Tag Archives: Parent

My Mother


My mother is quite a peach. Just kidding. My mother is the source for a lot of my anger despite the fact that my step-dad sexually abused me. I have had an on and off relationship with her. Things had actually been alright for the last 9 years up until the big fall-out. I didn’t realize that I had so much anger toward her until I started to write this blog. There were many times that she was faced with the fact that her husband was molesting her daughter and she did nothing about it. She was abused by her father growing up so when I became an adult, I tried to be understanding and forgiving. Something else that I’ve learned about myself recently is that I am a people pleaser because of her. This isn’t necessarily a good thing. This personality trait is the reason why I kept a relationship with her at all. I was always afraid to let her go. I don’t know why. I felt guilty at the thought because her mother abandoned her and my biological father also abandoned her. I didn’t want to be one more person in her life to leave her. I sympathized with her. The older I got, though, the more I couldn’t keep doing it. Having children of my own really opened my eyes.

She wasn’t a nice person to me. Not only was I abused sexually by my step-father but she also was abusive toward me. Her preferred method was with words and violence. I don’t know what is wrong with her but whatever it is doesn’t allow her to be disappointed or criticized. She absolutely can’t handle it and will lost her cool especially if she is already under any kind of stress. I don’t have any good memories involving her from my childhood because all of the bad ones overshadow any of the good ones. She was always yelling at me and demanding me around. I was forced to care for my brother to an extent that I shouldn’t have been. Nothing was ever good enough, either. I was a really good kid. I didn’t act out (generally) in public, I had good grades, and seemed overall very normal in the public eye. As a child I was still treated like I was just a piece of property. As I grew closer to being an adult, she tried to convert me into her best friend and shopping buddy. When I wanted no part of it, she couldn’t understand why. She still doesn’t understand why I don’t want to be close to her.

My mother has always had a problem with denial. She tries to play off our family secrets as normal and then tries to put up a facade that we are a “white picket fence” family. My brother had behavior issues as a kid. She would either play these down or just put the blame back on him. She never would take responsibility for him but instead would put all the blame on my step-dad or the school. As I got older I realized that a lot of the things that she did for me was only for this facade. Behind close doors where nobody else was looking or listening, she was a bitch to her family. If it was something where others could see in, she would go out of her way. She did this for birthday parties, my prom, etc. I understood wanting a decent place to live and a decent car to drive, but she got into the habit of living outside of her means to support the idea that things look good on the outside. She was in denial about her own health too. She had been told by several people that she needed to consider getting on meds. I remember one time she was prescribed anti-anxiety medication but she never took it. This was the obvious problem in dealing with my abuse from my step-father. She didn’t want to face what was going on which would force her to divorce and be on her own. Instead she tried to pretend that nothing was happening and convince me of the same.

She isn’t a horrible tyrant of a person but she isn’t the most pleasant either. She can be nice and is to other people. Hell, she was nice to me for the last 9 years for the most part. She was trying to be a decent person, as long as nobody brought up the past and treated her with respect. My childhood was the worst with her. Really, what I dealt with as an adult was her constantly trying to make me be her best friend. She wanted that perfect mother/daughter relationship but I just couldn’t give it to her. I gave in a little but I still had to have my boundaries. I needed her to not talk about my step-dad. She tried to bring up their sex life and how he needed viagra. I didn’t want to hear any of it. She just wanted all the normal things in life like a relationship with her daughter, being a grandma, etc. I couldn’t give her these things anymore because she chose to stay married to my step-father and disregarded what he did to me. She wanted to stand by her man so that’s what she ended up with.



Ages 8 and 9


We only stayed in that house for a year and then moved again. This time to an apartment complex. We ended up living in the complex until just before my 13th birthday. We lived in two different apartments. This first one was just a two bedroom but the master bedroom was big enough for my brother’s crib and such. This also meant yet another new school. Luckily I was finally moving into the 2nd grade. My brother didn’t stay in my parent’s room for long. I remember him being around 9 months old when they moved him into my room. It was really convenient timing considering that he was totally crawling out of his bed. Since my room became his, he ended up having free reign over all of my things. I had some trinkets and music boxes that my grandmother had given me that he trashed. My mother didn’t bat an eyelash but rather told me that they were ugly anyway. I loved them. One of the music boxes was a copper peacock. I thought it was beautiful! I also had a glass, water-filled globe of a pink rose. I think it was musical too. It was kind of like a snow globe. He smashed it against my headboard and broke it. Instead of telling me how sorry she was and offering me sympathy, my mother reminded me that it was an ugly, thrift store trinket. I had no reason to cry about it.

I haven’t mentioned my mother so much yet because her screaming, yelling and ranting was just common place in our house. There are specific events that stick out in my mind and those are the ones that I write about.

Something happened that she got mad at me for and sent me to my room. I was playing with my Barbies, pretending that they were my friends that I could talk to. I said to one Barbie, “My mom is such a bitch!” My mother walked by as she heard this. I was sitting in front of my closet. She flew into my room faster than I could look up and smacked me as hard as she could in the face more than one time. She then yelled at me how I should respect her. I had so much fear of my mother. She purchased a paddle and put my name on it. It hung from the wall next to the kitchen. They thought this would keep me “in-line.” I wasn’t a bad kid. In fact I was typically timid and shy. I didn’t have any friends yet and no one to play with or talk to. She also was under a lot of stress raising 2 kids and working full-time. Any time she got stressed out she would take it out on my. Most of the time when she spanked or smacked me it was multiple times. Not just one correctional, oops I lost my temper, smack. It was typically an all out smack-the-shit-out-of-that-child event. I still didn’t feel like she loved me. She was proud to have a daughter, that was for sure. Once she got a job in an office, she never hesitated to prance me around to her co-workers. I never understood why this was so important to her but I was more of a trophy than anything. She also started commenting on my body. She would always comment how I was “so skinny.” I wasn’t a skinny kid at all. I was a pretty normal, healthy size for my age. She has always been obese. I’ve never really known her to not be overweight. She was self-conscious about it because she used to be thin and attractive.

In the meantime, my step father was busy showing me all of his Hustler magazines and pornos. He had been talking to me about attractive women. Anytime we were out he would point at a woman who was very attractive and thin (like the ones in the videos and magazines) and tell me that those women had “hard bodies.” They were the most beautiful. When it came to my mother, he had nothing nice to say. He would tell me how she had a fat ass and cottage cheese thighs and how disgusting it was for any woman to have that. This would be when I began to be self-conscious about my own weight. I didn’t think that I was beautiful. My parents told me that I was all the time but it was different. They also told me that I was a “sack of potatoes,” meaning that I was very heavy for what I looked like. I also had to get my first pair of glasses at the age of 6 so I didn’t feel pretty whatsoever. In the 80’s, pretty girls had perms and cools clothes… and boobs.

My grandmother finally told a close friend who was also a social worker. My parents received a phone call from DFS letting them know that they should expect a visit from a case worker. They sat me down to explain what was going to happen. The two of them conspired together to devise a way to brainwash me enough so I wouldn’t tell the truth.

“Do you love us?” They asked me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You wouldn’t want to tear this family apart now would you?”


“If you tell the case worker that your dad has touched you, they will take you away from us and put you in foster care,” my mother warned me.

“Foster parents don’t love their kids as much. You wouldn’t want that now would you?” Dave asked.


“You wouldn’t have all these nice things that we buy for you like your Barbies and baby dolls. You wouldn’t have any of that.”

“So, are you going to tell the case worker that anything happened?”

“No,” I quietly replied.

I was around 8 or 9.

When the meeting came I stayed quiet for the most part. My parents told her that it must have been something I heard at school. When she asked me, I told her nothing happened.

At this point my mother knew. She had found my underwear on his side of their bed numerous times. She would normally question me and I would just shrug. I didn’t want her to get mad at me.