I will try to preface all of these with saying that as I write them I am 42 years old, I am mentally scarred so badly I do not work outside the home or leave it unless I am with my husband.
How you are raised will mess you up. Abuse will leave scars on a child for life, and may stunt them as they grow older. Don't do this to your kids. Listen to your kids. If they say, "That hurts me, it's not helping", please take it into consideration. Don't simply say you know what's "best" for them, because my family told me all my life they did what was "best" for me.
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This takes place when I was in therapy, a preteen I suppose. I don't really remember, again, but I'm pretty sure drugs were already being forced down my throat for depression and they're part of why I have a lot of missing memories.
Which, of course, is a mixed blessing.
I was sitting with my mother and stepfather in the room. Mom usually took me, but he was there for some reason - I think because the therapist requested to see him at least once. She started to talk to him, about "his daughter", when he laughed embarrassingly and said,
"Oh, she's not my daughter."
I looked at the doctor with tears in my eyes, pleading, look? See? This is my fucking family. This is supposed to be my daddy. I had called him that, for certain, hugged him and loved him as a "real" father.
I shouldn't have, but, you know. Abuse. Childhood. I had no idea.
The psychologist stared at him with her mouth open. She then told me to step outside and I assumed she tore into him... but I'll never know. The only thing I do know? I had no father. I had a biological father that didn't care because he had new kids, a stepfather that was ashamed of me, and a grandfather I lived with that treated me the same. I mourn that grandfather the most, as he showed more care for me than any man did until my husband came along... but he did still call me a "fat, stupid bitch" to my face more than once.
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