I'm listening to the audiobook Toxic Parents: Overcoming their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life. I've known for years that I had toxic parents. Thanks to Alcoholics Anonymous, I was able to identify, determine my part, if any, and move to acceptance and the amends process. I love and accept them today but they perpetrated many injustices upon their children.
Additionally, I don't kid myself into thinking my own daughter escaped the cycle of abuse unscathed. I can think of a half dozen examples she probably carries with her. I regretted the actions at the time and to this day. I'd like to think I made the appropriate amends to her but you would have to ask her.
My own charming mother employed the use of wooden spoons, belts, and hangars to beat us for infractions. I remember being pre-K in the middle of a thrashing with a belt and, stubbornly, deciding not to give her the satisfaction; I turned my head to say Didn't hurt. As you can imagine, it infuriated her and the method and intensity increased. By God, it did hurt and I never made the same mistake twice.
We were screamed at constantly and were made to fetch and carry at an early age. Go get my prefaced much of our interactions. Go get my cigarettes. Go get my ashtray. Go get my hairbrush. That's probably an exaggeration. There was also: Get up and change the channel. Hold the antennae sideways. Bring me more ice. Watch your sister. Take this to my room. Carry this.
Back in the day, Mom was a barmaid and slept in late, it fell to me to fill in the gaps. At eleven, I had diaper changing duties and was charged with maintaining control over my younger siblings. Part and parcel, I had to do this without any disciplinary authority AND I had to keep them quiet, so they didn't wake up Mom. More than once, she flew out of her bedroom door in a rage to screech, You G**damn kids, blah, blah, blah! Then I would get pummeled because I knew better.
Both my younger sister and I had chores, as most kids did. But our chores far surpassed any of our friends. Dishes every night, garbage every day, sweep the floors, scrub the floors (no wall-to-wall carpeting), Scrub out the bathroom, with Comet (if we could afford it, baking soda, if not). Cleaning out grimy garbage cans wriggling with maggots, I'll never forget it. Shaking out piles of cheap throw rugs. Oh yeah! We and all of our neighbors had cockroaches! Oh, the joys of sweeping up hundreds of greasy dead bug bodies and washing down every surface after a successful bug bombing!
It was about this time that my mother first called me a G**damn whore (whatever that was, but I understood from her tone that it was nothing good.) I used to wonder why she had us. When my baby sister fell down a flight of stairs, uncarpeted, about 25 in all. I got beat. Apparently, it was my fault.
I had years of verbal battery to overcome. My feelings of worthlessness and otherness plagued me throughout my life. It set me up for easy pickings by a pedophile. He was so nice to me...Until he wasn't. Endless, and inconsistent, corporal punishment, made me afraid to fight thus I was bullied by my peers. Constant oppression set me up to underachieve which I did so much of my life.
It really did not change for me until I got sober in Alcoholics Anonymous and acquired the tools to combat the old, dysfunctional programming in my head. I cannot say that it fully erased the negative programming telling me that I'm different, worthless, or less-than but I have the opportunity to countermand and question the validity of the negative thought. Better still, I was able to make peace with those same parents, realizing that it was their ignorance, not their intention, that damaged us so.
It's really true...The truth sets us free.
Additionally, I don't kid myself into thinking my own daughter escaped the cycle of abuse unscathed. I can think of a half dozen examples she probably carries with her. I regretted the actions at the time and to this day. I'd like to think I made the appropriate amends to her but you would have to ask her.
My own charming mother employed the use of wooden spoons, belts, and hangars to beat us for infractions. I remember being pre-K in the middle of a thrashing with a belt and, stubbornly, deciding not to give her the satisfaction; I turned my head to say Didn't hurt. As you can imagine, it infuriated her and the method and intensity increased. By God, it did hurt and I never made the same mistake twice.
We were screamed at constantly and were made to fetch and carry at an early age. Go get my prefaced much of our interactions. Go get my cigarettes. Go get my ashtray. Go get my hairbrush. That's probably an exaggeration. There was also: Get up and change the channel. Hold the antennae sideways. Bring me more ice. Watch your sister. Take this to my room. Carry this.
Back in the day, Mom was a barmaid and slept in late, it fell to me to fill in the gaps. At eleven, I had diaper changing duties and was charged with maintaining control over my younger siblings. Part and parcel, I had to do this without any disciplinary authority AND I had to keep them quiet, so they didn't wake up Mom. More than once, she flew out of her bedroom door in a rage to screech, You G**damn kids, blah, blah, blah! Then I would get pummeled because I knew better.
Both my younger sister and I had chores, as most kids did. But our chores far surpassed any of our friends. Dishes every night, garbage every day, sweep the floors, scrub the floors (no wall-to-wall carpeting), Scrub out the bathroom, with Comet (if we could afford it, baking soda, if not). Cleaning out grimy garbage cans wriggling with maggots, I'll never forget it. Shaking out piles of cheap throw rugs. Oh yeah! We and all of our neighbors had cockroaches! Oh, the joys of sweeping up hundreds of greasy dead bug bodies and washing down every surface after a successful bug bombing!
It was about this time that my mother first called me a G**damn whore (whatever that was, but I understood from her tone that it was nothing good.) I used to wonder why she had us. When my baby sister fell down a flight of stairs, uncarpeted, about 25 in all. I got beat. Apparently, it was my fault.
I had years of verbal battery to overcome. My feelings of worthlessness and otherness plagued me throughout my life. It set me up for easy pickings by a pedophile. He was so nice to me...Until he wasn't. Endless, and inconsistent, corporal punishment, made me afraid to fight thus I was bullied by my peers. Constant oppression set me up to underachieve which I did so much of my life.
It really did not change for me until I got sober in Alcoholics Anonymous and acquired the tools to combat the old, dysfunctional programming in my head. I cannot say that it fully erased the negative programming telling me that I'm different, worthless, or less-than but I have the opportunity to countermand and question the validity of the negative thought. Better still, I was able to make peace with those same parents, realizing that it was their ignorance, not their intention, that damaged us so.
It's really true...The truth sets us free.
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