This post is probably going to get a little bit real. And by probably, I mean, it is. I have revamped my blog, personalised the domain and in turn further personalised the content I will discuss. This coming post is one I have been too scared to publish for a long while but have personally been struggling with for even longer.
Let’s start with the basics. I bet you’re wondering what on earth ‘storge’ is, it sounds like im craving stodge, aka bread, pasta and all those other delicious carbohydrates out there! But no, storge is a form of love…
Quoting from Thought Catalogue, Storge can be defined as:
Storge is one of seven types of love and is also the one that I crave most of all. All the others are easy to explain away but this one will forever plague me. Now for the purpose of understanding, I am the child in this definition. It wasn’t until this time last year that I began to realise that I felt deep in my heart that I was missing something from my life. Working day to day as a nanny while I study and write on the side, I began to see the love and care bestowed upon the children around me. For a while I didn’t understand why I was always leaving their home with a heavy heart and a desire to curl up under my duvet and eat snacks that would make me feel even worse about myself. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore seeing parents and children showing each other the love they have, we need more of it in this dark world! But behind the happiness and warm exterior I was feeling what I would soon come to realise was envy… and an essence of ‘why me?’
As I have grown up, looked back on my childhood years as well as studying for a degree in psychology, I have come to a greater understanding of why I am the person I am today. The only question I have yet to answer is ‘what came first, the chicken or the egg?’ You see, I had a picture perfect upbringing with the traditional nuclear family, two parents, two sons, one daughter. On the surface it all seemed so delightful and quaint. And honestly, it was pretty great; I never went without, I had parents who I knew would always be there for me, and I grew up with a large circle of friends. My biggest worry (on the surface) was what I’d be taking as a snack to school the next day. And then eventually, fully grown, I went off to university, unattached to my upbringing and noticing that I was the odd one who didn’t miss their family or have their family visit their halls of residence. I wasn’t excited to head home during reading weeks or holidays. I was merely indifferent.
Admittedly, this wasn’t anything new for me. Despite the picture perfect image, I didn’t feel much of a connection with my family and if i’m honest, the more time I spent away from them the more I began to realise how much I didn’t feel the love I was ‘supposed’ to feel from them. I wanted to cuddles, the closeness, the intimacy that I saw my friends receiving from their parents, albeit under duress and embarrassment. But along with this indifference, I was left with a feeling of guilt. Was it my fault that there was no connection? Was it my fault that I felt this way? Especially as it seemed that no one else in my family was feeling anything similar? Why didn’t my parental units feel close to me? Why didn’t they seem to care in the way that others did?
As time went on I came to peace with the fact that I would never feel the love and connection that others bestowed upon their children, or so I thought. It wasn’t until I accepted a position as a nanny with no intention of getting attached that I realised how much my heart stung seeing love between families. I loved it, seeing the pure smiles and affection between parent and child. It would bring me such joy knowing that these tiny humans felt so secure in their existence. But then the elation would settle and in would wash the feeling of emptiness…the desire to run away to someplace so secluded I would never have to witness such acts ever again..
I wanted it for myself. And I couldn’t have it. If I couldn’t have it, then I wanted to be as far away from it as possible. I was well and truly craving storge. I still am craving it….and no matter how far I run, or how much I push the feeling away, it always seems to get the better of me.
But maybe it’s for the best? Maybe I was the cause? Maybe I was a cold child, pushing away her parental units until there was nothing that could be done? Maybe I was defective, broken, unworthy? Or maybe this is all in my mind and the way I feel isn’t an accurate representation of reality? I don’t know…
All I know is I wish to feel the love of a parent. I wish to be worthy.
I felt this post would get a little bit deep, but these are words I have been holding in a little too long now.