Why Should I? in Journal

Like a petulant child talking back to his less than fully respected mother.
Exactly like that.
The problem of parenting has never hit me so squarely in the face until now. Now that I’m married and obligated to come into contact with a family other than my own; Now that we’re aspiring to be parents ourselves.
It leaves a taste of bitter disappointment, and a strange desire to show them all.
And I keep asking like that petulant child. Why should I? Why should I respect and respond to my parents wishes, when they could never do the same for me? When I wanted, no, needed their reassurance, their attention, their good advice, their mere presence, they did not respond. Worse. I was often given the exact opposite of what I needed; screamed at, yelled at, muscled around, called names, spanked, belittled, hit, ignored, ridiculed, abandoned every day of my young incomprehensible life with uncaring strangers.
So, why should I feel compelled to help you out in your time of need? Why would I treat you like a shining god of ideal parent when you weren’t?
And I’m.... heartbroken. I’m sad in a way that I can’t really explain. I grieve for the relationship that could have been, but wasn’t. I pine for the reassurance of having been mothered well, so I know that I can mother well. And that lack is… terrifying.

I’m scared that I won’t get it right. I’m horrified by the possibility of becoming my own mother. Cold, callous, harsh, stoic, and unforgiving. Or of parenting like my father; simply use force, a hard hand, belittle and dismiss out of hand anything a child might have to say.

I look around hopefully; searching for that role model parent. But I can’t find it anywhere in my life. There is none available for me to look at, to study, to follow. They are nowhere.