A crying shame
Many a time I wanted to write about my childhood experiences so that my fellow sufferers would know, ‘We are not alone and it’s not our faults that we have abusive parents.’ With knowledge, we would know how to break away from a vicious circle. Most importantly, we should learn from our experiences so as not to start one.
People with abusive backgrounds are likely to be abusive too. It is like, ‘Hey, we are miserable, let us breed more misery.’ Naturally, when children have unhappy upbringing they’ll become disturbed people. Many unhappy recollections will only make them consciously unhappy. If they never break away from that kind of negative thinking they’ll remain unhappy and make people around them unhappy.
When I started this blog I thought under the cloak of anonymity people would find it easier to share their experiences. It is so unnatural to have parents who are abusive, when they are supposed to love you. Does a child deserve that kind of abusive treatment? How bad can a child be?
In my case, nobody in school realized there was anything wrong with me. I didn’t share with my classmates or teachers about my problems at home. Even at a very young age of six I felt it was too shameful to let people know that I got beatings at home.
If I were the only child I’d have thought that there was something about me that made me so unlovable. However, I wasn’t the only child in the family that endured the punishments even though it did occur to me, the fact that my parents favored boys over girls. One time, when asked by the next door kid after she witnessed a beating, my sister
answered, “Oh, she’s our stepmother.”
Some of my friends did confide in me about family matters. Not that I had many friends. I was never the kind to make a first move to make friends. I kept to myself most of the time. I was shy and careful around people. Nobody told me she was beaten at home by her own parents. If only someone had shared a similar problem, then I wouldn't have felt it was such a dark secret.
Obviously, these kids had no ideas that they were so lucky.
‘My Mum loves my sister more.’
‘My father doesn’t make enough money.’
‘My brother says I’m the stupidest in the family.’
I listened and kept what I’d learnt to myself. I was good at keeping secrets. I had plenty of my own. Maybe I was flattered that my friends shared their problems with me. Secretive people, of all people, understand it’s not easy to open up to another person. Ah, was I wise beyond my years?
I would like to think that my parents were the by-products of dysfunctional families which had started a vicious circle. Ha, in my dreams!
I knew my maternal and paternal grandfathers. I had fond memories of them. I loved my paternal grandmother. Maybe they had mellowed by the time I was around. My mother had a comfortable relationship with her father. My father, on the hand, hardly spoke to his mother. From what I’d observed it was due to the lack of practice.
My father was totally a different man when he was with his friends. He was talkative and animated. There were moments when my parents sounded happy but these moments were rare. With his children he was like a clam. Only when he was in a bad mood and felt he was being disturbed by his children he would bark. Better his short barks than my mother’s long, loud barks and vicious bites.
People with abusive backgrounds are likely to be abusive too. It is like, ‘Hey, we are miserable, let us breed more misery.’ Naturally, when children have unhappy upbringing they’ll become disturbed people. Many unhappy recollections will only make them consciously unhappy. If they never break away from that kind of negative thinking they’ll remain unhappy and make people around them unhappy.
When I started this blog I thought under the cloak of anonymity people would find it easier to share their experiences. It is so unnatural to have parents who are abusive, when they are supposed to love you. Does a child deserve that kind of abusive treatment? How bad can a child be?
In my case, nobody in school realized there was anything wrong with me. I didn’t share with my classmates or teachers about my problems at home. Even at a very young age of six I felt it was too shameful to let people know that I got beatings at home.
If I were the only child I’d have thought that there was something about me that made me so unlovable. However, I wasn’t the only child in the family that endured the punishments even though it did occur to me, the fact that my parents favored boys over girls. One time, when asked by the next door kid after she witnessed a beating, my sister
answered, “Oh, she’s our stepmother.”
Some of my friends did confide in me about family matters. Not that I had many friends. I was never the kind to make a first move to make friends. I kept to myself most of the time. I was shy and careful around people. Nobody told me she was beaten at home by her own parents. If only someone had shared a similar problem, then I wouldn't have felt it was such a dark secret.
Obviously, these kids had no ideas that they were so lucky.
‘My Mum loves my sister more.’
‘My father doesn’t make enough money.’
‘My brother says I’m the stupidest in the family.’
I listened and kept what I’d learnt to myself. I was good at keeping secrets. I had plenty of my own. Maybe I was flattered that my friends shared their problems with me. Secretive people, of all people, understand it’s not easy to open up to another person. Ah, was I wise beyond my years?
I would like to think that my parents were the by-products of dysfunctional families which had started a vicious circle. Ha, in my dreams!
I knew my maternal and paternal grandfathers. I had fond memories of them. I loved my paternal grandmother. Maybe they had mellowed by the time I was around. My mother had a comfortable relationship with her father. My father, on the hand, hardly spoke to his mother. From what I’d observed it was due to the lack of practice.
My father was totally a different man when he was with his friends. He was talkative and animated. There were moments when my parents sounded happy but these moments were rare. With his children he was like a clam. Only when he was in a bad mood and felt he was being disturbed by his children he would bark. Better his short barks than my mother’s long, loud barks and vicious bites.
posted by Colourful Jade at
11:36 PM
1 Comments:
Hi jade,
I've read all the articles here but couldn't really catch why was ur mum so hard on all of u? I recognised my mum despair and could never blame her for anything now. My dad was not a good husband neither a good father nor a good provider. I always like to have my dad at home coz my mum will mellow a little n no beatings when he is around. But now if i recollect,I remember I seldom see him around too. He was like a visitor who comes now n then. Things were always not enuogh, food, clothing etc. Mum worked hard for everything n of coz having 7 children were not easy on her. No family to turn to since her mum died when she was 12 and had to leave school to look after of 8 younger bro n sis. My mum was a good student in school n the pain to leave school then remain in her till now i guess. Her dad was abusive as well n I can't recall any wonderful memory at all with my grandfather. My dad too was an abusive husband, till now sometimes, i dreamt my dad beat my mum after they fought. I remember seeing my mum the next day,behind the door crying silently with bloody mouth n bruises all over her face. I guess my dad had punched her. In one occasion, I also remember my eldest bro pulled us out of the scene n recall my dad was holding my mum's hair n pumping her head on the wall. They usually fought at night. I guess that was when he came home empty handed after gambling. In short, life was not easy for her... therefore she picked on us. Why was ur mum such a brutal person?
By
Unknown, At
February 7, 2007 at 12:04:00 AM PST
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home