Lately, something has been bothering me. It’s been bothering me a lot. I grew up in a very WASP-y, hoity-toity neighborhood. My childhood was one of private schools, hearing people ask which beach club (or country club) we belonged to, and having friends who owned their yachts.
At one point, I was expected to finish college and get a Master’s from Princeton. I walked away from all that because the toxicity it bred in me was horrific. I lay a lot of the blame for my sexual abuse, drug use, and my eventual trafficking squarely on the people who surrounded me.
When I ran off, I found more genuine people in the NYC projects. I found my friends living in abandoned warehouses, I met convicted felons who showed me more kindness than anyone at my college did, and some of my closest friends are active gutter punks.
Recently, I caught myself ordering unsettling amounts of eggs benedict and walking into a Vineyard Vines. I even ordered The WASP Cookbook.
So, what’s the problem? Ever since I had a nervous breakdown at my college, ran away, and got trafficked, I made a point of making sure I walked away from the “prep life” I was on track to eventually succumb to. I never wanted to go back.
I want to point all of this out because I genuinely hate the type of people I grew up with — with a handful of exceptions who know who they are. Hate is a strong word, which is why I am using it. I can’t stand the sight of my former classmates or anyone who looks like them.
Lately, though, I find my millennial self nostalgic for the toxic culture of my childhood.
I find myself wanting to hang out on a yacht or speedboat. I want to occasionally see a golf course, or have a personal cabana on the beach club. At times, I even wonder if people around me even have a horseback riding area.
I’ve started to miss the look of marble hallways, old wood columns, and the Princetonite-chic look of so many of the things I was once used to. I miss brunches that have lighter fare and watching people have martini dinners by the sea.
No lie, I yearn for it — and the pep-pep, rah-rah of the prep school spirit. And, for the love of all that’s holy, I can’t figure out why I’m yearning for a world that made it so clear they don’t want me to be a part of it.
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In reality, I know I don’t want to go back to that type of life.
For someone who ran away from these people because they were so fake and so cruel, wanting to go back to those ways is alarming, and supports how nostalgia is a social emotion. When I asked my mother what was happening to me, she had something that made a little bit of sense.
She said, “We tend to crave what we grew up with because it’s a source of comfort as we age. It’s why I decorated the house in red and gold and why you do the same in your home.”
Is this what it is? To a point, I might be able to see it, but there’s a problem. While I no longer have the knee-jerk hate reaction I once did with the look of old money, I don’t fully see why this is happening now and not earlier when my dad died.
My dad, much like myself, hated the pretension of living in an upper-class neighborhood. My mom only recently started to embrace it. And me? Well, I moved to a more sane/civilized/honest area and have been able to work on healing trauma and rejection hurt from the past 30 years by making authentic connections with others to heal old wounds.
While I grew up with it, my home life was not entirely part of that world. It was just what I was surrounded by, another aspect of biculturalism. I was the weird kid with a Romanian accent for the first four years of schooling. After that, I was the weird kid with odd clothes. So it’s not entirely my past, you know what I mean?
I know that if I went back to my childhood, I’d go back to being miserable, and I also know that no one in those circles would want me.
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I dress too weirdly for them. It’s a society that prides itself on conformity, and I never had the time or impetus to fit in. It’s a time when I don’t have the answers and can’t explain them.
Feeling the call to all the old money ways I was exposed to is messing with me on a visceral level. I’m happy when I’m in a warehouse. I’m happy when I get to see graffiti art being made, or when my friends and I have raunchy talks. It’s what I ran to.
Why do I want something I’ve run away from? Moreover, why would I want it when I have every reason to associate it with pain? I see navy blue sweaters and immediately assume the people wearing them hate me! That’s Pavlovian.
I’m not used to being unable to introspect my feelings or come up with a reason why this could be happening. It feels strange. This is left field for me.
I don’t know what this means. Part of me wonders if I can even try to work my way back into that life. I’m not sure whether that’s even feasible, all things considered. I’m still a pariah by the nature of my past.
Maybe in another life, I’ll feel ready to go back. I’ll give it the ol’ college try, finally get my degree, and smile politely without having any clue who wants to be around me. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll like it now that I’m older.
Maybe then, I’ll be ready to acclimate to the culture I was surrounded by in my hometown and the surrounding areas. Maybe it was just an age thing or just a part of me being the awkward goth in the neighborhood. Maybe I had to grow jaded or make money of my own before revisiting and re-narrating my history as a starting point for healing.
Eh, probably not. I still have no idea why I find myself missing it. But wow, it is weird and Saudade-filled. Am I the only one who gets this way about places and people you know aren’t good?
Ossiana Tepfenhart is a writer whose work has been featured in Yahoo, BRIDES, Your Daily Dish, Newtheory Magazine, and others.
As a millennial, I find myself reflecting more and more on the toxic culture of my childhood and feeling a strange sense of nostalgia for it. Growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, there were certain aspects of our culture that now seem problematic and harmful, but at the time, they felt normal and even enjoyable.
One aspect that comes to mind is the obsession with thinness and dieting. I remember being bombarded with images of stick-thin models and celebrities, and feeling pressure to constantly monitor my own weight and appearance. While I now understand the damaging effects of this kind of messaging, there was a certain sense of camaraderie among my peers as we all struggled together to meet unrealistic beauty standards.
Similarly, I find myself missing the competitive and cutthroat nature of school and extracurricular activities. Back then, it felt exhilarating to push myself to the limit and constantly strive for perfection. Now, as an adult, I see the toll that this kind of pressure can take on mental health and well-being, but there is a part of me that misses the thrill of the chase.
Even the music and pop culture of my childhood, with its emphasis on rebellion and pushing boundaries, now seems tame compared to the sanitized and politically correct media of today. There was a certain rawness and authenticity to the art and entertainment of that time that I find myself yearning for in a world that feels increasingly sanitized and curated.
Of course, I recognize that the toxic culture of my childhood had its drawbacks and harms, and I am grateful for the progress we have made in terms of social justice and mental health awareness. But there is a part of me that can’t help but long for the simpler, if more toxic, times of my youth. Perhaps it is just a symptom of getting older and feeling nostalgic for a time when things seemed more straightforward and clear-cut. Or perhaps it is a recognition that, despite its flaws, there was a certain freedom and excitement in the toxic culture of my childhood that I miss in today’s more sanitized world.
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millennial nostalgia, toxic culture, childhood memories, generational shift, yearning for the past, societal changes, nostalgia for the past, millennial struggles, toxic childhood experiences, cultural shift, longing for the past
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