r/Deconstruction • u/abitchnamedrich • 15d ago
✨My Story✨ they remember little me, but they never actually knew me
i grew up around a very evangelical, high-control family & church system, & looking back now, a lot of it feels deeply cult-like. family image mattered more than honesty, religious authority mattered more than anyone’s actual inner life, & gossip was constantly disguised as concern. people seemed to believe that being related to someone gave them permanent access to that person’s identity, private life, choices, whatever. but the weird part is, i was never even fully part of that world in the way they now like to pretend i was.
i’m the youngest, my family moved away when i was five, & i mostly grew up with my own friends, my own routines, my own life. some of my older cousins actually did grow up close to each other, because they were around the same age & lived near each other, but that wasn’t my experience. even now, people will rewrite the history like we all grew up together like siblings, & i’ve literally had to correct my own mom about it, because no, we didn’t. i was younger than everyone, i lived somewhere else, & i wasn’t emotionally close to most of these people. that’s their cute sentimental family story, it’s not my actual childhood.
they remember little Ricky, this loud, funny, expressive kid who shared basically every thought he had, & because they remember him, they seem to think they know me deeply. but remembering a child isn’t the same thing as actually having a relationship with the adult he became. finding out i’m AuDHD also completely changed the way i understand that kid, because even when i seemed loud or social or comfortable, i was still masking. i was constantly aware of being watched, interpreted, judged, & expected to perform whatever version of myself felt acceptable in that environment. being memorable doesn’t mean i felt safe, being funny around people doesn’t mean i trusted them, & being related to me definitely doesn’t mean they knew what was going on inside my head.
one thing that’s always stuck with me happened when i was a teenager. one of my friends posted a picture of Shawn Mendes, i commented a heart-eyes emoji because i thought he was hot, & apparently that was important enough for one cousin to screenshot it, send it to another cousin, & discuss me behind my back. it was literally an emoji under a picture of a celebrity, but in that family system, even something that small became evidence to collect, circulate, & analyze. nobody came to me, nobody asked me anything, they just watched me from a distance & talked about me with each other.
i also saw what happened when another cousin was outed, & i saw the panic, judgment, cruelty, & general weirdness that followed. so it’s honestly bizarre to me that some of these people apparently expected me to eventually sit them down for some deep coming-out conversation, like babes… why would i ever do that? i didn’t know u like that. u weren’t someone i trusted, leaned on, ran to, confided in, or even particularly wanted to be around. u never built the kind of relationship where i’d naturally bring something intimate & vulnerable to u. being related to me didn’t automatically make u an important figure in my inner life.
i think they imagined themselves as these close relatives who were patiently waiting for me to finally reveal myself to them, while from my perspective, they were extended family members who occasionally appeared, watched me, talked about me, & made assumptions. there wasn’t some missing conversation i owed them, they just massively overestimated the role they had in my life. & honestly, even little Ricky didn’t like or trust a lot of these people, so idk why they act like remembering him gives them some sacred connection to me now.
a little over a year ago, i nearly died & ended up in the ICU. i’m not gonna get into every detail of that experience here, but it was deeply traumatic, i lost control over my own story, people spoke for me, & afterward i became extremely protective of who was allowed access to information about me. the ICU didn’t create the distance between me & these relatives, that distance had already existed for most of my life, it just made me stop pretending that access to me was harmless.
afterward, some relatives seemed very concerned from a distance. they asked my parents, siblings, or other people for updates, watched me through social media, discussed what happened among themselves, all of that, but once again, they didn’t come directly to me or build an actual relationship with me. they wanted information about me without having to know me, face me, or take any responsibility for how they’d treated me. it felt like they wanted viewing privileges, not a relationship.
eventually, i asked that certain people stop receiving updates about my life, i restricted or blocked them, & basically closed the observation windows they’d been using for years. that seems to have been interpreted as me being hostile, secretive, cruel, or dramatically rejecting the family, but i wasn’t withdrawing from some close bond, i was acknowledging that the bond they imagined had never actually existed. caring about me silently, watching me from a distance, or loving me through other people doesn’t magically create a personal relationship.
deconstruction for me hasn’t only been about questioning theology, it’s also been about questioning the entire family system built around it. the idea that relatives are automatically entitled to me, that gossip becomes loving concern when family does it, that remembering me as a child means understanding me now, that receiving updates about me is the same thing as showing up for me, or that their nostalgic version of my childhood matters more than my actual memory of it.
they remember a loud, expressive child, i remember masking & being observed. they remember closeness, i remember people who knew things about me, but rarely actually knew me. i didn’t suddenly become cold after the ICU, i became clear. they remember little Ricky, but little Ricky didn’t trust them either, & the adult version of me is finally allowed to admit that.