Spoiled: Utterly Wasted
2025-06-17 00:19![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kimberlysteeleThe word “spoil” comes from the Middle English “to plunder”. Though you would think such a word as spoil would mean to corrupt or degrade, the implication is actually far more violent and implies the hide being stripped from an animal. I also find it interesting that people who become intoxicated say “I’m so wasted”. Drugs and alcohol are an attempt at attaining the ecstasy of spiritual achievement without any of the chop wood, carry water work it takes to achieve. They waste the potential of the individual and disguise self-indulgence as self-realization. I’m talking to you, Timothy Leary.
When I was meditating for this essay, I made a list of the most spoiled people I have ever known in my personal life. I am sad to say there is a long list of them and they all ran neck and neck for the championship. One wrecked her rich parents’ car and blamed her parents for the brakes of the car being too quiet and responsive. Another compulsively cheated on his mate with randos from social media apps and then whined about feeling alienated in his relationships. One had a father who bought her an affordable home and then later became homeless because she refused to hold down a job and could not make the payments. One inherited his grandmother’s house and let it fall into decrepitude while his mother delivered his lunch every day because he either could not or would not cook. He viciously criticized his mother, often saying he hated her guts.
The spoiled think they are owed. They have a belief that wealth appears from nowhere. The last concept they can grok is the idea that wealth does not just appear from thin air, whether it is in the form of mommy and daddy’s money or emotional connection. They are of every intellectual level and they aren’t necessarily rich, though all the ones I knew had more than a little money. Their main common ground is a lack of perspective. When it comes to getting their own needs met, they become sociopaths who will shove anyone and everyone under the bus for the sake of gratification. As you can guess, they fall easily into addiction of various types. They are narcissists who do not improve with age.
I harp on the spoiled because I was insufferably spoiled at at least one point in my life. I am spoiled and in recovery. As a spoiled person, I remember comparing myself to others all the time, including celebrities. I always perceived people as having more than me in some key way. I wasn’t at all able to look clearly at those with less; I was in almost complete denial it was possible to have less than me. Such an attitude of having less than others traps you in its agenda. I vaguely remember Gwyneth Paltrow describing herself as “poor” during her brief friendship with Madonna.
Spoiled written all over her face
Spoiled people, especially women, tend to get caught up in the plastic surgery gamut. Those of a certain income level who can choose from a list of procedures. They amass a list of “things done” and “parts improved” until they become eerie amalgams of the young and flawless — a tiny sculpted nose, plump cheeks, a chiseled jawline, round breasts, concave waist, smooth skin, fattened lips. Each feature on its own would not be jarring, but when they all appear on one person, the effect is jarring. It screams Wendigo! Martha Stewart’s latest appearance is deeply unsettling. She is 83. It is clear that for all her achievements, including surviving an unfair prison sentence, the only thing that mattered to her all along is look doable as a great grandmother. To the spoiled, nothing this planet can offer will ever be enough.
Ingrates and insatiable appetites
No TV show is sadder than Hoarders. I can’t even watch it because if I do, I will immediately have to do a banishing ritual or two, meditate for at least a half hour, and then clean my entire house and yard. Yet I am surrounded by hoarders and hoarding. I have too much stuff and though I have improved a great deal in the last decade or two and written an actual book about minimalism called Sacred Homemaking, I would not call myself a minimalist! The most spoiled people have problems with too much stuff. It tends to go with the territory. The kid I mentioned before who inherited his grandmother’s house let the place become disgustingly dirty and full of junk. I mentioned his vociferous ragging on his mother. The spoiled are terrible to their loved ones. Another spoiled peer of mine went on a multi-thousand dollar shopping spree in the department store because her mother made the mistake of lending her a credit card. One hit his mother as a child when she would not buy him a toy or generally agree to whatever he wanted to do. One adult who lives with his mother refused to walk the dog when the mother was laid up with back surgery. She hired a dog walker. He also let her lug in the weekly grocery shopping despite being perfectly able bodied. Not once in his adult life did he spare her a chore. It goes without saying that he did not mow the lawn; she hired people for that too. No good deed goes unpunished by the spoiled and boy, are they LAZY.
I have lived with my parents many times as an adult with my much-older husband in tow. I believe we lived with my parents four times in total from our marriage in the year 2000 until 2016 when we moved to our small home in a nearby suburb. Living with one’s parents does not have to be a bad arrangement for the parent or for the adult child. The arrangement only turns septic if the parent is toxic (mine were not) or the child is spoiled. In our case, my husband and I pulled our own weight. I cleaned, cooked, bought food and household supplies, and generally left every room tidier than I found it during all of those stays. At no point did I want to be more of a burden than I was as a chronic failure-to-launch.
The rapidly expanding population of autistic and semi-autistic adults along with ridiculous real estate prices and near-Weimar levels of inflation all indicate that the trend of living with one’s parents as an adult is not going to end any time soon. Since so many generations have made a career of spoiling their children (whatever they are on the spectrum) we are looking at a living hell of animosity and people who feel like they are serving a life sentence because they must live with family.
It begins
Autism produces some Class A brats because the urge to molly coddle a damaged child is hard to resist, especially when the child has a meltdown caused by oversensitivity or straight up pain. The reaction of the parent is not to deprive or punish but to continue to comfort and indulge the child. The child soon learns that tantrums pay dividends.
Autistic or not, the brat learns that he can upend his food dishes if he does not like what he is served. He can maraud, scream, and terrorize until he is satisfied, and he is never going to be satisfied. He will demand to have his needs met and his parent (or whoever is unlucky enough to be in charge) will become his servant, providing for him, cooking, cleaning, purchasing, serving his meals, cleaning his messes, all while taking a litany of abuse.
Kids grow up quickly and the spoiled child who is given a choice about doing dishes (she chooses no) or walking the dog becomes an overgrown Baby Huey with no adult skills and far too much time on her hands. She certainly cannot survive on the streets. The one I knew whose father bought an affordable home for her and became homeless is now dead. Heaven forbid the parents cut them out of the will or disown them because they will not do well as wards of the state.
To those of you with young children: the next time your young child throws a tantrum, please, do not give in! Stand strong, deliver discipline, and set limits. A minute of harshness could save your kid’s life forty years in the future. Damn, it could probably save the entire future.
My Summer Solstice break
With the publication of this essay, I am taking a mini-break from new essays until the week of July 6. During that time, I plan on putting up an Open Post on my Dreamwidth blog for anyone who wants to chat. I will be posting excerpts from my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, which is going into production this fall if all goes well and is slated for production by my publisher, Aeon Books, in Spring 2026. I’m not traveling or anything, so I’ll be commenting and generally available over the next 2.5 weeks, just no new essays. Thanks for understanding. I plan on touching grass no matter how hot it is.
When I was meditating for this essay, I made a list of the most spoiled people I have ever known in my personal life. I am sad to say there is a long list of them and they all ran neck and neck for the championship. One wrecked her rich parents’ car and blamed her parents for the brakes of the car being too quiet and responsive. Another compulsively cheated on his mate with randos from social media apps and then whined about feeling alienated in his relationships. One had a father who bought her an affordable home and then later became homeless because she refused to hold down a job and could not make the payments. One inherited his grandmother’s house and let it fall into decrepitude while his mother delivered his lunch every day because he either could not or would not cook. He viciously criticized his mother, often saying he hated her guts.
The spoiled think they are owed. They have a belief that wealth appears from nowhere. The last concept they can grok is the idea that wealth does not just appear from thin air, whether it is in the form of mommy and daddy’s money or emotional connection. They are of every intellectual level and they aren’t necessarily rich, though all the ones I knew had more than a little money. Their main common ground is a lack of perspective. When it comes to getting their own needs met, they become sociopaths who will shove anyone and everyone under the bus for the sake of gratification. As you can guess, they fall easily into addiction of various types. They are narcissists who do not improve with age.
I harp on the spoiled because I was insufferably spoiled at at least one point in my life. I am spoiled and in recovery. As a spoiled person, I remember comparing myself to others all the time, including celebrities. I always perceived people as having more than me in some key way. I wasn’t at all able to look clearly at those with less; I was in almost complete denial it was possible to have less than me. Such an attitude of having less than others traps you in its agenda. I vaguely remember Gwyneth Paltrow describing herself as “poor” during her brief friendship with Madonna.
Spoiled written all over her face
Spoiled people, especially women, tend to get caught up in the plastic surgery gamut. Those of a certain income level who can choose from a list of procedures. They amass a list of “things done” and “parts improved” until they become eerie amalgams of the young and flawless — a tiny sculpted nose, plump cheeks, a chiseled jawline, round breasts, concave waist, smooth skin, fattened lips. Each feature on its own would not be jarring, but when they all appear on one person, the effect is jarring. It screams Wendigo! Martha Stewart’s latest appearance is deeply unsettling. She is 83. It is clear that for all her achievements, including surviving an unfair prison sentence, the only thing that mattered to her all along is look doable as a great grandmother. To the spoiled, nothing this planet can offer will ever be enough.
Ingrates and insatiable appetites
No TV show is sadder than Hoarders. I can’t even watch it because if I do, I will immediately have to do a banishing ritual or two, meditate for at least a half hour, and then clean my entire house and yard. Yet I am surrounded by hoarders and hoarding. I have too much stuff and though I have improved a great deal in the last decade or two and written an actual book about minimalism called Sacred Homemaking, I would not call myself a minimalist! The most spoiled people have problems with too much stuff. It tends to go with the territory. The kid I mentioned before who inherited his grandmother’s house let the place become disgustingly dirty and full of junk. I mentioned his vociferous ragging on his mother. The spoiled are terrible to their loved ones. Another spoiled peer of mine went on a multi-thousand dollar shopping spree in the department store because her mother made the mistake of lending her a credit card. One hit his mother as a child when she would not buy him a toy or generally agree to whatever he wanted to do. One adult who lives with his mother refused to walk the dog when the mother was laid up with back surgery. She hired a dog walker. He also let her lug in the weekly grocery shopping despite being perfectly able bodied. Not once in his adult life did he spare her a chore. It goes without saying that he did not mow the lawn; she hired people for that too. No good deed goes unpunished by the spoiled and boy, are they LAZY.
I have lived with my parents many times as an adult with my much-older husband in tow. I believe we lived with my parents four times in total from our marriage in the year 2000 until 2016 when we moved to our small home in a nearby suburb. Living with one’s parents does not have to be a bad arrangement for the parent or for the adult child. The arrangement only turns septic if the parent is toxic (mine were not) or the child is spoiled. In our case, my husband and I pulled our own weight. I cleaned, cooked, bought food and household supplies, and generally left every room tidier than I found it during all of those stays. At no point did I want to be more of a burden than I was as a chronic failure-to-launch.
The rapidly expanding population of autistic and semi-autistic adults along with ridiculous real estate prices and near-Weimar levels of inflation all indicate that the trend of living with one’s parents as an adult is not going to end any time soon. Since so many generations have made a career of spoiling their children (whatever they are on the spectrum) we are looking at a living hell of animosity and people who feel like they are serving a life sentence because they must live with family.
It begins
Autism produces some Class A brats because the urge to molly coddle a damaged child is hard to resist, especially when the child has a meltdown caused by oversensitivity or straight up pain. The reaction of the parent is not to deprive or punish but to continue to comfort and indulge the child. The child soon learns that tantrums pay dividends.
Autistic or not, the brat learns that he can upend his food dishes if he does not like what he is served. He can maraud, scream, and terrorize until he is satisfied, and he is never going to be satisfied. He will demand to have his needs met and his parent (or whoever is unlucky enough to be in charge) will become his servant, providing for him, cooking, cleaning, purchasing, serving his meals, cleaning his messes, all while taking a litany of abuse.
Kids grow up quickly and the spoiled child who is given a choice about doing dishes (she chooses no) or walking the dog becomes an overgrown Baby Huey with no adult skills and far too much time on her hands. She certainly cannot survive on the streets. The one I knew whose father bought an affordable home for her and became homeless is now dead. Heaven forbid the parents cut them out of the will or disown them because they will not do well as wards of the state.
To those of you with young children: the next time your young child throws a tantrum, please, do not give in! Stand strong, deliver discipline, and set limits. A minute of harshness could save your kid’s life forty years in the future. Damn, it could probably save the entire future.
My Summer Solstice break
With the publication of this essay, I am taking a mini-break from new essays until the week of July 6. During that time, I plan on putting up an Open Post on my Dreamwidth blog for anyone who wants to chat. I will be posting excerpts from my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, which is going into production this fall if all goes well and is slated for production by my publisher, Aeon Books, in Spring 2026. I’m not traveling or anything, so I’ll be commenting and generally available over the next 2.5 weeks, just no new essays. Thanks for understanding. I plan on touching grass no matter how hot it is.
