Guest Contributor – Lindsey Cox
Every family has one. You know how people always refer to their crazy uncle or their wacky cousin, and someone responds, “Well, every family has one!” I guess that’s true. Thing is, my family had all of them. Like, the whole damn clan was a hot mess express.
Now, let me defend some of you who are currently crossing me off the Christmas card list or scratching my name off the family reunion invites (that we never have). My immediate family—the ones who resided within the confines of my house growing up—were “the ones.”
The Black Sheep: Burden or Blessing?
Are you the black sheep of your family? Is that a deserving title? Do we even really know what it means?
In earlier times, the black sheep of the herd was frowned upon because its wool couldn’t be dyed to sell. Therefore, the sheep was deemed less than—unworthy of praise, or whatever high honor is bestowed upon the white sheep. I guess being shaved into a bald, weird-ass-looking mutant animal was hip in the world of sheep.
In modern times, the black sheep is often seen as an outcast. Sometimes, they’re the disgrace of the family (according to whoever the powers that be are, I guess). They might be a troublemaker, a wayward soul, someone without purpose, or simply not living up to the expectations of their family.
But what if we flipped the narrative?
If the black sheep is the outcast, the one who follows an unconventional path, the one who doesn’t blend in—could they be the best one in the bunch?
I come from a long line of addicts and alcoholics. Most women in my family barely make it to 40 years old. The men went out in less-than-desirable fashions at a young age, too. So, if I overcame my demons and became a comeback kid of sorts—maybe being the black sheep is actually a good thing?
The Weight of Words
I distinctly remember my mother telling me, numerous times, in various ways, how she hoped she lived long enough to see me marry a real piece of shit and live a miserable existence.
Who says things like that? And to their own child? And smiles while saying it?
A sick person. That’s who.
That doesn’t make it any less hurtful, but it helps to recognize that someone who says things like that is so tortured mentally that they just can’t help themselves. I don’t need a therapist to tell me that much.
Do I think she meant it? No. I think hurt people hurt people, and sometimes they don’t even realize how damaging they are. Or, worse, they don’t have enough marbles rolling around in their head to even care.
The Things We Can’t Take Back
Has anyone ever told you that you can’t take back something once you’ve said it? I think that’s true.
You can try to make up for it, ask for forgiveness, and be kinder in the future—but whatever has been said simply cannot be unsaid. And that’s a sad truth.
If you’re human (which, my guess is, you are), you’ve let something slip out of your mouth and regretted it almost immediately. You may have even tried to stop mid-sentence once you realized what kind of verbal diarrhea you were about to explode upon someone.
I know I have.
Especially when I was drinking heavily. Probably said things I can’t even remember—and sure as hell don’t want to.
Why Do We Hurt the Ones We Love?
We hurt the ones closest to us. But why?
I’m no expert, but here’s what I think.
If I yell at my husband (God bless his little pea-picking heart, as my Granny would say), chances are he will forgive me. It may take time, some tail-tucking, and a whole lot of begging and apologizing, but I can usually semi-undo whatever shit show I put on.
That said, the tickets to my shit show are no longer a hot commodity.
With sobriety, I’ve found I am a much more pleasant, patient, and less butt-headed human. Fathers, mothers, siblings—those closest to our inner circle—seem to feel compelled to forgive us.
And we take that for granted.
I know I have. And I probably will again. It’s called being human.
But we have to remember: every single word, every single conversation, every single moment with someone could be our last.
That thought keeps me in check these days.
The Best Advice I Ever Ignored
My husband’s grandparents were wonderful, loving, sweet people. Before we were even engaged, they always told us:
“Never go to bed angry.”
We’ve all heard this before, and we brush it off.
But really think about it for a minute.
If your last conversation with someone was unkind, accusatory, or hateful, how would you feel if you never saw them again?
We toss around “Never go to bed angry” like it’s just an old saying, but if you really think about it, it’s powerful.
And, side note—ADHD Lindsey can’t help herself—Eli’s grandma was the sweetest woman who ever lived. Do not argue with me on this. I will prove you wrong.
When we moved her into an assisted living home, my brothers-in-law, my husband, and I had to move her super heavy (because old-school furniture was built like a damn tank) bed into her new room.
As we set it down, she smoothed her hand over the comforter and, with a bittersweet smile, said:
“I made all three of my children right here on this bed.”
I have no idea how we didn’t die from lack of oxygen from laughing. And from being mortified.
From that moment forward, we nicknamed it “The Old Workbench.” My father-in-law coined it just to make us all cringe a little more.
And cringe we did.
The One Who Changed the Story
So, every family has one.
I always thought of this as a negative.
But now? Now, I own it.
I am that one.
- The one who self-inflicted years of pain.
- The one who couldn’t forgive herself.
- The one who didn’t measure up despite successes, degrees, and accomplishments.
- The one who was supposed to fail, to prove her mother right.
- The one who was supposed to lose the battle to addiction.
Only, I changed the story.
I am the one who fought and won.
I am the one who proved people wrong when they said I’d turn out just like the rest of my family.
So, yes, every family does have one.
The comeback kid.
The black sheep who didn’t fit in with the flock.
And yes, I am that one.
The proud one.
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