What was the one experience that completely changed your life? What happened? How did it change your life?
My brother was always my Mom’s favorite child, I was treated as a red headed step child, yet he was the child who could do no wrong. No matter what I did, I could never earn her respect and acceptance.
I tried and I tried still, I figured she loved me, but yet, I never felt the love. No matter what I did, didn’t do, said, didn’t say, I was always wrong. If I got an A, I should of gotten an A plus. You know where this is going.
My childhood growing up was very happy as long as my Dad was around, but after Dad took sick and we moved out of state to “be safe from Dad” since the stroke left Dad with impairments.
MOm became more abusive after we had left town. Her weapon of choice for discipline towards me was the wooden cooking spoons. The reasons for her to hit on me became more and more frequent, sometimes it wasn’t even anything that I did or didn’t do, it was just her taking out her frustration at a current situation.
Also, something that was beyond my control, and certainly not my fault, Mom was abused as a child. Psychically, emotional, and sexually, he Mother left a lot to be desired at best. Since the relationship wasn’t exactly healthy w/ her own Mom, I felt my whole life that she took that out on me. Heck, even several point of my life, I asked the aunts and uncles on my Dad’s side if I was adopted. They all told me no, each of them saying they saw Mom pregnant with me, besides, I look just like my Dad.
The last time I accepted physical abuse from my Mom, I was 21 years old. I was still living at home and an unwed mother, but the child’s absent father and I were trying to work out our trials and tribulations.
My ex boyfriend and I had gone ride to his job interview, it’s about a 2 hour drive. I told Mom that we would be back about 2pm.
Well we were about an hour or so late at getting home, but we were home before dark. The ex boyfriend dropped me off and left. I went into my bedroom to put down my purse and coat. Mom came in there with her weapon of course, the wooden cooking spoon. She asked why we were late. The fact that we were lost, didn’t matter none.
She smacked me with that spoon across the face so hard that I was knocked off of my feet. I just missed hitting my pregnant belly on the bedside table by inches.
At that moment I decided that the abuse from her upon me was going to stop and she was never going to treat my child as such, EVER! That moment empowered me, to personally never be abused again, but also gave me the nerve to tell her that she would never strike a child of mine. Due to the strained relationship between she and I she has been out of my life more than in it for most of my adult life, but that was her choice, not mine. And to this day, she has never struck one of my children, neither have I. I know what I felt like when she would hit me, I would never want to put that feeling onto another person, much less a child I birthed.