The Parrot Effect

Have you ever been told “good girl”?

This entry might as well be called the dog effect, the cat effect, the pet effect. The essence is the same. People treat other people like they ‘re ordering their pets. Now, combine that thought with parenting and let your imagination go wild.

My mother, the loud person that she is, wished for years to adopt a talking parrot. I on the other hand, the quiet freak as I am, didn’t. As I am a twentysomething living with my narcissistic mom, my opinion on the matter didn’t count to the last decision making. So, we got a parrot. The bird ended up being quite quiet and my life wasn’t burdened with any more sounds in this house. In time though, I did notice something disturbing.

I ‘m spending afternoons in my room with the door open so the space doesn’t get cold. That’s when I get the chance to relive my childhood years. I couldn’t see anything wrong with my mother’s attitude towards the parrot in the first days. It was completely normal to compliment your pet when it does what you want it to do. What wasn’t normal was for me to be able to relate.

I have been raised as a pet, to be a pet, to act as a pet. I have been raised to be around and do whatever makes people compliment me. “How pretty you are now that you ‘ve bathed!”, “Look how obedient she is, she ate when I told her!”, “What a good girl I have here! She brought me what I asked for!”, “What a smart girl! She did her homework!”. Oh yeah, in case you lost me, I was the receiver of those compliments.

To other people, this realization might have been more shocking but uh-uh, not for me. I am in peace with my inner pet. I realized I lived like that quite some time ago. It must be some kind of a natural instinct of survival that made me enjoy being ordered to do things or even doing what others want me to.

Let me clarify this. I am a sub. A submissive in BDSM sex. A.k.a. a pet. I like it. I like being punished or rewarded when catering to someone else’s wishes. My very first sexual fantasies as a child involved things I didn’t want to do. Things I imagined my life hanging from. Before society even had the chance to ruin my sexual fantasies, at the age of four -I think- I had this kind of thoughts. Since the whole thing did not stem from weird porn or someone else giving me ideas, and as long as science hasn’t pinpointed any genes responsible for masochistic tendencies, I knew from the beginning the source of my sexual preferences was something I must have grown to.

I remember wondering where I got these urges for so much time. I was almost certain that my family was responsible but I really couldn’t figure out how because direct orders were given during fights or if I had dome something wrong. But an order is not always direct. “If you do your homework before watching any television, mommy is going to be so happy!” “Getting good grades will mean you are smart and all we want is a smart daughter.” “You are not going to be happy unless you finish primary school with straight As”. “Why an A and not an A+, are you not the best any more?” Those not only are orders but they ‘re traumatic sentences that stick with you as long as you live.

By this point you might be thinking I hate myself and what I’ve been made into. Jee, no! Exactly the opposite. Now that I have pinpointed the source of who I am and why, I know better. I know me better. So what if I take pleasure serving others? Is it less of a pleasure? Am I less happy? If you know you do something, you know how to use it to your advantage. For my case, all I need to do is to choose wisely the people in my life. I need to see if they really care for my well being. If they do, they ‘re in. If they don’t, to hell with them.

I cannot change they way I was raised. I cannot change who I am to that extent. I can use what I have, though, to make myself happy, whatever that process includes. Judge me all you can, say I’m in denial. Say I am sentimentally lazy. Afterwards, think of how much bravery is needed for a person to accept how fucked up they truly are and reconsider.