Growing up with my parents was like living
with people who didn’t like us, and didn’t particularly
want us around.
From the earliest that I can remember,
my mother used aggressive language and unpleasant names
to us. One of her favorite phrases was “You’re
big enough and ugly enough” which to me meant: you
are ugly. I learned early on not to go to my mother with
any hurts, because she would laugh, not to ask questions
or she would yell at me for being stupid and ignorant. My
parents would show admiration for other children, but anything
we did or created was criticized, sometimes angrily, or
ignored. We were expected to know what to do and how to
behave without being taught. If we did something wrong or
made a mistake, the first we would know about it was the
outburst of rage or slap round the face or both. Often I
would be left not knowing what I had done to make them angry.
My mother had no qualms about shouting at us or telling
us off in public, she would trail me from shop to shop,
announcing loudly – “She’s in the doghouse!”.
I could not make things better by saying sorry, that would
just start throw all over again. Things just had to be left
to fester, and then I would hear her yelling that I was
sulking. Nothing was ever forgotten, she would tell us off
many times for the same thing. Neither of them gave any
affection.
I was not shy when I started school, but
found myself very lonely. For years I believed I must be
basically unlikable. I think now that I found it difficult
because I had not had any opportunity to learn to socialize
before I started primary school, because we were not terribly
well cared for, and because you have to learn your early
behavior from your parents; if you have been exposed mainly
to unpleasant aggressive behavior, it’s going to be
difficult to learn to be pleasant and friendly. Two years
were particularly bad: cold severe teachers combined with
impaired hearing and short-sightedness and being moved ahead
a year so that I was often held up in front of the class
for making mistakes or doing badly in tests. But I still
preferred being at school to being at home with my mother!
Although I developed some idea of what
was likely to set my parents off as I grew up, they were
so unpredictable that it was never possible to avoid unexpected
bursts of disgust or rage and slaps. If I tried to stand
up for myself, I would find myself in more trouble, so I
learnt to be passive. I had to give a great deal of help
with housework, and nothing I did was good enough or done
fast enough. I would be shouted at if I asked for instructions
and shouted at if I did something wrong. If there were a
decision to be made, it would be wrong whatever I did. If
I did to something to an acceptable standard, my mother
would still turn her comment into a criticism by saying
something like “Miracles will never cease” My
mother frequently yelled regret at being a mother, we had
no right to be in the home, we were there on sufferance.
My sister started getting panic or anxiety attacks when
she was 13 and was given Valium. My parents’ reaction
was disgust with her, that a daughter of theirs could have
mental health problems. I think I survived better because
I buried myself in books, or daydreams when reading was
not practical.
My mother often reported proudly how she
was agony aunt for the girls she taught, but made it clear
she did not want me to come to her with any problems. Late
teens were very difficult and frustrating. Whenever I started
to express an opinion, or let my personality show, she would
be sarcastic, or tell me I was wrong or stupid. I had to
keep my emotions firmly checked; even appearing cheerful
or unhappy led to trouble. Our family doctor found I was
underweight at 15 and thought I must be dieting –
the truth was that it never occurred to my mother to give
us more food as we grew older.
Things did not get any better when I turned
18 and was officially an adult. I kept going by believing
that as soon as I left home to go to University, I would
live happily ever after! Depression kicked in at the start
of my second year. I didn’t want the treatment available
at the time, so I was allowed to move back to a hall of
Residence. I managed to get a degree and start working.
I always felt useless, though, and used having a baby as
an excuse to stop working. Later, when I found out about
depressive thinking and low self-esteem, I realized that
I had not needed to give up my career so easily.
Being at home has not meant being able
to avoid making mistakes or inadvertently annoying people,
and depression has returned over the last few years. I am
taking cipramil and I hope that therapy while I am on anti-depressants
will help me overcome all my unhelpful thought and behavior
patterns. Finding out as much as I can about depression
and the connection with self-esteem and childhood experiences
has helped me understand my problems. It also helps to know
that I am not alone in my experiences. Talking through our
experiences with my sister is helpful, but I don’t
feel bitter towards my parents and certainly don’t
think that “confronting” them would help; it
would just increase the amount of unhappiness all round
to no good effect.
I am re-training and was recovering and
enjoying my course until the actions of a member of staff
put me back into a severe depression. At the moment I am
working voluntarily in the field of work I want eventually
to qualify in, and I love it so much I am getting better.
I think that my self-esteem and self-confidence will always
be very fragile, though. My personal future is uncertain
but I have made every effort (and it does need determination
to behave differently to your children than your parents
behaved to you) to bring my children up to feel loved, wanted,
respected, valued, and their achievements, gifts and personalities
appreciated; and they are great kids.
snowball
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