Part of my dad's many problems stemmed from his religious nut (sorry for the redundancy, lol) mother's belief that equality was mostly a sin; you see, the universe was ruled by a stern, dictatorial god who didn't give a sh*t about equality (or love for that matter, even love of Him; you just needed to fear Him). Wow, there seems to be a lot of that still around, doesn't there?
well we never got hugs, or kisses or I love you's... the nearest I got to it, was when my mother said that I was her favourite child because I was her first born...
From what I've read on this forum after joining it back in June, @hollydolly, you've done a remarkable job overcoming your childhood trauma.
well that's very kind of you, thank you. I am not going to pretend I'm unaffected by it..even to this day.. but I never sought out external help, therapists et al... I never could afford it for a start.. but anyway, in essence I just had to learn to pull my big girl pants up and get on with my life...and that's what I've done.
Thank you HollyDolly for mentioning this. My father also had an abusive childhood and turned out to be one of the nicest, sweetest guys there is. Well, he's passed on now. I can't stand criminals, child molesters, etc. being excused for their abhorrent behaviour because of their childhood. It makes me sick.
My mother used to say almost the exact same thing! Whenever she thought I was smartmouthing her, she'd always trot out this story about a girl who argued with her mother, and the mother dropped dead within an hour because of getting so upset. I'd forgotten about that until I read your post.
same thing, stay at the table until it was eaten. In my case I hated stewed beef.. it was grey , horrible fat grissly meat, and would make me literally gag. So I couldn't eat it. They served it up to me knowing I couldn't eat it.. then after sitting at the table for a couple of hours it was taken from me and served up to me freezing cold with a layer of fat on top for breakfast.. when I didn't eat it, I would get a punch to the head from my father.. or the buckle end of his belt... happened every single time..
You’re right, but when you’re a kid, even up to being 16, you think of parents as someone who is always expecting better out of you. I remember one time I asked my dad if nothing I do pleased him. That was a very stupid mistake. I had to sit and listen to him for almost 40 minutes tell me about his childhood. It did sink in, but it took a year or so more until I learned he was just wanting me to do better. He realized that I had more potential, even though I didn’t.
ooh we all had this problem with our kids and their bedrooms. My dd's bedroom was a complete disaster zone.. I would tell her it has to be cleaned up, and she'd say she knew where everything was...anyway I allowed her to paint all the walls black when she was going through her Goth stage.. you're only a teen once..
.surprisingly it wasn't too difficult to paint over again... I used to say to her I dread to think what her home will be like ..maybe I'll come and throw things on her floor.. jump on her sofa.. eat everythinng in her fridge and leave the dishes unwashed..when she's got her own home... but of course you might guess.. that her home is Immaculate...My son wanted to paint all his walls in his bedroom black and then put in black lighting to reflect off the walls with pictures that also reflected the lighting. I told him that when he bought his own home, he was welcome to do that and as much as I hate painting, I would help him. He didn’t ask again, but after he bought his home, I asked him when did he want me to come over and help him paint his bedroom walls black. He said, “Yeah, that was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?”ooh we all had this problem with our kids and their bedrooms. My dd's bedroom was a complete disaster zone.. I would tell her it has to be cleaned up, and she'd say she knew where evrything was...anyway I allowed her to paint all the walls black when she was going through her Goth stage.. you're only a teen once..
Sorry you had to deal with that, can't blame you for wanting to get out of there. Talking was okay at our table, but if one of us started rambling about nonsense and not eating, my mother would tell us to quiet down and eat. My father worked nights, so it wasn't too often we all sat together at the table. Glad you turned out fine.
I don't know about you Mr. Ed, but this is when I want to go back in time as an adult and just say "yeah, OK, no problem." My mother was always going to die. It's such manipulation to pull on a child.
