We all play games, and I don’t mean the monopoly or scrabble type of games. And we use our games as excuses to do or not do various things in life. When things go wrong we cry, or we pretend that the fall we took didn’t hurt etc. etc…
As parents we watch our small children play games, sometimes with others and then when they are on their own. We look and think how cute or sweet they are and smile fondly. But sometimes those games continue on into adult life. Then they are not too cute or sweet anymore, but in reality can be annoying and rather destructive at times.
It can be difficult to watch other people playing their own little games, enrolling those around them into their deception. We’ll roll our eyes, and think unflattering thoughts but not say anything to rock the boat. When and if they are challenged, they might cry and say — but it was only a game! Still most people don’t realise that they are playing games, acting out roles because they have always done it and it has become a part of them.
As our children grow up, we parents are able to see the deceptions they practise in order to get their own way. Most of the time it seems harmless — which it probably is whilst they are still children. But when they continue their game-playing as grown-ups, it can be quite hurtful — both to them and to those around.
What we learn in childhood will accompany us into our adult lives, becoming our default method of operation — good or bad. Enabled by parents, game players continue on their merry way using the tools they have learnt.
Kelly was always the drama queen in our family, and when she was younger we smiled indulgently at her antics, knowing that she was using them to acquire something or get her siblings into trouble. We could see this, but ignored it and gradually those antics became traits and were much more subtle, making them much harder to detect. Masking the depression that had become all-encompassing.
So when it appeared that she was still playing her little games, we didn’t really take her seriously — much like the boy who cried wolf, and in those last weeks of her life she played many games — some we knew and others we didn’t. But she wasn’t really playing games at all — it was authentic and sadly we didn’t realise at that time. We dismissed her behaviour as annoying at best, and it appeared that she was a little bit self-destructive.
And so we missed the signs of her ultimate destruction. Then it was too late and she had played her last game leaving us stunned that we hadn’t seen the authenticity in the drama. A life lesson we didn’t want to learn.