I Wanted His Family to Like Me for Me

This post is the fifth in a series. (Please read posts here, here, here and here if you haven’t yet!)

We were making dinner together while sipping on red wine. It was an uncommon pairing – a full-bodied cabernet sauvignon and a South Asian recipe from Jason’s childhood – but very fitting, given the topic of conversation. He was telling me about his family, about the ways in which he struggled to navigate two very different worlds growing up – the one inside his home, and the one outside it. Jason was a first-generation immigrant whose family settled on the east coast when he was young. They did not quite approve of the new life he had recently built for himself in San Francisco, reportedly. According to Jason, his mother would have preferred he return to their Muslim faith, agree to an arranged marriage, and become a doctor. He described to me the family’s customs and values and beliefs, and he said that family gatherings were always very composed events. Alcohol was frowned upon.

“So your family members don’t drink alcohol when you’re together?” I clarified.

“Right,” Jason replied. I was trying to imagine what that would be like—a family function without free-flowing cocktails, beer, and wine.

“And if you’re all out to dinner at a restaurant?”

“Nope.”

“So do you ever drink in front of your family?” I asked.

“No, definitely not. And neither will you when you meet them,” he said.

It’s still hard to articulate why this bothered me. It wasn’t about the alcohol; I knew I would have been more than agreeable to abstain in the presence of his family. It would not have felt like a sacrifice to me, and I like to think I’m culturally sensitive.

In part, I was bothered that it was a demand, not an ask; I didn’t like being told what I could or could not do. Especially by a boyfriend. I am hypersensitive to behavior that feels remotely controlling.

But it was more than that even. I tried to put my finger on it.

“I respect your family and your wishes,” I told him, and went on to explain the crux of the issue: that I have spent much of my life making choices for the sole purpose of pleasing those around me, of conforming to others’ expectations.

“To pretend I don’t drink in front of your family would be to shape-shift again to match their notion of ‘perfection.’ I want them to like me for me.”

I never met his siblings or his mother, as we broke up before the opportunity ever presented itself. I think about that conversation with Jason, though, frequently.

Was there, in fact, anything wrong with Jason’s expectation? Or was I simply digging in my stubborn heels to give myself a fleeting sense of control?