Good Girl

I despise this trend that has taken to social media to call women a good girl. I despise it because I used to crave it. Crave it like a man stranded in the beating sun of the dessert craves water.

It used to turn me on. I remember the first time the predator called me a good girl. It woke something in me that I thought had long been forgotten and buried. It was jarring to me how good it made me feel. It made me feel like he was truly seeing ME. It made me feel like enough for him for a fleeting moment. It made me feel understood.

So, let's unpack this...

Being excited about being called a good girl, is a very big red flag that something isn't right on the inside. The fact that being called a good girl elated me so much...I mean literally changed my moods on a dime and brought me out of depressions...SHOULD have told me that I needed that external validation for a reason. So, what reasons could be lurking that would cause this visceral reaction?

When I was young, like 5-ish I think, is the first time I remember my mom telling me to be a good girl. It was a simple statement. "Be a good girl at school today." she said as she was leaving for work one morning. My dad was the one that was taking me to Kindergarten because he worked nights at the time.

I remember that I had wanted so badly to please my mother. To make her proud of me. I held her on a pedestal. I admired her so much; hung on her every word. She was everything I wanted to be. She knew everything, I thought. She worked full time outside our home. Inside our home, she knew instinctively when my brother was lying to her (which was always), helped us with homework (which was far more challenging for my brother than I), cooked our meals, did the grocery shopping, and took care of the house inside and out. She did EVERYTHING. She was like a superhero to me. I saw in her a strong, educated, wise, and powerful woman when I looked at her. She used to tell me stories about her childhood growing up - her damaged mother, her alcoholic, abusive father who left when she was 13 to go start a new family, the men that had come and gone from her life and taken advantage of her or hurt her in some way - and I used to think, "Wow! She lived through all of that and she still turned out so successful!" Because of all of that, when my mother told me to do something, I went above and beyond to do it. I, as I said, strived to be JUST like her. And I couldn't wait for the day that she said she was proud of me. That I WAS a good girl.

In my childish mind, the day she gave me that simple and common command, it meant that I wasn't a good girl yet. I hadn't achieved what would be expected from a good girl. So, I thought that there was more that I had to do. I felt lost and defeated - at 5 years old - because I thought my mom didn't think I was a good girl.

After that, I became much more diligent about making sure she saw my "good girl" behavior. This went on for years. I was bringing home straight A report card (except for PE) because I knew my mother valued education. If I ever saw my brother step one toe out of line, I was right there in a flash reporting back to my mom - not so that my brother would get in trouble - so she would see that I was being well-behaved. I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. I was being honest. I wasn't keeping secrets or pulling stunts or trying to get away with anything. And more than that, I recognized that my brother wasn't following the rules or orders she set for us and I knew that she would want to know that.

The summer after 6th grade, we moved to a new town. I was gonna be starting middle school in a brand new community knowing no one. As we all know, middle school is probably the worst hell you face as a kid because adolescence sucks. So I was on edge, hormonal, and scared my first day of 7th grade. I remember my mom coaxing me out of bed that morning as she scurried around the house getting ready for work. I remember timidly telling her over breakfast about my trepidatious feelings for the day, afraid of her condemning me for them. "I should be strong like her. My problems were so insignificant compared to what she's been through in her life; what she deals with on a daily basis even now. Right? " I remember her telling me, "You're going to school whether you know anyone or not. I have to get to work and I don't have time for this. Stop complaining and go get ready because if you make me late, I'll take it out of your hide later." The underlying message that I interpreted from that? "You aren't being a good girl. You're causing problems. You are a bother and disappointment." I went back to my room to get dressed that morning feeling so bad that I had bothered her with my silly confession. What would mom do in my situation? Well, obviously, she would buck up and face her fears head on. She would go to school and make new friends and be the best damn student that anyone ever saw. So, that's what I tried to do. My attempt that first day was both positive and negative. I did make new friends. I still talk to one of them on a very regular basis. The reason I don't talk to the rest of them is my choice for various reasons. I also discovered that day that this new community that we had moved to, taught much farther into most subjects covered in elementary education. I didn't know what a square root was yet. I had never written an essay. And I had never heard of any of the stuff they were talking about in science. I knew my days of straight A report cards were over...but I still tried. I quickly became a C student, except for English class and Home Economics. When my mother saw my first report card, I saw the disappointment on her face. Heard it in her words. "Try harder." "You aren't being a good girl"

This carried into high school clear up to my junior year. That was when I met the pedophile arsonist...while he was still in jail. I had begun writing to him through the introduction and encouragement of one of my friends. At first, my mother was concerned, as she should have been. But, after his mother reached out to me (before he got out) and invited me over for dinner so she could meet "This girl that is more important to call on my anniversary than me.", my mother became as excited and giddy about the relationship as I was. Subconsciously, I felt like I was finally doing something right again in my mother's eyes. I had found a man to love me and take care of me. And after he got out, and his ankle monitor came off, and he was looking to leave his parents house, when my immature and infatuated brain suggested for him and me to live together, she was onboard with no hesitation. When she and I were alone together, she would speak to me about my future with him frequently. What our wedding was gonna be like...what we should name our kids. I was so excited for all of it. What I didn't realize at the time, was that I wasn't excited for that stuff with him. The thought of spending my life with him scared me. I was excited about feeling like I was doing the right thing in my mother's eyes. I was excited because I felt like I was being a good girl for my mom. So, if staying in this shitty, dead end relationship with that loser was what she wanted me to do, then, by God, I was gonna do it. When it inevitably ended with him years later, and I wound up moving in with my mom at her new beau's house, her disappointment in the entire situation was evident to me constantly. I felt lost again. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't stand letting my mom down in the ways that I had.

When the arrogant genius came into my life, my mother was ELATED and literally told me so. My relationship with him started in an online chat room. He lived in Pennsylvania and graduated from Penn State University to become a chemical engineer. He was literally a genius (member of MENSA and everything), down to earth, funny, and financially stable. I felt like I hit the jackpot. I had found a guy that was actually a good guy...AND I made my mom proud of me at the same time. As my relationship with him progressed...and he stayed in Pennsylvania while I was stuck in Iowa...I became less and less fulfilled with the relationship. There were other factors in play also, but the big one was he refused to relocate closer to me or let me move closer to him. When I expressed my dissatisfaction with this situation to my mom, she said, "Tell him to shit, or get off the pot. You've been together for more than a year now. It's time things progress and I can't afford to keep sending you out there for visits." I took her words to heart, and gave him an ultimatum that night when we talked on the phone. He said he wasn't ready yet, but he didn't want to break up. He asked for more time. I reluctantly gave in to him. What would my mother think about the way I caved to him? My roommates at the time were two girls I had met in middle school and stayed in touch with since then. I felt at the time that they were trustworthy, so when they told me that the best way to speed things up with him was to start seeing other guys and make it known that I have other men interested, I believed them. As I was getting ready to go to the club that night and find other men to be interested in me, I remember thinking, "If this works, I won't have to tell my mom I backed down from my ultimatum. I won't have to see that disappointment on her face." As you can probably guess, that situation turned into a wild fire of other horrible decisions, and I wound up getting burned pretty badly in the end. When Mom found out what happened...there it was. That look. "I raised you better than that." "You're not being a good girl."

The predator was the worst. Probably because by the time he came into my life, I was well on my way with gathering feelings of animosity towards my mom, and he flamed them. I had so much inner turmoil going on constantly inside of me. I still loved her and wanted to make her proud of me. To hear those words. "You're such a good girl." But, at the same time, I was tired of feeling like I was never enough in her eyes; feeling like a constant disappointment to her. Never achieving anything to make her proud of me. That turned into anger towards her. I began to villainize her and see her in a far more critical light. The predator was more than happy to help point out her flaws and mistakes to me. She never liked the predator. Not even a little bit. Not from day one. I knew this. I now know, that her dislike of him was part of the reason I clung to him. He was my rebellion. He was my "You're never gonna be proud of me anyway. You always think I'm a disappointment. So, I'll be one." For 22 years I gave my mother the metaphorical middle finger. Don't get me wrong. That was not the ONLY reason I stayed. There were many others. Most of them don't have anything to do with her. But that reason...rebelling against her like that...I now realize that was a pretty big part of why.

During that time I began looking for my worth and validation from him more, rather than my mother as much. That's how abusive and controlling relationships work. They convince you that they are all you need while severing you from all of your other relationships. I was the perfect candidate for that, as my mother had unwittingly groomed me to that victim mindset my whole life.

The day he said to me, "You're such a good girl.", it set fireworks off inside of me. He said it because I had cleaned the house that day and done the grocery shopping and had dinner on the table when he got home from work. I was a stay home mom. I had done these same things repeatedly for years for him without a single word of gratitude. When he said that to me though, it made me want to continue doing it for the rest of my life. It made me feel like the previous years of abuse and struggle and alcoholism and infidelity were all worth it. It made me feel like he was finally seeing me; like I finally got through to him and he was ready to start giving me back the love and commitment and loyalty I had been giving to him for over a decade already. It bolstered my desire to sacrifice for his joy and entertainment. So, when he suggested later that I let him write derogatory words on my face in lipstick and then have sex, I agreed, even though I didn't want to do that. When he suggested I let him take pictures of me after he wrote those derogatory words on my face, I agreed, even thought I didn't want to do that. And when I finally...very timidly...told him that I was feeling uncomfortable with the scenario playing out, and he said, "Hang on. I'm almost done." I didn't speak up again. "Love is sacrifice. Love is pain. That's what Mom said. Doing this for him is what a good girl would do."

I have since realized that I don't need to be told that I am a good girl by anyone. I know that I am. I am strong, educated, wise, and powerful. I have survived a damaged mother, a father who left to go start another life, and all the men who used, abused, and hurt me in one way or another. And I'm still here fighting. I am just like my mother.

Why would I want someone to call me a good girl, when I am, in fact, a fucking amazing woman?