The Cost of Being Spoiled

My parents divorced when I was three. What I remember of their relationship was volatile, violent, even. The violence did not come from one side, but from both.

I remember that my dad broke my mom's nose. He tried to make up for it by giving me a Grover doll the next day. That punch did not come from nowhere. My mom was also verbally and physically abusive, no matter how much she tries to deny it. I experienced it. I witnessed it.

Even back then, there were expectations for me to behave a certain way. Frilly dresses. An OCD level of clean. More toys than a child needs in a lifetime. It was what they called spoiled.

Being spoiled came at a cost, though. There were always strings manipulating behind the scenes. Gifts were used as weapons of power and control. I was also weaponized against my own dad. My mom used to take me to the hospital for every little scrape, every little bruise as a form of financial manipulation because my dad paid for the bill.

By the time I was six, I was medicated with Ritalin. I was too much to handle, not just for my mom, but for my teachers. I talked too much. I was too loud. I would not sit down. I made repetitious noises. I know now that this was me stimming to deal with the overwhelm of being in school. That did not stop them from punishing me. In first grade, I was made to go sit in the kindergarten room. So many report cards came back with "excellent student. talks too much." I was great at school. I was just too much.

I was expected to follow the path set before me by my mom. When I decided to veer from that path for just a moment, all the support I had disappeared. To be clear, she did not disappear, but the support did. I am not talking about material support. I am talking about emotional support, and I am not sure I ever really had it to begin with.

When I was six, my dad married a woman I was not enthusiastic about. I cried at the altar. She abused me quite frequently, but he would not know because he worked all the time. I would come over for the weekend and be put to work. Apples were off limits. The person who mostly cooked for us was her oldest daughter, and the only thing she really knew how to cook was eggs. I came to hate eggs. Her oldest son tried to sexually abuse me. Her kids tormented me because they got to spend more time with my dad. They were insecure because their dad was nowhere to be found. My dad adopted them when they were young.

When I was about twelve, my dad's father also tried to sexually abuse me. I stood up for myself and screamed to the top of my lungs that he should take me home. I remember my dad trying to talk me out of staying at his parents. I wish I had listened. His dad was an abusive man, not just to me, but to all of his grandkids, all of his children, and his wife.

As a child, I was convinced that my dad was the problem. And while my dad has been the problem, he is definitely not the only problem.

My mom is not amenable to correction. Any challenge is seen as a physical attack or a threat to her person. She has always told me that she is perfect in every way. I have never known empathy from my mother.

I got really sick in junior high school and she accused me of faking it. I was raped in high school and she told me that I was lying. I have never had that soft space to come home to.

My dad has always been my rock, even when he was not around. For years we were not connected after my grandfather assaulted me. My dad took my side on that. My mother just told me how good my dad's father was to her when they were splitting up. She did not comfort me or hold me. She just said she could not believe it.

So yes, I was spoiled with material things, but I was severely neglected emotionally. Something that still deeply impacts me to this day. It makes it very difficult to trust people. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hypervigilance is the repeat menu item of the day.

Because of all the abuse, I did try to protect my kids. Although I definitely made a lot of mistakes. I kept trying to please my mom to no avail. There is no love in her heart for me, and I have had to accept that.

When my dad and his second wife got divorced, he came to my house and he apologized. It was not a generic apology. He named specific things he knew hurt me. He apologized and never asked for forgiveness.

Through all the abuse, I was expected to still be a good kid, not get in trouble, get good grades, and do what I was told. Surprise, surprise, I did not do that. I got in trouble quite a bit. I still do. I do not like being told what to do. Probably because most of my raising was done by me. Who do I need to listen to, if the person I depend on for morality is me?

I had plans to go to college. I went to school to be a cosmetologist. I joined the Navy. All of it fell through. None of it was in my heart.

Photo by Wendelin Jacober: https://www.pexels.com/photo/empty-brown-painted-room-1853990/

At eighteen I got pregnant and locked myself in the bathroom. I truly believed if I did not come out that I would not be pregnant. I feel bad for that. I feel bad for never wanting to have kids or be married. I feel bad for putting my kids through the mess that I am as a parent. I feel sad that they had a parent who was not healed, because I know what that abuse is like.

I did try to do better. It was not good enough.

To be continued….maybe