tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11441413039388084002023-11-15T06:01:55.784-08:00Parent-Free By ChoiceWhen you're better off without them.Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-24612054969121239732013-11-30T10:02:00.001-08:002013-11-30T10:02:33.645-08:00"I can live the rest of my life without letting my toxic family back in..."<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>From a person who wants to be identified as "Jenny":</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just wanted to express my gratitude for creating such a brilliant and supportive resource online. I am 22 years old, and I finally found the resources and connections to move out while being able to support myself. At first I felt obligated to keep in contact with my mom, believing her initial promises about teaching my younger sister (18 years old) to stop swearing at me and putting me down, and that she would prevent my dad from hitting me anymore. I've put up with, and even believed in the things my parents have told me, including that I am mentally retarded (I believed I had a learning and social disability). When I began to refuse to give up and just tell them what they wanted to hear (that they are always right and I am always wrong, that their abuse is deserved) I was told that I have a attitude problem on a pathological level. My mom does not acknowledge that what I've been through is 22 years of abuse. Some proof of this would be her telling me "Well your dad doesn't hit you every day" while she does not acknowledge that he threatens me everyday, and uses condescending profanities to refer to me, not even using my given name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My sister was there the first time I truly felt my life was threatened, and was also there when I ran out the house to call the police on my dad. The first time I had the guts to verbally defend myself to him "Go ahead, throw that at me. I WILL call the police with this cell phone right here" --- the next day when my mom confronted him about it, he said "Do you know what that BITCH did to ME?" And he never apologized for traumatizing me over having 2 plates in the sink. After days like this, he looks at me when I come back from work or school and asks me in a sickeningly sweet tone, "Did you have a good day?" as though the abuse the day before didn't happen. Or perhaps to show he had "forgiven" me for whatever upset him that day. Yet she had the nerve to tell me "Mom and dad care and when you say they hate you you're putting words in to their mouths. Get a reality check, and go talk to your therapist." That was the last of her words to me, basically telling me not to talk to her. I've lost all trust in my family and since then I've realized how utterly foolish it will be to go back to a place where I will once again, not have the sanity or peace of mind to form my own identity and personality. She was never hit my either of my parents, and for some reason, my parents only attacked me physically, verbally, and emotionally.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are not that many resources for children of toxic parents on the web or out there in general, and the loudest message out there so far is that I owe my parents the chance to stay in contact with me because they've raised me. But there is a reason I felt it necessary to move out, and I stand by my choice. The choice to cut all ties with my family who denies having hurt me, is also one I will stand by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Emotionally, it is still overwhelming because I've been under the denial that my family will always be around no matter what, and that the abuse is just a part of being cared about fervently. My mind knows that there is no justification for the physical, mental and emotional abuse I've gone through. However my heart is broken because I had a thread of hope left in my mom when she said she understands me. I called her at a desperate time of need for my mom to hear me and understand me, and she just told me this: "Listen, it's me first, THEN you. Got it? Do you want me dead? I need to take care of myself before your needs are met" --- the fact that she said this to me while I called her crying my eyes out in a rented room hours away from a place that I used to call home, made me realize my reality once and for all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you again for creating such a supportive website. It's like a lighthouse for me. I want to keep believing that I can live the rest of my life without letting my toxic family back in to walk all over me as they have. </span></div>
Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-20683292551033456842013-11-30T09:56:00.000-08:002013-11-30T09:56:45.836-08:00"Narcissists make deplorably bad parents..."<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i>From a person who wishes to remain anonymous:</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The purpose of writing my personal story is to clarify that narcissists make deplorably bad parents and hopefully my story would shed some light on the hidden pain and silent suffering of biological children of narcissistic parents. Eventually check up narcissistic personality disorder for more information of the disorder itself.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><br />
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I am a 24 years old female born and raised in Europe by Pakistani parents. I am a HSP(highly sensitive person) while my mother is a full-blown narcissist and my father the perfect enabler.</div>
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First time I considered committing suicide was at the age of 6, because I felt unwanted and unloved. My mother was obsessed with controlling every single aspect of me: opinions were attributed to me long before I was old enough to even have them, I was forced to wear the Islamic headscarf and the traditional Pakistani <i>shalwar kameez</i> at the age of 7 so that she could receive praise from the Pakistani community - although she knew that my appearance would make me an outsider at school. One of the worst things I could do was to smile on a day she was in bad mood – then she would beat me up and swear at me to ensure that I felt as miserable as she did. Sometimes when she had a bad day, she would suddenly call me in and begin beating me up, just to feel better. </div>
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Once at the age of 9 I had made the terrible mistake of showing interest in a hairstyle which she disliked and as a punishment I was publicly humiliated for several weeks until I broke down in tears, begging her to stop. She perceived me as an extension of herself rather then another individual. She would always compete with me and my siblings: if my father kissed me and my sibling’s goodnight, she would be standing outraged at the door with the words: ‘you always kiss THESE bastards, but you never kiss ME!’’ and as a result my father stopped kissing us goodnight. It was always like she perceived her small children as her ‘’peers’’ to compete with for attention and love. In top of all that, parentification took place: Shortly after my 8 years old birthday my mother delegated all household chores to me including cleaning and cooking and declared that from now I was responsible for pampering her, to look after her emotional well-being and happiness, comforting her when she was upset and protect her from danger, and she would constantly remind me that I failed to meet these responsibilities of mine. </div>
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She would frequently play us children against each other which created hatred and resentment among us, and until this day we don’t have any real relationship. My mother always called me in third person and never by my name, she would every second day remind me of how much she hated me, that I was a burden and that she regretted not having opted for an abortion, that she wished me death and that I was ugly and stupid. When I was bullied at the local mosque (which she forced me to join) she would immediately take the side of the bullies although she didn’t even knew them. No matter how good grades I got at school or how much I tried to please her, she was never satisfied and absolutely nothing was ever good enough for her.<br /></div>
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When I reached puberty at the age of 12, I (for the first time) insisted on wearing shoes of my own choice instead of those which she had picked for me, and that made her declare me for being the black sheep of the family. I got beaten unconscious with a cricket bat, but when even that didn’t made me wear the shoes of her choice, she came up with a gun to kill me. Fortunately, the police intervened, and I was removed to an orphanage by the child protection service.</div>
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My father was the perfect enabler. He witnessed what his wife did to his children, but he never intervened. If we complained to him about her, he would always take her side and claim that <i>we</i> were the one ‘’provoking" her. It always seemed to me as he was a mental slave of her.</div>
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In the orphanage I removed my Islamic headscarf and found great relief in finally being able to look and dress like other children. At the age of 18 I got a job, bought my own apartment, finished college as an excellent student and began studying at a prestigious university. Although I was now free and successful, the damage my mother had done to me began showing its effects: I suffered from constant self doubt, felt insecure, and found huge difficulties in trusting myself. As I was from birth trained by a narcissistic mother to have no needs and to be a people pleaser, I became an easy prey for a criminal female psychopath who ruthlessly exploited me, which increased my mental problems further. I also suffered from a constant guilt without knowing why, and the guilt lead me to visit my mother once in a while, and every time found her devastated for not being able to have power and control over me anymore. The solution, according to her, was that I moved back into her house, which I politely refused every time and every time she would in response begin crying hysterically blaming me for being selfish and arrogant by not caring for her enough and by spoiling her reputation by being western dressed.</div>
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She would also play victim in front of her friends, and they would frequently blame me for not honoring my mother. Later when I experienced a series of unbearable anxiety and panic attacks , as well as showing complex post traumatic stress disorder symptoms and paranoia, I was forced to search for answers, and finally learned about personality disorders, and realized that my mother was a narcissist. After receiving a degree in Bachelor of arts I thought that finally my mother(who is uneducated) would realize my worth so I decided to make a last attempt to reconcile with her: I offered her forgiveness for all what she had done to me, if she would just admit that it was wrong of her to attempt murdering me when I was 12. That made her roll with her eyes with claims of me being ‘’oversensitive’’ and that I was the real villain for having spoiled her reputation as I had allowed the police to intervene when she ran after me with a gun. Then I changed the subject and asked her if she was proud of me now when am doing a Master of Arts at a prestigious university. In response my mother said that she had nothing to be proud of as it was a mystery to her how I got admission at the university to begin with as I was the stupidest person she had ever known, and thus she was absolutely sure that I had received my degrees by providing sexual favors to my teachers. I broke down in tears and begged her to stop her horrible accusations, while she had this smirk on her face in satisfaction over having ‘’put me on my place’’. When I heartbroken left her home that day, I suddenly realized that she would never change, and her emotional blackmail would never come to an end. When I reached my place, I texted her a message asking her not to even dare contacting me anymore as I from now on didn’t wanted to have anything to do with her. </div>
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Today – several month later - I am still fighting anxiety, paranoia and depression but by cutting both my parents and their useful idiots completely out of my life, I have taken the most important step towards healing.</div>
Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-13859474538552943382013-09-14T05:54:00.003-07:002013-09-14T05:54:44.676-07:00"I think sharing my stories will help me heal..."<i>From a contributor who identifies herself as "Paula."</i><br />
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My mother “terminated” our relationship last month. This is the fourth time in my life that she has done so. When she eventually came back around the first three times she deeply regretted her behavior. The last time, which was about 15 years ago, I got therapy to cope with the loss and grief. This time I decided I’m a veteran and can handle it, but it kept getting worse instead of better. I’ve been suffering from insomnia, lack of focus, depression, stomach issues … much like the physical effects of stress from a traditional breakup. When it started to impact my work performance I decided to get help.<br />
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Yesterday I met with a therapist and the option of choosing not to welcome her back into my life was presented to me. It has never occurred to me to use the same boundaries I set in other relationships, with my mom. I ordered the book Toxic Parents, and browsed the Internet for other forms of support. I listened to a YouTube interview with Vickie Bergman and learned about Parent Free by Choice. I am so relieved that other people with similar struggles are sharing their stories and supporting each other.<br />
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I want to share my stories. There are many, many stories. I think sharing my stories will help me heal and may help others as well.<br />
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To be continued…<br />
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<i>The interview Paula mentioned is available on YouTube <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZi1kA4IDp8">on The Voluntary Life Podcast.</a>.</i>Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-77061451175616131502013-03-30T11:42:00.003-07:002013-03-30T11:42:30.450-07:00Just cut ties.<br />
<i>This contributor wishes to remain anonymous. Here is her story:</i><br />
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I found your blog this morning when I was looking for resources on how to break ties with a "toxic" parent. Thank you for providing a healing
place to so many. I wanted to just get this off my chest and talk to
someone about it. My grandparents are from a completely different era
and don't agree with my decision.<br />
<br />My father raised me, so I was Daddy's Little Girl. He did wonderful
things for me, like took me around the world, took me out to a
restaurant every Friday night, and built me the <b>best</b> dollhouse
ever (it had carpet and electricity!!!). However, he also used to hit me
(splitting my lip once, bruising me a couple of times, and leaving
welts regularly), call me names (he called me a bitch last year when I
brought him a pet for his birthday, stupidly thinking it would patch up
our relationship), and threaten to leave me on roadsides many, many
times, even while on vacation 600 miles from home. Last winter, he
screamed at me in a public cafe for dropping my cell phone (which I paid
$20 for - it wasn't an iPhone or anything). I was as humiliated for him
as I was for myself.<br />
<br />When I moved out ten years ago, we grew more distant and I'm
convinced he's developed Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He contacts
me by phone once every two or three months and has replaced me with
2,000 Facebook friends. Conversations increasingly became more about
him, and he no longer asks how I'm doing; I have to volunteer it. When I
smile and say, "Hey, I really like my new job, by the way (I recently
received a great promotion that is providing me with some direction in
life, so I'm very excited)," he says, "Oh. Am I supposed to ask you how
you're doing?" He bought me an iPad for my birthday last year and I sent
him a quick email from my graduate class last fall telling him how much
I loved it -- I was using it at that minute to take notes, and it was
working perfectly. He wrote back, "If I had known that's all you were
going to use it for, I woudn't have bought it for you. It was a waste of
my money." He is a genius at twisting my gratitude into guilt.<br />
<br />He had a heart attack a few weeks ago and when I called him to say
hi and check on his health, it ended horribly. I told him I loved him
and he said sarcastically, "Yeah, it really shows." I flipped out. I
wrote him a letter last night that told him I recognize all he's done
for me, but like anyone else, he has to earn the respect of others; it
is not owed to him just because he's my dad. I closed it by saying "It
hurts me to do this, but I cannot be in contact with someone who
emotionally and verbally abuses me so often that it affects how I work,
how I interact with my pet, my boyfriend, my friends, etc." I've lost a
lot of sleep over it, too, so I guess it affects my health as well,
though that seems like a stretch. He's very depressed, lonely, and not
doing well financially, plus he's a functional alcoholic (his drink of
choice is Scotch Whiskey) and I've tried to be sensitive to these
things, but our relationship is beginning to affect other happier areas
of my life now.<br />
<br />I am unsure if I did the right thing -- after all, he's my dad and I
was his little girl -- but it's the first time I've stood up for
myself. I hope it'll earn his respect and he'll see beyond the
self-absorbed fog that hovers around him. I dunno.<br />
<br />It's tough stuff. I know parents are only human too, but they should, at the very least, act like adults.Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-87682468432430780802012-09-13T14:12:00.003-07:002012-09-13T14:12:57.762-07:00Realizing that I'm not alone...<i>From a reader who wishes to remain anonymous:</i><br />
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I've been reading your blog and am in tears because I'm realizing that I'm not alone.<br /><br />I'm
in my late twenties and still unemployed, but I hope to be in a
situation where I can pull away from financial dependency on my father.
I've been going back into my childhood and realizing that all my sister
and I went through was abuse: physical, verbal and emotional. If we
ever did something wrong, my dad (and sometimes, my mom) would beat us.
Unfortunately I live in a country where corporal punishment is still
seen as acceptable discipline for children. At least, it was for my
mom. I remember the first time I realized it was Not Okay when I was
eleven: I was watching television, and my dad - without a word - turned
it off. When I protested, he dragged me into his bedroom and beat me
with a clothes hanger and all the while I was screaming, I knew I hadn't
done anything wrong. My mom and sister had gone out and to this day I
still haven't told them about it. He didn't stop hitting me until four
years ago, when I hit him back for the first time. He gave the silent
treatment and acted like the victim for two whole weeks, until *I* had
to be the one to apologize. Aside from the physical abuse, he's
horribly verbally abuse: he shouts and complains about every single
thing, calls us 'sloppy,' has told us to our faces that he'd be happier
if he could get away from us. And since he's the source of income for
the family, if we argue back with him, he cuts things off: he cuts off
food, he cuts off paying the bills. Worst of all, he's a completely
different person to all his friends and business associates. "Oh, your
father is so wonderful! He helped to pay for my son's tuition fees when I
was broke! He's done so much for our company!" He acts like such a
pleasant person, and then when he's at home, he unleashes his rage at
us.<br />
<br />I know my situation, that it's not okay. I've repeatedly told my
mom and sister that as soon as I can take care of myself, I'm breaking
off contact with him. And every time I do, I've been told "But the
Bible said..." and "He's your father...." and "Please forgive him."
Reading your blog, I now know that it's all bullshit. Yes, people
deserve a second chance and so does he. But he doesn't get a second
chance <i>with me. </i>It shouldn't be a tragedy that I'm planning on
cutting him out of my life. The tragedy should be that he is such a
horrible father and husband that he's forever ruined any chance of
reconciliation between us. If my mother and sister want to keep a
relationship with him, more power to them. But as for me, I am done and
am praying for a job that will eventually let me break free and get
away.<br />
<br />Thank you for the blog. It's really put some things in perspective,
and I hope that I can attain some measure of peace in my life, like
everyone who's emailed in.Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-19372336544980329212011-12-12T03:27:00.000-08:002011-12-12T04:01:27.101-08:00Not Well Adjusted: The Day It Ended<i>The author of this post has started a new blog,<a href="http://imnotwelladjusted.blogspot.com/p/ive-told-you-how-it-all-ended-i-suppose.html"> Not Well Adjusted</a>, and has given permission to re-post this entry here. Go read her blog to find out more about her childhood and why she decided to become free of her mother.</i><br />
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I cut ties with my mother when my son was 2 weeks old. I couldn't take her constant judging, harassing, and demands anymore. <br />
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The beginning of the end started when my son was born. The plan was that my mother, who lives 12 hours away, would drive down after he was born to see us and meet him. His due date was great for her, because she would be finished with her volunteer work. Instead, he came a few weeks early. She said we'd have to wait 2 weeks before she could come. This sort of worked out well for us. Everything is HER way or NO way and she will make your life hell if you don't comply. The two weeks would help us establish a routine and such. <br />
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Two weeks rolled around. We found out my husband would have to leave for a week long business trip. Then my mother called and said my dad was also going to be out of town so she couldn't come visit. I guess it's too much effort to board a dog and ask a friend to check up on other farm animals so she could come meet her FIRST grandson. Instead, she offered to send a friend in her place. UMMMM NO! I'm not playing hostess to a semi stranger two weeks postpartum.<br />
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The next day I took my son in for his two week check up. Two things were going on. He was forcefully vomiting after each nursing/bottle session. On top of that we were supplementing formula because I wasn't producing enough milk. 45 minutes of pumping produced 2-3 ounces collectively first thing in the morning. I knew my supply was slowly dwindling and asked to do a weighed feeding. Lactose Intolerance was also suggested <br />
After the appointment, I called my mother and told her how it went. I hadn't told her about the two issues.<br />
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Cue Explosion! <br />
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"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR CHILD. ALL BABIES SPIT UP A LITTLE. YOUR BOOBS ARE PERFECTLY FINE. STICK ONE IN HIS MOUTH AND FEED YOUR KID. YOU ARE MAKING HIM SICK MY GIVING HIM FORMULA. MIXING FORMULA WITH BREASTMILK IS THE WORST THING YOU COULD EVER DO FOR A BABY. HOW CAN YOU SAY YOU KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU KID? YOU'VE ONLY BE A PARENT FOR 20 MINUTES."<br />
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All of the above started flying at me through the phone. Remember, she's never even met him or seen the amount of vomit coming out of him. The last two weeks had already been filled with her judgments about everything from where he was sleeping and how many times we'd left the house. SHE was stressing me out and that isn't helping for milk supply either.<br />
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The straw that broke the camel's back?<br />
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"THAT BABY IS NOT A TOY! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH, GROW UP, AND TAKE CARE OF YOU KID!"<br />
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I hung up the phone and haven't exchanged a word with her since. That was over two years ago and you know what, I've never been happier. This was a long time coming and I'm so glad it finally happened. Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-90911362006726977092011-10-06T05:54:00.001-07:002011-10-06T05:54:14.781-07:00"She was my mother once..."My earliest memories are of trying to placate my mother. By the time I<br />
was four, I was able to predict her mood swings with great accuracy,<br />
and to this day if I can't predict someone's actions within minutes of<br />
meeting them I am deeply afraid of them. My parents divorced when I<br />
was five. My mother almost didn't fight for custody, but her family<br />
told her to, so for years she lied to and manipulated everyone she<br />
could. She would make up very convincing stories and truly believe<br />
they had happened. She even convinced the guardian ad litem that she<br />
was the best parent. Finally my dad won custody when it turned out<br />
she'd been lying to her lawyer about a lot of things. I am grateful<br />
for that every day. It was still very, very unusual for the father to<br />
get custody - it still is, which is shameful. If I'd been given to her<br />
I doubt I would be alive now.<br />
<br />
During the divorce she tried to convince me and my brother that our<br />
dad was evil. She would tell us that there was a black hole in his<br />
living room that would eat us up, or that monsters lived under the<br />
beds in his apartment. I just wanted to make everyone happy so that no<br />
one would be angry at me. I tried to hate my dad for her, but when I<br />
couldn't, I finally went to her and apologized for still loving him. I<br />
only realized how horrible that is very recently. It just seemed like<br />
a normal and natural thing to do at the time. Her words worked on my<br />
brother, and he learned to hate Dad.<br />
<br />
She moved out of state after the divorce, and we would visit her every<br />
summer. She would dress me up and use me to impress her friends with<br />
how cute and polite I was. I was the golden child who could do no<br />
wrong. When I was 11 she moved back and wanted to see us more. I was<br />
miserable. She hadn't changed at all, she just wanted to use me for<br />
social status and labor. I decided to stop visiting her when I was 12.<br />
She never asked for me when she kept picking up my brother for his<br />
visits.<br />
<br />
I went to court when I was 16 to remove her parental rights. She<br />
didn't fight it, but she did send me a bunch of baby pictures. She had<br />
taken all of them in the divorce. I was grateful - she was trying to<br />
manipulate me, but those pictures were a precious gift. The court<br />
removed her parental rights when I was 17. I was terrified in that<br />
court room, making my case to the judge alongside my dad and attorney.<br />
I was terrified that I'd see her, that she'd show up and charm and lie<br />
her way out of it. I could barely walk out I was shaking so hard.<br />
<br />
This year, I'm 25. My mother just died of cancer. I've had to comfort<br />
my brother as best I can. I still don't know how I feel about it - her<br />
boyfriend kept sending messages urging me to reconcile with her, but I<br />
think that I have. I don't hate her anymore. I'm not angry with her<br />
for all the damage she did to me. I'm not glad she's dead. It's just a<br />
thing that is true: she was my mother once, and she was a terrible<br />
person, and now she's dead.<br />
Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-66737939220399438972011-10-04T06:48:00.000-07:002011-10-04T06:48:45.753-07:00"Children are supposed to be loved and protected..."My father was a molester. My very earliest memory is of being raped. I
was probably only two years old. When I was 5 he put a gun to my head
and said that if I ever told anyone he would kill my grandparents and
make me watch. He knew that they were my favorite people in the whole
world, so that's why he said that. He knew it would keep my mouth shut.<br />
<br />When I was ten years old my periods started. I was terrified that I
would wind up pregnant. I remember there being a news story about a 10
year old having a baby after being raped. It was really big news at the
time, so I was scared out of my mind.<br />
<br />I had made a really good friend at school. We moved a lot, so I
never really had friends before, but this girl was different. Sarah was
so kind and warm and genuine. I was actually allowed to go to a
sleepover at her house. I had never been allowed to do that before. Life
in her house was so different than anything I had ever known. When they
took me home her dad seemed agitated and nervous. I thought he didn't
like me and couldn't wait to get rid of me. It turns out he had a bad
feeling and didn't want to let me out of their car. He told Sarah that
he felt like something bad was going to happen to me. Of course I didn't
know that until this Spring, twenty years after the fact.<br />
<br />I finally worked up the courage to tell Sarah my big secret. She
convinced me to tell our teacher. So we got excused from gym class to go
talk to the teacher. She stood right there holding my hand for support.
Then all Hell broke loose. They made me tell the story to the principal
and a social worker and a police officer. THEN they sent me home on the
school bus! They had called me mom to prepare her and called my dad at
work to tell him to bring us to the police station.<br />
<br />My mom immediately started blaming me. It was all my fault. She told
the cops and social worker that I asked for it. I pranced around in
little nighties and panties. Well, she was the one who bought my
clothes, I wore what she gave me. They whisked me away to a foster home
that night. I was there for six months until he was in prison.<br />
<br />After that it took years to trust my mother again. I still don't
completely trust her. She only talks to me when she wants something. She
always babied my brother, but treated me like dirt. It used to hurt a
lot, but I'm over it now.<br />
<br />My grandma, the one he threatened to kill, is his mother. We were
always close, the only time I was safe was when I was at her house. She
and my Pappy were wonderful. Pappy passed away when I was 15. Grandma is
still alive and kicking though. Somehow she has convinced herself that
it was all just a "misunderstanding." She keeps trying to get me to
visit her when he's there. She's even lied about his being there. Now
that I have a daughter she tries even harder. I sent her pictures of the
baby and specifically told her not to give him any. She sent them all
to him and then asked me for more. I was very upset about that. I'm sure
it's because she doesn't want to believe that she raised a monster. But
this is my child and he will NEVER see her. <br />
<br />I don't regret this choice at all. Children are supposed to be loved and protected, not abused. Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-59814432878495399772011-09-29T05:56:00.000-07:002011-09-29T05:56:34.705-07:00"It's never too late..."My mother died suddenly and unexpectedly when I was 12. My dad's
mistress moved in within a month of my mother's death, and, while my dad
took me to one counseling session soon after my mother died, when I
refused to speak, I guess he gave up. After that, my dad and his new
wife never mentioned my mother again - in fact, they pretended as though
nothing had happened. I had no idea how to deal with my mom's death.
And my dad was too busy with my step-mother to pay attention to me or
parent me.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Over the next several years, my father and
his new wife more or less ignored me save to tell me how terrible I was
- and it's true, I didn't get along well with him or my step-mother. My
father told me on multiple occasions that it was my fault my mother had
died. I got into all sorts of trouble as a teen, although they rarely
noticed. I would stay out with older friends for days and I'm pretty
sure they were just glad I was out of their hair. My dad offered little
guidance or discipline - in short, he gave up parenting me. I really
resent that now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After high school I moved
away, but distance made me miss my 'family' and we continued to have a
cordial albeit superficial relationship. My father continued to refuse
to speak about my mother, but if we kept the conversation geared toward
weather and work, we were fine. It continued that way for over a decade.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then,
last year, I gave birth to my daughter. My step mother, who I had never
been close with, began emailing me with increasing frequency, which was
bizarre since neither of them cared at all about my pregnancy. She told
me that she and my father were planning on visiting, and when I told
them that it wasn't a good time, she became increasingly pushy. I
realized that they didn't care about me, my husband, or really even my
daughter and what we wanted and needed as a family - they just wanted to
visit to fulfill their need to appear like good grandparents. That's
how it's always been with them - they always try to appear like they're
such perfect people. It was the last straw for me. I wasn't going to
pretend that everything was okay; not when it involved my daughter. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I
look at my beautiful, sweet, trusting, and innocent daughter and cannot
imagine treating her - my child - the way that my father and step
mother treated me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reactions - My husband
initially thought that cutting them off at the birth of our daughter
after maintaining some semblance of a relationship with them for over a
decade as an adult was somewhat vindictive. I don’t really see it that
way - it’s just that <b>having my daughter gave me cause to rethink my entire relationship with them</b>.
And, my husband has still been supportive - he does understand why I
cut them off. As for my dad and step mother, I don't know what their
reaction was. And I don't really care. Sometimes I'm sad, but it's
because I still feel abandoned by my dad, not because I no longer talk
to him. In fact, cutting off my parents has finally allowed me to grieve
in ways I couldn't previously do. It's been hard. I feel so angry at my
parents sometimes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
I think the important part
of my story is the realization that it is never too late to cut toxic
people from your life. It is never too late to try and make a better
life for yourself and your family. My daughter doesn't need people who
treated me poorly in her life. It isn't her job to help them win some
kind of grandparents of the year award. She's not part of their game. My
dad treats people he believes to be inferior to him with open disdain,
and is generally impatient and negative. That attitude rubbed off on me
growing up, and I work every day to fight it. I want my daughter to know
that everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect.Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-49087837047748048282011-09-28T05:44:00.000-07:002011-09-28T05:44:56.322-07:00"Freedom did not come for me until I realized it was not my fault..."<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Back Story </span></div>
<div>
All my life, I have lived with my dad's <b>total disrespect</b> for me, my brother, and my mom. He used <b>very harsh discipline</b> on us, that I am still emotionally healing from. When I was a child, he <b>abused animals</b>
in front of me, which was very traumatic for me to watch. I still
struggle with the images of what he did to innocent animals in front of
me. He's been in and out of my life over the past 5 years, ever since I
had my first son. He <b>meddles</b>, wants to <b>control</b>. One time
he even wanted to bite my son when my son was biting him! We tried going
for counseling with him. He sat there and told lies about me to the
counselor, acted like the poor victim. When I went for a counseling
session alone, the counselor told me for the sake of my children, it
might be the best thing to not have him in my life.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span>I made mistakes too. I used to lash out in anger when he
would disrespect me. After speaking to the counselor, I held on to the
hope that if I just apologized and stopped lashing out in anger the
relationship would get better. I changed, and for a long time, I just
let him make his disrespectful comments to me. When I bought him a
birthday or Father's day gift, instead of saying thank you, he would
make some sarcastic comment. When he came over he would insult the fact
that I have pets in my house. I kept hoping he would change. Freedom
did not come for me, until <b>I realized this was not my fault</b> (he is still blaming me for everything) and that <b>I cannot change him</b>.
Attending counseling sessions with him, asking my husband to talk to
him, ignoring him, standing up for myself in a nicer way---nothing
worked, I simply cannot change him. And as much as I hate where we are
at,
that my family is torn apart, I will not allow my boys to be treated in
the same way I, my mother, and my brother have been treated. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Last Straw</span></div>
<div>
<span>He was often very good with my boys. He spent time with them,
played a lot of games with them, they adored their "papa" But I noticed
that as they got older, every once in awhile, he would start to treat
them the way he treated the rest of his family. He would wrestle and
become too rough, if they got out of line he would speak to them in the
same harsh tone that used to freak me out, as a child. It stressed me
out very much. I did not want to confront him and cause family drama
again. I did not want to be responsible for tearing my family apart and
his not seeing the boys anymore because I was afraid my boys would
somehow blame me.. </span></div>
<div>
<span> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div>
Then, the straw that broke the camels back was last November. He
was wrestling with my son and again being too rough. I told him to stop
and he wouldn't listen. Things got out of hand, my son kept teasing him
by slapping him in the face (he was doing it as a joke because my dad
was hitting him roughly also!). My dad snapped, got mad and threatened
to slap my son across the face. I should have intervened, but I froze in
fear, I asked my mom for help and she did nothing and before I knew it
<b>he hit my son on the shoulder</b>. I told him not to hit my kids,
that he was teaching them to hit him back. He got madder and argued with
me, right in front of my kids!!!!</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span>At Christmas, my mom made it sound like he wanted to patch
things up with us. I bought him a gift and sent it home with my mom. I
told her we wanted to patch things up too, and still come over for
Christmas. I told her all we wanted him to do was phone us, promise us
he will not hit our kids again. We waited all day on December 24th for
his phone call. Finally the phone rang at 6pm!! It was my mom. She said
he refuses to talk to us. How hurtful!! Thank goodness my boys were too
young to understand what was going on. We later found out, from my mom,
that he wanted us to drop our son off at his house -alone- so he could
talk to him about the hitting incident, and then we could all come over
for Christmas. We, of course, would never do that. Why did he insist on
being alone with him? </span></div>
<div>
<span></span> </div>
<span>I phoned a social worker to get some
counseling after he hit my son because both my boys were so angry with
him, I did not know how to handle it. I don't want my boys to grow up
with bitterness and anger the way me and my brother did. I wanted to
help them but felt completely at a loss as to how.My pastor was gone, a
counseling service put me on a waiting list, I needed help asap!! Social
services is listed in my phone book under counseling so I phoned them
and a social worker spent a lot of time talking to me. The phone call
was anonymous and it says right in the phone book they do not subscribe
to call display. She gave me great advice, I told my mom what she said
with the intention of helping my dad and our family. I also told her it
was an anonymous phone call. My dad freaked out, said he is scared to
talk to me because getting social services involved is dangerous, he's
heard of people going to
jail over social services!! This has caused me great hurt. I phoned a
social worker for help because my boys said they wanted to "scratch his
eyes out" and I did not know what else to do!! Once again, I am blamed,
and he's made himself out to look like the victim who is scared to talk
to me because I might send him to jail. How hurtful, I would never
report him. I was looking for some help because he had caused so much
damage with my boys and I wanted to help them. <var></var></span>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Breaking Away</span></div>
<div>
Since then, almost a year ago, we have had nothing to do with him.
It's been a hard year, but a good one. He is no longer meddling with how
I raise my kids, making subtle hints that they should go to school,
treating them in the same poor way that he used to treat me. I'm glad to
be away from him. <b>I feel free and I don't want him in my life anymore.</b>
The pain he has caused me and my family, he refuses to apologize for or
even acknowledge. My boys are still too young to understand what has
gone on. They still ask about him sometimes, but they do not understand
the seriousness of it all. Again, they are too young and I've tried to
gently explain the basics to them, but shelter them from most of it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking Ahead</span></div>
<div>
The one thing I feel bad about is that my sons absolutely adored
him. They still ask about him from time to time even though they never
see him anymore. I'm very worried my sons are going to grow up and and
blame me for why they did not get to see their beloved papa when they
were growing up. Another huge fear, that they will want to have a
relationship with him when they are older and my dad will try to turn
them against me to get revenge. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
I hope this blog can be a place to heal my heart because I feel so
alone. My husband is a huge help, but only someone who has gone through a
similar experience really understands what it is like. I also hope I
can help others who are a part of this blog heal. <var></var>It's so
hard seeing grandparents who babysit and respect what their children
want. I live in a small town. I often have people asking me about my
parents. I just kind of brush it off and say "they are doing fine." <var></var></div>
</div>
<span></span>Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-66242564005369430072011-09-21T14:22:00.000-07:002011-09-21T14:22:37.826-07:00"I feel so relieved now, yet..."<i>This story was submitted by "Marie." </i><br />
<br />
My mother and father separated when I was very young, only six years
old. My connection with my father was always strong (I'd be allowed to go
visit him every other weekend, stay with him for weeks at a time during
longer Christmas and summer breaks), and it was basically the only
thing that allowed to keep me my sanity from when I was a very young
child until we finally moved to Florida, where I was unable to keep
these meetings up.<br />
<br />
My mother was always verbally and emotionally abusive rather than
physically abusive. As a young child, my favorite thing to do was always
to read, and I gathered books from everywhere I could - old, falling
apart books libraries and neighbors were giving away, or books I got for
presents or books I bought myself with money I earned. One of the
worst things she ever did to me was during the summer the year I was
nine; due to the fact I had a less than very good report card (she
considered high B's and A's very good), she wrapped up three full trash
bags full of my books. Two bags went into the garbage. The third got
donated...<br />
<a name='more'></a>
<br />
I was brokenhearted, and shattered. She continued to belittle me
through my elementary and middle school years about my love of reading
and my lack of any true friends. I was 'fat', 'ugly', 'not sociable'.
She broke my will to even go to school and attend the classes I had an
interest in, if she didn't believe I'd succeed. In my ninth grade year, I
ended up quitting classes and got into trouble for them and had to go
to counseling and court. I was ordered back into school and I had to see
this lady a couple of times after school every week so she could verify
that I went.<br />
<br />
I hated it.<br />
<br />
That summer, we moved to Florida. My school was
full of snobby, rich kids, the ones that typically are viewed as
'cliquish'. I didn't fit in with them anymore than I fit in at the high
school with children I had grew up with; if anything, it was worse,
especially since due to my problems in ninth grade, I was forced to
restart ninth grade down there. As the oldest, newest student, I was
definitely the outcast, and my mother wouldn't listen to me.<br />
<br />
I managed to struggle through ninth and tenth grade, until eleventh
grade when I just basically gave up again, as I did in my original ninth
grade. None of my teachers were actually trying to help me, so I was
skipping classes and getting after-school detention and in-school
suspensions. After one too many missed classes, my mother finally did
the one thing that I will consistently be thankful for from her: she
filed the paperwork to officially withdraw me from school, nearly age
seventeen.<br />
<br />
Of course, now I was the 'unsociable high school dropout' who 'can't
get a job' and 'does absolutely nothing' which was bull, because with
my mother not working due to a degenerative disease and my sister full
time at another job, I was the one taking care of everything. I was the
one feeding our two dogs and five cats. I was the one doing the laundry
of three adults weekly. I was the one cleaning our one room trailer that
we all lived in.<br />
<br />
We moved back to Ohio from Florida at this time, and the things
didn't change. I was still, according to my mother, the 'elusive loner'
who 'can't do anything'. She was pressuring me, and continued to do so
until about half a year later when we moved to Indianapolis shortly
before the start of 2009. There, I finally made the first cut of our
relationship: I moved out to live with a friend. I had my own job. I was
happy.<br />
<br />
But, circumstances change, and they changed badly enough that I
ended up moving in with a friend in Ohio again. Bear in mind that at
this point I had managed to stay out of her clutches for at least a
year. It had just passed my twentieth birthday when she worked her
charms on me again and managed to convince me to come down to live with
her again in Florida.<br />
<br />
The economy was very bad at this point, so it was back to the same
old cooking, cleaning, and general chores in a one bedroom trailer
situation. The straw that broke the camels back was when I admitted to
her that I didn't want to go to our local community college because it
had none of the Bachelor or Associate degrees that I wanted.<br />
<br />
She insisted on having me go for a Government program that would pay
me to stay home with her as a nursing care aid. This would keep me in
her grasp, where she could emotionally manipulate me as she had for
years. I told her, flatly, 'no'. I like nurses well enough, but it was
not for me. I cannot handle blood, or needles, and she knew this, and
she kept pressuring me. I survived less than four months living with her
again before I turned back to my depression.<br />
<br />
Unlike before, I had nothing to keep me here on this planet. My
friends were few and online. Fortunately for the my love now and the
rest of my family, I botched a suicide attempt when I mistimed it and my
sister came home early from work. With nothing better to do, I started
cutting. Just light, little slashes.<br />
<br />
Finally, two months later, redemption came. A friend paid for me to
come stay with him, understanding that I had nothing I could do, that I
was in a very bad place, and he didn't want to see me die. I stopped
cutting, and I left a note for my mother on the computer the night I
left. (I did not tell them I was leaving. I literally packed, and walked
out at 2 AM into my new life.)<br />
<br />
The message I left was this:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>You are a demeaning, cruel,
manipulative bitch. I love and have loved you so much ever since I can
remember. However, I cannot withstand it anymore. I am cutting off my
ties with you, and my sister.</i></blockquote>
I left no forwarding information, and avoid what contact I can via social networking sites. <br />
<br />
I
feel so relieved now, yet at the same time, I am still very sad. My
internet friends have become in-person friends, and there is someone
that I love deeply that knows what I need, and that I am in need of
support and she has given that to me unconditionally without knowing my
full story. I love her for that.<br />
<br />
I still miss my mother. I always will. Yet, I refuse to go back into
that relationship until I've proven myself to her - that I can be more
than she always said I would be.<br />
<br />
Maybe I never will.Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-62271526821190766972011-09-19T05:10:00.000-07:002011-09-19T05:10:34.564-07:00Fresh Wounds, Part 3: "I will be OK."<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Read </span></span><a href="http://parentfreebychoice.blogspot.com/2011/09/fresh-wounds-part-1-i-allowed-her-to.html">Fresh Wounds, Part 1: "I allowed her to control me too much..."</a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">And </span></span><a href="http://parentfreebychoice.blogspot.com/2011/09/fresh-wounds-part-2-i-was-making.html">Fresh Wounds, Part 2: "I was making choices for myself."</a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Back-Lash</span><br />Not talking to my mom had a really negative effect on me. I did not even know it was happening at first. I was falling into a depression. I was grieving the loss of my mother, and my best friend. She was dead to me. We were not speaking at all for the first time in my life. I can not remember a time we went more then 24 hours without speaking. I was now pushing 2...3 months. It was really hard on me. There were little things everyday that reminded me of her. It was hard not to pick up the phone and call her and just talk like we used to. I did not want to do that though because I was talking to a lie. I missed talking to my mom that was my best friend but in reality that never existed. Every time I talked to my mom I realized she had a motive or a plan. But I was still grieving. A lot.<br />
<br />
This lead to fights with my boyfriend. I would get angry over the dumbest things. He wouldn’t put his dish in the dish washer and I would end up crying. I should not have been crying as much as I was. It seemed like I was crying at least once a day. I thought my boyfriend and I were just having problems but it was me trying to deal with my loss. I wasn’t ready to address the reality that my mom was gone. <br /><br />
I started seeing a doctor and I started taking medicine and they seem to be working great. Apparently not. My boyfriend was not able to deal with the stress and unspoken pressure I was putting on him. He felt like he was all I had left, like I depended on him to keep me happy. He was having trouble dealing with all the tears and the little fights that were actually about my mom not him. I lost him. It is still very raw.<br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking Back</span><br />I have absolutely no regrets about what happened with my mom in the past 3 months. I am dealing with the anger and shock stages right now. I hate that I allowed my mom to control so much of my life. I hate that she put so much pressure on me about my weight, grades, friends, and social decisions. I hate that I live to please other because I spent my life making decisions that would please my mom. The only thing I regret right now is putting pressure on my boyfriend. I love him for supporting me and giving me the courage to move on from the controlling woman my mother was.<br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Moving Forward</span><br />I am very lucky to have the support system that I have. My friends are amazing.<br />Everyday I tell myself that I am strong. I am confident. I will be ok. I am beautiful. I am independent. I am amazing. I will be ok. <br /><br />
I am going to get settled in at my new job. I am going to take everything one day at a time instead of thinking way into the future. I am going to control the things that I can control. I am going to control my reactions. I am going to control my emotions. I will be ok!<br /><br />
As it stands now I am working on accepting that my mom is not and will not be a part of my life. So far it is going pretty well. I know she is still a human and still alive but the relationship I thought we had is dead. It is gone forever. <b>Maybe someday she will wonder back into my life but I will have all the control. I will control when it happens and if it happens. I will control what I tell her. I will be in charge. </b>Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-65365350861127441432011-09-17T05:57:00.000-07:002011-09-19T05:11:38.793-07:00Fresh Wounds, Part 2: "I was making choices for myself..."<i>This is the second part of one woman's story of being controlled and manipulated. Read Part 1 for <a href="http://parentfreebychoice.blogspot.com/2011/09/fresh-wounds-part-1-i-allowed-her-to.html">The Back Story</a>. </i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Breaking Point</span><br />
I had been with my boyfriend for about seven months and I knew deep down inside that I<br />
loved him. I was just afraid to verbalize it. He had I had been bickering here and there<br />
and we 'broke up." We ended up working things out and getting back together quickly. This my mother did not support at all. That fight made me realize how much I loved him and how much I wanted him in my life. It sucks it took that to make me realize but I finally did. I loved this man with everything that I was and I loved who I could be when I was with him.<br />
<br />
This is where my mother started to protest. She finally let it all out about how much<b> she<br />hated him</b>. She did a celebration (not in my face) when we broke up. In hind sight I<br />
realize many of the problems in my relationship with my boyfriend went back to my mom.<br />
<br />
I would get upset with him over something stupid, like I didnʼt like the shoes he was<br />
wearing, and after talking about it with him, all would be fine. He would leave and I would<br />
go talk to my mom about it and she would make it seem like it was the WORST thing<br />
that anyone has ever done. How could he wear SNEAKERS! So then I would get<br />
angry all over again.<b> I thought, “mother knows best”</b> and she would never lead me<br />
astray. She knows I want to be with this man so she would never try to convince me to<br />
end things with him. I was so wrong.<br />
<br />
She was jumping on every opportunity like that to <b>drive a wedge between us</b>. I was<br />
blindly listening to the person I thought was my best friend. I thought my mom (and my best<br />
friend) was guiding me for what was best for me. No <b>she was leading me in the<br />direction she wanted me to go</b>. She did not want me with him and every day her<br />
conversation was leading to that. I felt so stupid after I realized this.<br />
<br />
Back to the “break up”... my mom used this chance to drive a further wedge between<br />
us... she would <b>make up lies about him</b> on a daily basis to make me think he was this<br />
horrible person. Lies like... he is a child molester, abusive, controlling.... Just so we are<br />
100% clear, he is none of these things. He is gentle, caring, loving, and would do<br />
anything to make the people he loves happy. If anything he puts his needs behind<br />
others and sacrifices his health to do so.<br />
<br />
It took me getting to this point with my mom to realize how controlling she was. My best<br />
friends had seen this all along but I had not. They were able to tread lightly around the situation. They told me 5 years ago when I moved out that I might want to stop telling her as<br />
much as I did. I should have listened to them.<br />
<br />
My friends were trying to get me to see that moving out of my parents house and<br />
leaving their job would the best thing for me. I, for months, thought this was not a good<br />
idea. I lived for two months in misery with my mom <b>walking all over me</b> and <b>trying to tell me what to do</b>. The worst part was <b>she was writing my pay checks</b> and she knew what I need to live on my own and knew not to pay me that much.<br />
<br />
My boyfriend and I decided we would move in together. I still worked for my parents for<br />
another week or so until they decided to <b>cut my pay by $5 an hour.</b> Then and there<b> I quit</b>.<br />
I was no longer going to deal with this woman.<b> I was finished</b>. I had a lot of people telling<br />
me I need to make this decision and I was in denial that it was the right choice. When I<br />
finally did it, I realized it was the best thing that ever happened to me.<br />
<br />
Finally, I was cut off completely from my mom (and dad) and living on my own for once<br />
in my life. <b>For the first time I was making choices for myself</b>, not for my mom and me. I<br />
was living with my boyfriend, on my way to starting a new job (that I got on my own<br />
merit), and we had two puppies. I was the happiest I had been in a really long time. Or so<br />
I thought...<br />
<br />
<i>Read Part 3, <a href="http://parentfreebychoice.blogspot.com/2011/09/fresh-wounds-part-3-i-will-be-ok.html">the aftermath</a>.</i>Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-85600455668486574672011-09-16T06:00:00.000-07:002011-09-17T05:57:52.302-07:00Fresh Wounds, Part 1: "I allowed her to control me too much..."<i>This woman very recently
decided to become free from her parents. Her wounds are still fresh, and
she has a lot to share, so her story will be broken up into three
parts.</i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Back Story</span><br />
I always thought my mom was my best friend. I thought I could tell her ANYTHING and I
usually did. It seemed so wonderful to
have the love and support of a mother.
It seemed amazing to go home at night and have your best friend always
there. I always thought she was not
passing judgement and was being supportive of my decisions.
There were a few times in my life when I felt my mom was
dictating too much to me what I could and could not do. I just assumed these were normal “mother knows best”
situations.<br />
<br />
She was <b>critical of almost all the friends</b> I've ever had. In hind sight,
this was because I was spending more time with them then I was with her. The only two friends she didn't have problems with were the ones who didn't take up my time, and pull me away from her.
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>I cannot think of a man that I have dated that she did not have
a serious problem with</b> at first or by the end.
Too short, weird, not talkative enough, poor grammar, does not make
enough money, didn’t go to college, must be an alcoholic, not your type (how
does she know MY type better than I do?)... the list goes on.<br />
<br />
When I was 24 I was able to get out on my own. My mom and I had fought a lot leading up to
this point and I did not have a healthy relationship with my father... I just
needed to get out. I did
it. I had my own house, a job, friends
and I still had my family. I had what
felt like independence. But it really
wasn’t there. I still went to my parents house
5 or 6 times a week. I would have
dinners with them, I would go to watch TV with my mom. She would usually give me the <b>guilt trip</b> if
we got too far behind on a specific show we watched together... “you never make
time for me...life is about priorities... I guess I know yours...<br />
<br />
My mom knew she was losing some control over my life but still
every time something went awry in my life I called my mom. I ran to my family for support.
In February of 2010 I lost my job... I was no longer able to
afford my house comfortably so I had to move back home. I had just watched the move <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Remember Me</i>. It seemed like it put things in
perspective. I wanted to
move home, I felt like I needed it. I knew it meant I would again be depending on someone else but it felt
right to move home. There are other
solutions I could have come up with, but moving home was easiest. Not only did I move home but I also began
working full time for my parents business.
I was now fully at my mother’s disposal.<br />
<br />
My mom was the happiest person in the world when I went back to her. She had ALL the control back. She could manipulate my decisions and
actions. She was so good at it she did
it in a way that I didn’t even know it was happening. I felt like I had my best friend right there
with me all the time so it seemed amazing.
I was wrong. <b>I told her too much,
gave her too much power, and allowed her to control me too much…</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***********************</div>
<br />
<i><a href="http://parentfreebychoice.blogspot.com/2011/09/fresh-wounds-part-2-i-was-making.html">Read Part 2 here</a>, about the breaking point in her relationship with her mother.</i>
Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-55846301295900693742011-09-14T06:28:00.000-07:002011-09-14T08:50:53.818-07:00"I have come to realize that you cannot make people care about you..."<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is Connie's story. Connie has a beautiful blog called <i><a href="http://creative-bubbles.blogspot.com/">Creative Bubbles</a></i>, and she has given permission to use her name here.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Back Story </span><br />
I was put in foster care because my mother was neglectful. Even though
I am 30 years old, it still stings, to know that having 5 children
taken away was not enough for my mom to get clean, sober, and be able to
care for us. It seems that she always had a drug problem and a drinking
habit. I remember her<b> locking my sisters and I out of the house</b> so that
she and her friends could get high without us interrupting them. I
remember <b>having to pull her out of a bar</b> so she could make us dinner.
And I remember <b>her making us lie- a lot</b>. Lie to her OB that she wasn't
smoking while pregnant, lie to the social worker that we were taken care
of, and lie to my family that we weren't starving all the time and
never had clean clothes or a clean house.<br />
<br />
My youngest brother, one very
cold December night, somehow got out of
the house and was picked up by the police wearing only a diaper... he
was two years old. My mother was not home and did not tell me that she
was going out, leaving him all alone on the first floor. I am the oldest
of five children and I am the one who told my teachers about all the
stuff going on at home. Things were so bad when we were removed that <b>the
social worker threw up after looking at the contents of our
refrigerator</b>... I told her that we had been eating cake frosting for the
last week because there was nothing else to eat that hadn't gone bad.
My mother had her parental rights taken away and we were all separated
and put into foster care. My youngest brother and I went to live with
aunt and her partner eventually, which turned out to be an even more
abusive situation than what we left. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
My aunt was an addict as well, addicted to pain medication. Her
partner was very <b>mentally abusive</b>, constantly <b>threatening </b>to send me
back to the social worker for the slightest sign of disobedience. Mind
you, I was a straight-A student, a cheerleader, a competitive singer,
and never got into trouble. (School had been my refuge prior to foster
care and continued to be so.) This woman <b>used duct tape to keep my
brother in bed at night.</b> He would constantly get out to make sure people
were there with him, and it annoyed her. She would <b>hit </b>us, <b>leave nasty
notes</b> on my desk, and <b>tell me that I was a slut</b> who was going to turn
out just like my mother. Every day I swore to myself that I was going to
get out of there as soon as I could, go far far away and forget that
she ever existed. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Another Chance</span><br />
I did not
have contact with my mother from 16 until I became a mother myself at
the age of 22. I decided to give her another chance- I had the
rose-colored glasses of a new mother and thought that<b> maybe things had
changed</b>. She came to see me and the new baby, met my husband, and
brought my sister with her whom I had not had contact with in a long
time. I thought that maybe, just maybe, we could have a relationship.
But a few weeks after the visit I got a call from Gerber Insurance. I am
sure most parents have seen the ads for children's life insurance, they
call it a "gift" and say it is just pennies a day. Well, the insurance
agent said that my mother had gotten a policy for my daughter and he
just needed her social security number to complete the policy. I asked
for more information and learned that the maximum amount was taken out,
$100,000, and that my mother was named the beneficiary! <b>This woman had
taken out a life insurance policy on my new baby!!!</b> And if something
should have happened to her, she would have gotten all that money. To
say I was shocked, furious, and betrayed is an understatement. I called
her right away and told her that we were done, <b>that was her last chance</b>.
I haven't spoken to her since. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Trying To Forget</span><br />
I have also cut out all contact with my aunt, as soon as my brother
turned 18 and I knew that she couldn't use him to hurt me anymore. <b>I
have come to realize that you cannot make people care about you and want
to be in your life.</b> I try really hard to just forget those first 20
years of my life, only think about those friends who let me stay over
their house and their wonderful families who took me under their wings
when things got bad at home. I am thankful that my children are still
young enough to not even think about these missing people in their lives
and that we live far enough away that the ugliness of it all does not
reach them. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Bottom Line</span><br />
There is so much more to this but the bottom line is that <b>these
people who were entrusted with our care failed us miserably</b>. I know that I tried my best to give both my mom and my aunt the
benefit of the doubt and more chances than they deserved. But in the end
<b>I had to think about my girls and I know that I didn't want them to
have memories of people who did not deserve to know them</b>. I feel bad for
my siblings because they haven't dealt with all of this as well as I
have and I know that they blame me for putting us in foster care in the
first place. Someone had to do something though. Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-13748671724754608902011-09-13T05:25:00.000-07:002011-09-13T06:14:59.524-07:00"There is no place for regret..."<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-size: 13px;"><i>This
piece was contributed by Aubrey, who has given permission to use her
name. She has recently started blogging about her experience at <a href="http://embracingthismoment.blogspot.com/2011/08/do-i-save-it-just-in-case.html" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Embracing This Moment</a>.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">The
Back Story </span></b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">My mother and father
were very young, 19, 20, and not married when they had me. My father
didn't tell his parents about me until my grandmother found me on the couch
while he was mowing the lawn. I can't imagine that scene. How did
he attempt to explain it? My dad's family laughs about it. I don't.
My parents tried to make it work as best they could, but that wasn't
much, their immaturity, their personalities, just didn't mix. When I was
two, my parents separated. I grew up with my mother, and although times
were hard, I am forever grateful to her for her sacrifices. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">As a young girl,<b> I felt
like an outcast in my father's life</b>. He had numerous women, and I felt
like I always took a far distant third...job first...new fling second...me...oh
yeah, the girlfriend comes to get me for the weekend. He rarely called me
to check in. He barely saw me but two times out of the year--holidays, summer.
By the time my father married and had two more children, I was 11, and I
knew then it would be up to me to carry the relationship, so I did. I
called him with exciting news. I made the investment in us. <b>I
wanted to believe I had a dad, so I told myself if I proved my worth to
him, he would want me, he would love me.</b> When I started college,
near where he lived, the time we had to get together increased. I even
lived with him one summer in between the school year. We really got to
know each other, I got to know his new children and his wife. I felt
comfortable with our relationship, I loved my dad. I felt like he loved
me...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Fifteen years pass, I am pregnant and married, and we are still visiting
frequently, spending holidays, weekends together. We have invested much
more in each other. I want to be able to tell myself I have a good
family, so I ignore my reactions to his expectations, ignore my gut instincts
that tell me this isn't healthy, that this doesn't honor me. He
was the first one at the hospital. He was the first family member to hold
our son. He was so excited, so full of love. I don't know what happened. It all
changed so quickly. Although I had intended to return to my job, at the
last minute, we decided that my staying home would be the best option for our
family. I asked him for help as we eased into the transition. In
response, my dad said, "You are bringing financial ruin to your family.
I cannot support you, and I cannot watch you do this." He
meant it. He told me it was the worst decision of my life, and abruptly ended
our relationship. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Reactions</span></b><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">For a while, I
waited, hoping he would come to his senses, hoping he would want to know his
grandson, hoping he still loved me enough to forgo his bruised ego.
And then, I got a voice mail from him. I could hear him
talking with his friends. A baseball game. In a restaurant.
He accidentally called me. I thought, maybe, this was my
"in," this was my opportunity to get back into his good graces.
<b>I felt so rejected, so lost...really, what had I done to deserve such
treatment?</b> Followed my heart, my feelings, my passion for how my husband
and I decided to care for our son? How could this be? So, I asked
his wife if I should call him. She encourage me to do so. The next
morning, however, he sent me a scathing email reiterating his previous desires
to stay as far away from me and my family as possible. The emails
continued back and forth for over a month. The <b>hate</b>. The <b>hurt</b>.
So, I said what I needed to say about my truth, my experience, my
reality...he continued to <b>shame </b>me for wanting to care for my child, continued
to air his hostility and disagreement about my making the financial sacrifices
to stay home. The final email was never read, I finally stopped the
temptation I felt to sell more of my soul, my self-worth to prove anything more
to him. </span><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">All along, it was such
a false sense of hope. My father's security is based in his consumption.
He prides himself with his money and his status. When I chose to
give up all of those things, to simply love my child the best way I knew how,
<b>he felt rejected, and couldn't tolerate my independence and autonomy.</b> In
many ways, it has fueled the competitive and head strong nature in me, to
find a way to make staying home work for us, to find a way to prove him wrong.
It's also been very sad...this isn't how I pictured my life...this isn't
how I wanted things to go. In the midst of all of these feelings, all of
this grief, I came face to face with the reality that my dad is
a narcissist. Everything in his life is an extension of him.
The pressure I felt to be perfect, the pressure to prove myself to him,
the pressure to follow his way of life...if I made even the tiniest of
"mistakes" <b>I was unloved, unwanted</b>. The strong
relationship I thought we built, in reality, was one based on the non-verbal
agreement that I do what he said...that I follow his "infinite wisdom." When
I chose against his judgment, he couldn't tolerate it. He said miserable
things. It felt terrible to read the things he wrote in those emails, to
be treated this way by him. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Recovery</span></b><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Initially, I wondered
about what might happen with my dad's side of the family. Would he pressure
them to cut off relationships with me too? This made it more of a challenge
for me to recover from his decisions, more difficult to come to terms with the
damage he was doing. If I only saw my grandparents at my dad's house on
holidays, how would this work for the future? In the end, I found a way
to manage my relationship with each of them individually. I don't discuss
my dad with his parents. I don't discuss my dad with my half siblings.
To my dad's credit, he has kept his life choices his own, and no one was
forced to stop talking to me. I am grateful. My grandmother has
tried to get us together a couple of times, but I've told her no. I think
she is trying to manage her own anxiety around it, around raising a son that
could do this to his own daughter...and it isn't really about mending my father
and me, but more about her own worries and issues. And, frankly, that's
okay. I know she loves me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">The only person to ever
make me feel guilty about my decision to stay home, was my father.
The only person to shame me, was him. My mother's family, my old
colleagues, my husband's family, my friends--they all knew I would not return to work...they all told me that along the way, but I dismissed it, I wanted what I
told myself about the financial security too. Fortunately, they all saw
the loving mommy in my soul, and they have honored it...they've helped me learn
to honor it too...and that's been an absolute blessing. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">It's been three long
years since those emails. I have come to realize that it's best for me to
have no expectations about my dad changing, about him missing me
"enough." It is easier to live in reality than it is to wait
and hope. <b>Every once in a while, I will feel a bit of compassion for him,
his lifestyle, his pressures, and I am so sorry that our relationship has gone
this way. Most days, however, I am simply grateful to be free.</b> Free
from the approval and praised based mentality, that if I do right, I am worth
loving. It's still a long journey, but I am working toward a full embrace
of my self-worth...free from outcomes and perfection...free from the story I
told myself about what life "should" be. </span><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">The
Bottom Line </span></b></span><b><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">I want to do the things
for myself and my son that my father has been unable and unwilling to do for
me...to validate my feelings, my perspective, my life...to love me
unconditionally. It is so very important for me to honor myself, to honor
my son...to never shame him for his perspective...to never tell him he is a bad
person or unloved because I don't agree with his life choices. After
examining my expectations of this toxic reality with my dad, I know I am better
able to stay in the present moment with my family, my life, and my own
perspective. <b>To honor myself, to empower myself, to do and be different,
is the best gift of all.</b> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit;"><b>I don't regret</b> the
current status of my relationship with my dad. I am sad that he doesn't
know, and will never know, the love of his first grandchild. The
love my son has to give, it's so powerful, so beautiful. So, it makes me
sad, but never regretful. <b>I have welcomed so much clarity, so much
insight, about the mother that I am, the mother that I want to be, that there
is no place for regret...only truth...only the present moment. </b></span>Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144141303938808400.post-27492002077599094922011-09-09T19:44:00.000-07:002011-09-10T08:48:35.790-07:00"It was for my sanity, my self-esteem, and my son."<span style="font-size: large;">The first of many anonymous stories to come... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Back Story </span><br />
They never physically abused me but I had enough of the <b>emotional abuse</b>,
especially from my father. My dad was always very <b>critical, demeaning,
cold</b>. He'd often make fun of me, my brothers did this too a lot, and my
mom would laugh along with them, <b>treating me like my thoughts and
feelings were silly, stupid, ridiculous</b>.<br />
<br />
I was labeled as crazy because I was emotional, and got upset when I was treated like crap, instead of
laughing it off or acting like a robot like the rest of my family. I
wasn't emotionally tough enough.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I think my brothers were jealous when I was
born, and they tortured me for my existence. My parents did nothing to
stop them. When I tried to talk to my mom about it she would only
defend them. They were watching me after all. She had four kids and
couldn't watch me apparently so I was supposed to be thankful to these
abusive brothers I had.
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Last Straw</span><br />
Every visit I end up in tears
but on this last visit in January, it was <b>the last straw</b>.
It was my son's 4th birthday and I was working really hard to make it a
great birthday for him. I set it up at a bowling alley and invited
friends, etc. I could handle my dad criticising my bowling, whatever,
but the whole visit I was just fed up with both of them. Oh and they
can't listen at all. I don't even talk a whole bunch. They can't pay
attention to ONE SENTENCE. I literally cannot finish a sentence, even
when it's an amazing story or something really important to me. They've
always done this to me, nothing new there.<br />
<br />
So my dad <b>pulls into a
handicapped spot</b>, which apparently he does all the time. He has no
stickers and <b>is not handicapped in any way</b>. It was next to a regular
open spot btw. So, ok, be a dick on your own time but when my son and I
are both in the car and I ask that you not force me to participate in
something I am strongly morally against, can you please respect that?
No, he does it despite my pleading. Then he goes on to <b>call me a self
righteous bitch and little miss perfect, in front of my son</b> in the
restaurant.<br />
<br />
I can't hold back my tears and my son is now rubbing my
shoulder because even though he's just turned four he had more empathy
in his little finger than my dad could ever have. So my dad doesn't even
notice I'm upset and goes on with his crossword. I retreat into
depression in my room when we get home and my mom doesn't understand why
I'm upset. She was there when he said those things by the way. Instead
of supporting me she acted like I was overreacting and then left the
room calling me some names. They decided to leave because I wouldn't
come out of my room. I don't think my dad actually noticed. <b> I decided
I'd had enough.</b>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Reaction</span><br />
My mom is very
surprised and in shock. She even accused my super sweet husband who she
adored, of brainwashing me, because she couldn't comprehend it. My mom
is still stalking me, (my dad probably hasn't noticed) leaving me weird
self-centered messages. I haven't responded other that to initially
tell her that I wanted them out of my life.
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Regrets?</span><br />
I don't regret it but I did
have a twinge the other day of feeling bad for my mom not seeing my son
grow up this year, he's changed so much. I could consider letting her
back into my life if she divorced my dad but I know she never will. I'm
not sure how yet how I'm going to handle her sending my son presents on
this upcoming Christmas and birthday.
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Bottom Line</span><br />
<b>Basically it was emotional abuse that drove me away.</b> <b>I was getting
way more pain then love from them and it just wasn't worth it anymore.
It was for my sanity, my self-esteem, and for my son.</b>
Vickie@Demand_Euphoriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706946767924290485noreply@blogger.com8