Growing up, to be loved required me to make sure others were happy first. If I expressed my own emotions, they were used against me. If I expressed my own needs, they were considered a nuisance and silenced. I was rewarded and acknowledged for chores well done, good grades, and making others happy. It was all about what I did to meet others’ expectations and make them happy, not about who I was being.
The human behavior has always been one of the fascinating subjects in psychology. However, the mystery of what factor in life is it that makes us behave the way we do remains unanswered. Psychologists all over the world have spent years on determining the behavioral influences and until now, genetic inheritance and nurture are by far the most reasonable explanations when it comes to human behavior. There have been arguments about whether or not genetic inheritance influences an individual’s personality along with numerous studies to support the idea, including the study of Leonard L. Heston and J. M. Baily & R. C. Pillard, which are two famous examples when it comes to genetic inheritance.
Maybe I didn’t get the cool art job I wanted in a museum and maybe I’m not with the hottest, richest man and yeah, maybe I could lose a few pounds and perhaps put some nicer makeup on and look more girly and maybe I could stop getting tattoos and maybe my stretched ears are too much for some to handle and maybe, just maybe I could stop comparing myself to all the fake lives posted on Facebook and Instagram with the fake smiles and fake poses and fake bodies photoshopped and set up photo shoots that make you look desperate for attention and likes.
I dashed for the elevator, happy to be done with yet another session of physical therapy on my surgically repaired shoulder. How much longer before my upper body feels normal again? Will I ever be able to play basketball or suffer through yoga or lift a barbell again? What about the basics… reaching for the top shelf of the pantry or exiting the car, without a twinge or a pull or a jolt? I’m 62 years old, and my weekend warrior body has been breaking down for a while now... Has the inevitable finally arrived?
After being diagnosed with anxiety and depression, I started trying to work out what exactly was making things more difficult than they used to be. At first, I thought that it had a lot to do with feeling like I was constantly trudging through a field of sludgy mud, on a foggy day with little idea where the edge of the field was. I still think this has a lot to do with it. More recently, I realised that there’s something else that plays quite a big role, at least for me. I don’t seem to be able to just get up and do things anymore. Instead my brain mulls over the things I have to do, it can feel like just a few minutes to me but when I check the clock, I’ll find I’ve lost hours at a time.