Childhood punishments= Cruel and Unusual

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

Erm.

Y’know, I’ve not posted here in so so long, and this thread just happened to be up on top when I came back to read after having a great time out with the BAD’s on Saturday.

That combined with a few glasses of wine, and some girlie hormone stuff, and maybe Mother’s day, just seemed to be the right (or maybe wrong) mix of ingredients to get me going.

I hardly think about that stuff anymore, and like a few others said, there were times growing up I thought it was normal, I thought everyone lived like that, or at least lots of other people did.

I didn’t mean to post a poor me pity party type thing, though I really truly appreciate everyone’s kind words. They really mean a lot to me.

My mom was, well, my mom. I hated her, I feared her, and I even loved her.
I love her still. And yet, I don’t like her very much at the same time. It’s hard to describe.

I’ve never reconciled my childhood with her, I think my sister and I tried once, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. (I think she accused us of using the trend of people going on Donahue and blaming their parents for their lives, or something like that.)

And sure I think about it every once in a blue moon, and it makes me sad, but there’s really nothing I can do about it, so I move forward. Oh well, bad things happen to good people. Sucks to be me. :wink:

I called my mom yesterday to talk to her, to hear her voice I guess.
She’s really quite nice now. She is a loving grandmother, very loving.
And she’s an OK mom to have nowadays (being on opposite sides of the country might have a bit to do with that!) :slight_smile:

Anyway, I didn’t mean to make anyone sad, or play ‘here, top this!’ , it just sort of spewwed out unexpectedly.

And I do feel for everyone else that has posted their experiences, I’m sorry. What else can I say other than I think I know how you feel sometimes.

And once again, I am reminded of what a great group of people we have here.

You guys rock!
Oh yea, to answer Snooooopy’s question:

The wonder bread thing. That was sort of an inside joke between Demo and I, we actually laugh about it.
My mom attacked me with a loaf of bread before school (9th grade) one morning as I was rushing out the door. so I went to school with lumps of bread in my hair, much to the amusement of my friends, and myself.
I guess laughter is the best medicine after all.
[Inside Joke]Now, who wants to hear a happy childhood memory about pistachios??[/Inside Joke] :wink:

42

Thanks, throatshot. I speak to them as little as possible these days. (which is why I almost never call them) Yes, I have to spend the weekends with them, but that doesn’t mean that I like speaking to them or anything.

My post was not about a pity party, by the way. I have cursed my parents more times than I care to count, but not to their faces, unfortunately.

Usually, I’m a forgiving person, but when it comes to what my parents did to me, I’m not that easygoing! So no, I haven’t forgiven them (completely or at all) for what they did. Sometimes, I wish I could, but then other times, I remember what happened. That’s not to say I’m bitter or anything, but being realistic, I recognize that I’m not ready to forgive them right now, if ever.

43

Well, all I can say is that my heart goes out to so many of you. Man, how depressing. My good thoughts go out to all of you.

I can say that I got off pretty easy. My parents loved my sisters and me, and they loved each other. We were a weird family, but it wasn’t too bad on most levels. I got spanked a few times (ineffectual nothings from my dad, they never hurt) and strapped a few times when I was a kid (my mom. Usually I’d done something life-threateningly stupid. The strapping stung, but it was the fire in her eye that scared me to death!).

The main thing that leaves some scars is the depressing … well, I guess it was verbal abuse. My mom he was VERY discouraging at times. We all would try to get some sort of encouragement or validation from her for any accomplishments we’d done, and she just twisted them around so that we were made to feel that we were losers. My oldest sister didn’t get too much of this (she got diabetes when she was 10, so my mom catered to her a little more). But my other sister and me - my mom was often a bummer. Not all the time (she always told us we were pretty and smart) but on some things. It was warped. We eventually learned to go to our dad for validation and pride. We couldn’t count on it from our mom.

The things that hurt the most were the constant criticism of my artwork. I was not a bad kid. I loved art. I knew full well that art was a GOOD thing, and that most parents would be pleased and proud to have a kid that was good at art. But not my mom. She didn’t want me to do art. She thought that my oldest sister (the one with the diabetes) didn’t need any “competition”. (She was also artistic.) So I was constantly discouraged. Whenever I told my mom that a teacher or adult liked my artwork, my mom would say “They only told you that because they felt sorry for you.” She critisized everything I did in front of others, and complained that I was “wasting paper”. When I asked to get some local art lessons, ($25 a month, not a big deal) she bitched and bitched and didn’t want me to have them. My dad overruled her, and I had the lessons. (They were wonderful, too.)

I remember once when I was 14, I decided, that was it. No more art. In a big gesture of melodramatic teenage angst, I took all my art stuff out to the garage, to store it away for good. My mom was in the garage, doing something. I saw that she didn’t notice, and didn’t care. I realized that if I gave up art, I’d only hurt myself. She’d be happy, and it wouldn’t really bother anyone else too much. So I took all my art stuff back up to the house, and after that point, her horrible attitude hurt just a little less. I think it was a valuable lesson to learn. You can’t do art (or anything) for anyone but yourself. You can’t count on validation from other people. Don’t expect it.

It’s too bad that I had to learn such a hard lesson at such a young age, though. Finally, in my early 20s, my mom started to be (shocking as it may seem) “proud” of me. I at first thought she had some serious mental disturbance, such behavior was so foreign to her. But - it has stuck. She actually seems proud of me at times. Not quite as “proud” as your typical mom might be, but pretty amazing, for her.

She denies that she wanted me to quit art when I was a kid, but if that wasn’t what she was trying to do, I don’t know what it was. She says she was just trying to “prepare me for disappointment”. (???) Very screwed up.

Yeah, I am grateful that what happened to me wasn’t any worse. In my mom’s case, she just was so screwed up and depressed, she didn’t understand how to be encouraging or hopeful.

44

Amazing. psycat90, I haven’t the words to properly express myself, but your second post - on the back of your harrowing first - made my night. Your spirit is inspiring.

45

I’m sorry if this post rambles a bit, but what others have said in this thread has caused me to think about a lot of things that happened, and my relationship with my mother. I’ve talked to my older sister in the past about it, but she doesn’t remember much. When she was young she was “The Golden Child”, and didn’t get the same treatment, so she can’t relate. But she does remember that my mother was very strict with me. The younger sisters didn’t get any physical abuse, however the youngest, who was an unwanted child, was emotionally and verbally abused.

Like some others have related, my mother was also one who turned it on and off. On one side, she would lash out physically and verbally, and on the other, she was nice and generous. And there were many positive things. I did get help with homework and praise for good grades. She made popcorn for us while we watched TV. She went to all of my band and orchastra concerts and was very supportive. I always had, if not new, mended and clean clothes. I was always allowed to eat when I was hungry, and she was a good cook, and sometimes she would cook my favorites if I asked. I only had a few birthday parties, but I always had a cake and a present.

Once while playing baseball, I got hit in the face by a ball. It loosend my front teeth. It bent them back, but didn’t knock them out. It also cut the inside of my upper lip, and I bit a small hole through my lower lip. My mother straightened my teeth, and cleaned the cuts, but she wouldn’t (or let my dad) take me to the dentist or the doctor and my teeth are still crooked from that injury. Yet, another time when I fell off of my bike and hurt my leg pretty badly. She cleaned the wound, and then the next morning made my dad to take me to the Dr.

My problem was never knowing which mother would show up.

My older sister and I were very close to my father, and we took care of him when he was dying. Although my parents never divorced, my father left my mother when I was about 19. I had already left home. I left home as soon as I turned 18. Anyway, we executed his will according to his wishes. My mother shrieked like a wounded banshee, told both my sister and I that we were ungreatful, worthless, and on and on. She then sued to break the will. She was successful, and got almost everything, because she and my father had never divorced. I got 1/16 ($6500.00) of what my father left for me, because she took the rest. Because my sister and I had done what my father wanted, my mother (and sisters) didn’t speak to us for years.

We finally mended the relationship, although like Psycat90, we never reconciled my childhood, I put it all aside and for a few years we had a pretty good relatioship. She loved my daughter, and actually doted on her, so I thought everything was good. Well stupid-F***ing-me.

When she died, my mother left a will that divided her estate four ways, one share for each kid. But, being a shrew to the end, she made sure that, “for turning on her”, me and my older sister got next to nothing. She made the two youngest sisters joint tenents on the house, so they each got 1/3 off the top. All of the costs for the funeral, the repair of the house for resale, etc., etc. came out of my mothers 1/3. The remainder was then split four ways IAW the will. My mother also made one sister (middle sister) the sole beneficiary of her insurance, which she either kept, or shared with the youngest. She also made the two younger sisters, co-signers on her bank accounts, which had most of what my father had left in his will. They took it all.

In the end, my older sister and I got about $5K each. We haven’t talked to the two younger sisters since 1988. Like the porcelain doll, in my earlier post, my mother never forgot, and she never forgave.

Again, sorry for the long disjointed post. I don’t know if I feel better or worse now, after finding out that so many people have had such similar experiences.

46

What Psycat said, pretty much. Plenty of mental abuse stirred in as well.

I’ve had my revenge though. My son has never had a hand laid on him in anger, and he’s never been belittled. (And yes, he does receive discipline - it’s just based on appropriate consequences for actions taken. He’s very well behaved, and more importantly, fairly happy.)

So of the parents still alive on my side of the family, both grand and otherwise, I’m the one who gets to sleep best at night. I could hope for more, but without time machines, I wouldn’t get it.

47

This is all so horrible. Who knew so many SDMB posters suffered childhood physical and mental abuse?

Early one: I was fifteen months old, not sure what I did that deserved punishment, but my mother tied me to a tree and gave me enough rope to be able to walk out into a busy street.

Typical one: come home from my high school part-time job to find my sisters bawling incontrollably because my parents had thrown my stereo out the second story window of my bedroom because it was “messy.”

The capper: on an early summer Chicago evening I said something “disrepectful” to my mother and my father forcibly ejected me from the house while I was wearing nothing more than a pair of thin shorts. It was about 50 degrees outside, but I couldn’t get back in the house without breaking anything and was too embarassed to go knocking on neighbor’s doors. I slept on the patio and literally nearly died of exposure. I can still remember the moment when I stopped shivering and it didn’t feel cold anymore. A plastic garbage bag saved my life. My pride, stubborness and lack of awareness of the gravity of the situation about killed me.

What I take away from all this is a fierce independence, an incredible problem solving ability and a ruthless self-suficiency, but a lack of trust, reluctance to accept help and an incredible over-sensitivity to any slight, real or imagined.

48

The first time I remember getting the belt was for “lying.” (Running back from the yard, saying “I jumped out of an airplane!” after some imaginative play. I was either 3 or 4.) The belt was the regular thing from the stepfather, my mum used a big ol’ wooden spoon or a hairbrush, neither of which compared with the belt at all. Special punishment for verbal offenses: a heaping spoonful of black pepper – and don’t spit it out or you’ll get another.

Hard to comprehend that all that was considered “normal” in that time and place.

49

You know, I feel guilty about reading this thread. :frowning: In many ways, it’s the equivalent of slowing down to see a car wreck. On the other hand, though, it’s made me ponder my opinions on corporal punishment. See, I always thought that spanking a child (by the parents, not by anyone else) was acceptable–“gee, everybody’s gotten spanked, haven’t they?” Now I realize what a wide range corporal punishment can take, and I’m not sure whether I find even mild spanking acceptable anymore.

Thanks for opening my mind.

50

{{{Hugs}}} to all… I’m not going to sleep well after this thread I think…

As I said before… there are few things as dangerous as undisciplined “discipline”. I try to remember that everyone is just doing the best they can, given who and where they are, etc, etc, but [PiG-13]!!

There’s stuff in here that’s worse than torture. Makes me olmost glad I was only abused by the school bullies… and I didn’t have to go home to them. Almost makes me wish that parents had to pass a fitness test before having kids, and that kids could divorce their parents. Yes, I know both those ideas open enormous cans of worms, and probably aren’t the panaceas they may seem to be, but still…

Respect goes both ways.

I truly admire you who have gotten past this, broken the pattern, and gone on to better things.

51

My parents are all the most wonderful people I know. My mom loves me to death, and even if I get mad and storm off, she’ll try to talk to me, not get mad and make it worse. I remember a few spankings, but nothing past the age of… say… 8. A few lectures, but that’s the worst since.

My dad is a little worse, but I rarely see him now, so he makes the time I do see him enjoyable :slight_smile: