, capable, and without pain or problem. I am burdened by an expectation of normalcy and even exceptionalism without the foundation of safety and nurturance. And if I show the cracks in the facade I’m betraying us all. If I tell my secrets I’m encouraged to get therapy. And I’m also told to leave the family secrets out of it. Let people handle their own shit.

There’s validity to some of it. My shit is my shit, after all. I can do with it what I will. But what if it creates shit for you? Are you to be expected to keep my secret and only discuss what has been created for you? Am I to discuss how I abandoned my daughter and hid her outcries and not discuss the family, and the culture that created that particular monster? How would you suggest I go about it? What happens when someone asks – but why would you do that? Ah. I’m on my own there.

I’m choosing a two step strategy to attack the darkness in me. First, acknowledging what I’ve done and owning it. Not making endless excuses for it or pretending it away. Second, acknowledging the system that shaped me. The pool of secrets and lies that I emerged from. And from there, I’ll overlay that phrase from the nurse. I’ll take the data and color it with the mantra – you have no right to do wrong.

I have no right to hide darkness.

I have no right to pretend to be different (better) than I am.

I have no right to put my child or any child into harms way, no matter whether I experienced that myself.

I have no right to protect the reputation of anyone who is doing wrong.

I have no right to waste my time in this world on chasing the wrong.

I have no right to be wrong.

So then I have to do what’s natural and what’s been set out for me. I have to do what’s right.