When I was a little girl, we had two signs hanging in our kitchen: One, in a fancy, Olde English font, succinctly stated, “Fuck Housework.” The other, held to the side of the fridge with a magnet, was a list, “Children Learn What They Live,” the top portion being the ancillary negative lessons to the more positive ones listed beneath.

I was consumed with the top of the list, the bottom ones so unfamiliar to my little psyche. Tolerance, acceptance, security, praise? These were things you got your friends’ houses. But, criticism, hostility, ridicule, shame? These, I knew at home. I yearned to just be loved, to have my tiny heart held. I knew that there must be someway to get what I needed.

And then it happened.

A 45-record appeared in our collection. I placed it on the yellow turntable and the lyrics sang out–the answer key to my emotional survival for the next 49 or so years:

“Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell me a story before I go to bed,” the child singer called out, “You’ve got to give in cause I’ve been good. Tell me a story before I go to bed.”

Even at my tender young age, 4? 5? The unmasked manipulation of it irritated me; scratched my skin. But at the same time, I just knew that simple cause and effect would be the only way. Being the youngest, the cutest, hadn’t worked, being honest and and actually stating my feelings outright hadn’t worked, saying “I feel sad,” having been usually met with, “No you don’t.” So, I’d give this new way a try: Score keeping, finger pointing, aggressiveness. “You have to give in cause I’ve been good.”

Thinking about it now makes me feel dirty inside. I knew then that manipulation wasn’t my authentic nature. But what other choice did I have? I was just a kid.

Now, at 53, I am rediscovering the inner voice that was quashed as a child. I am learning to honor my right to have needs and feelings at all, and to ask for (and give myself permission) to have them actually met. But, every so often, I catch myself being coy, cutsie, overly planful, trying to machinate the attention I seek. It’s a tough skill to unlearn. But I am.

And I remember, children do indeed learn what they live.

*Blog title used without permission from The Nields song of the same, by Nerissa and Katryna Nields. I hope they don’t mind.