If you’re not perfect you don’t deserve it. I learned that lesson on perfection at a very young age.
I grew up as a musician, and while playing perfectly was never required, it was always expected. I often played well—thousands of songs without a note out of place. I played most songs as they were intended, at least when I knew the music. My father, however, had a penchant for ad-libbing, forcing me—a Taurus who isn’t one for spontaneity—to improvise. I would actually cry.
Crying on stage was forbidden, but at a backyard graduation, wedding, or engagement party, it was tolerated.
I knew I had played well, but that was never the feedback I received. It began to dawn on me: If it’s not perfect, you don’t deserve it.
I’m not a parent but in my research I’ve uncovered that self-worth starts to develop in childhood around the concept of entitlement. The most dangerous word in the language of self-worth is deserve.
But that’s not the story.
The story isn’t about the criticisms…
The very harsh criticisms.
It’s not even about the insults.
Nor is it about the hours of practice, practice, practice that resulted in very little pay. (Another brutal ‘You don’t deserve it’ message).
The story is about the nice things—the special gestures.
It’s not about the many hurts, because you hope those are unintentional, so they go unnoticed. That happens to everyone. The real story is this: If you have the courage to ask the people around you, “What’s the nicest thing you think you’ve ever done for me?” what do you think the answer might be?
For every kind gesture that someone is denied, there’s a rationale that reflects the outcome of the most unfair coin.
One side says, you didn’t deserve it. The other side says, you didn’t need it.
There’s no good time to earn this lesson. There’s no appropriate time to accept this rationale as part of life. And learning it at a young age is perhaps the worst time.
I knew for most of my life that I would never be perfect. That wasn’t the side of the coin my luck resided on. I accepted that I just didn’t deserve it. A dangerous ideology, no doubt, but you can’t control those kinds of thoughts, no matter how hard you try.
It’s dysmorphic. It’s not what life looks like, but that’s the way you see it.
So then the challenge becomes figuring out if you can get new outcomes from the same people. If the people you’ve known didn’t think you deserved better or more, then what’s the point of asking for it?
What would be the point of trying to squeeze juice from old fruit?
At some point, you realize that asking for more from those who’ve already placed a limit on your worth feels pointless. You start wondering if they ever saw your potential or if they ever will.
The real question is whether it’s them who need to change, or if it’s you.
Can you alter how they see you, or is it time to find people who already understand your value?
Do you continue hoping for something different, or stop trying to get more from people who can’t give it?
Rationally, you can accept that the people in your life just don’t have the capacity to appreciate you, so you start to fill the gaps. The older you get, the better you become at giving yourself what you know you need. Your self-talk evolves, and eventually, you can afford—literally and metaphorically—to take care of yourself. Until you can’t.
Until you realize you’re doing the work of the people who are supposed to be around you.
When you parent yourself, it means no one else is parenting you. When you’re a friend to yourself, you leave less room for others to give you what you need.
The story starts to reshape itself, and you wonder: If it’s so easy for you to do it, why was it so hard for others?
What held them back from acknowledging your hard work, saying kind things, or giving you praise?
Why was giving you attention such a chore?
Didn’t you deserve it?
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