Does anybody here NOT get along with their parents?

I just don’t get on with my parents about anything. They’re Christian-right, moral-majority, while I’m so far left I may as well move to Sweden.

I have to live eight hours away from them, because any closer, we might have to see each other once in a while, and god knows what sparks may fly. Once in a while we have phone conversations that start out well, but then get ruined when my mom tells me that I’m sentencing my son to hell by letting him play with Pokemon cards.

I can’t tell them anything I’m doing with my life. Like how I’m thinking about moving in with my SO. They could very well stop speaking to me altogether. It sucks, because I love them and I know they love me, but we can’t connect at practically any level at all.

I guess I’m bummed because I thought that this whole “get along with your parents later in your life” would one day prove true for me. So three “profound truths” have been proven false for me so far.

  1. High school years are the best years of my life.
  2. If you I love someone hard enough they’ll learn to love me just as much in return.
  3. When I grow up, I’ll understand that my parents are actually incredibly wise, good people.

I hate it that I can’t get along with my parents.:frowning:

I doubt most people would agree with number 1.

Number 2 was never true and will never be true. No one can learn to love you if they don’t no matter how much you love them.

Number 3 will only happen if your parents are actually incredibly wise good people and it was only teenage angst that prevented you from noticing.

I think that you should find some new profound truths.

I get along with my parents pretty well. There are some topics that we don’t discuss anymore because we already have had the arguments and don’t feel like rehashing. But, we don’t lie or keep big secrets. We just fight about things and then ignore them. Works for us! :slight_smile:

I would tell them about your SO. Tell them anything you feel like telling them. If they stop speaking to you because of it then what have you really lost? You won’t have lost an honest relationship.

I haven’t gotten along with my mothe since I could talk.

She married a little prick that I hate 5 years ago and since then, we’re barely even talking. It doesn’t help that we live in the same house.
I can’t wait till I reach teh age of majority!

I have a few acting skills, so heres what I do.

1.Smile and nod.
2.pretend you care
3.stay in your room the whole night reading and only come out to eat and do the dishes. that way, you won’t have to look at them and resist screaming curses at them.

Been working for about… 10 years, since I was 5.

magic8ball, that’s pretty much how I spent my time from years 12 to 19:)

I used to not get along with my folks.

Then they moved 2000 miles away. I haven’t clapped eyes on them in about 2 years. I speek to them on the phone about 4 times a year for less than 5 minutes.

We have a much better relationship now.

I get along pretty good with my mother these days. Her and my father divorced when I was five years old, and I lived with him and saw her only rarely. Funny thing is, I turned out more like her than him. She’s pushing a heavy Christian thing these days, but I respect that and it doesn’t bother me unless she gets too forceful with it. We still get on well.

I haven’t seen my father in over 11 years, haven’t talked to him in 9 or 10. Living with him during my teenage years was a lesson for me. It taught me quite well what not to do to my own kids. I moved out the day I turned 18, and the only reason I didn’t move out earlier was that my father would have me arrested and brought back if I did so (at least that’s what he said, and I had reason to believe him). I haven’t looked back. He’s never met my wife, and he doesn’t know his three granddaughters at all, and that’s just fine with me.

The best thing my mother did in her lifetime was die. Before you all tell me off may I remind you that there is evil in the world and that evil people do not become saints just because their evilness has turned inwards as cancer and killed them. My mother was, under any definition you like, evil.

My father (who left my mother and we kids when I was 4) doesn’t like me much, he is a right wing closeted fag, I am a lefty lesbian who is out and proud. He doesn’t talk to me but his computer does kindly send me viruses from time to time.

I have a pretty good relationship with my parents right now. Well, okay, I’ve always had a pretty good relationship with my mother, mainly because she has usually let me go my own way and make my own decisions (and take my own lumps for them). And my relationship with my father has been decent for the past 2 1/2 years or so, since I now mainly see him only on holidays and other special occasions, and only for a few hours at a time (short enough for me to put up with him without having to tell him off and start an altercation…and sometimes, he even manages to behave himself for that long!).

My mother is, frankly put, FUCKING INSANE.
Must be where I get it from.

I do not get along with my parents.

They are very right-wing, Bible-is-the-absolute-word-of-God-and-the-only-form-of-truth-ever Christians. They are the most hypocritical people I know. They use the Bible as a weapon to belittle people and critize. If they ever looked in a mirror, their heads would explode in little mushroom shaped clouds. I don’t speak to them. Not on the phone. Not in person. I have an answering machine to screen all calls. I will not put myself through their torture ever again. I would die before I live under their roof ever again.

They were very abusive people. When I was a toddler, they expected me to sit in a church pew and be still, pay attention and follow along with the sermon in a Bible. If I didn’t sit still, mom would yank me up from the pew by the arm, drag me to the bathroom, and beat me. There were a couple of times that she hit me so hard that I flew through stall doors and landed against the toilet. When one of the pastors in their church had molested me, and I told my mother what he did, she didn’t believe me. She took me to the front of the church, told everyone what I saidand announced that I was possessed by a demon and then beat me to get me to say I was wrong and to “exorcise” the demon. (I told a teacher what was happening and that teacher helped me.) Growing up, I was expected to go to church, sick or not. They took me to church when I had ear infections so bad that pus and fluid was draining out of them. They took me if I were vomiting. I sat outside of the bathroom door with a trash can in my lap so I could listen to the sermons. They read over any assignment that teachers gave–if it wasn’t godly enough or was anything remotely contrary to their beliefs, I wasn’t allowed to participate. They would read over anything I wrote–if it were an assigned paper on something contrary to their beliefs, they would rip it up. If it were personal writing–like a journal or poem–that expressed anything other than absolute bliss and happiness about my life or their religion, it was ripped up in front of me. While other kids had christmas parties in school and trick or treated and exchanged Valentines, I had to be in the library (where the librarian would put me to work cataloging and filing all of the books). When I was older (in middle and high school) I was expected to be at 2 Sunday church services (one morning and one evening), a Tuesday evening mission service in a handicap woman’s home, a Wednesday prayer meeting, Thursday evening door-to-door visitation, and Saturday church clean up. Schoolwork took a backseat to church (but they freaked out if I got a B on my report card). I participated in every possible activity I could (cross country, indoor and outdoor track, envirothon, academic team, latin club, honor society, tutor, volunteer at a local elementary school) plus got an A average, plus worked about 30 hours at a fast food joint. I don’t remember sleeping much in high school. I stayed out of their hair–didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink, didn’t get pregnant, didn’t ask for money, didn’t pierce my nipples or get a tattoo or pretend that I was a Goth or Punk or whatever to freak them out. I went to college. Paid for the first two years of tuition and books on my own (well, what was left to pay after scholarships). I found out that they were claiming me on their taxes and deducting my tuition payments as theirs (FRAUD FRAUD FRAUD–I worked my ass off flipping burgers and taking shit from customers at the same fast food place I worked in high school, plus took a job at a coffeeshop in college to pay my own way–I never went out for pizza with friends or to the mall with anyone because I had to save every penny so I could stay in college). I threatened to call the IRS. They paid for my last two years of college with the money they got from tax returns because of their lies. As soon as I graduated, I took the first job I could find so I could move out. Told them the day before I moved that I was leaving–all of my stuff was at a friends house–I moved my stuff there in case they tried to stop me or take my stuff (things like clothes, books, stereo, furniture I had bought, etc). I didn’t tell them where, although they found out (they followed me to my apartment one day). Recently, I had told my younger brother that a mutual friend had died–my mother had the audacity to leave me a message on my answering machine that God had killed that friend as a sign that I should apologize to my parents and respect them and move back home with them and start going to church with them.

These are the same people that sit through all of those fucking services with their shit-eating “Jesus Loves Me” (yeah, he might, but everyone else thinks you’re assholes) smile on their faces, preaching the love of God and forgiveness from sins and atonement by simply believing in God. Preaching love your children and your neighbor and everyone else like you love yourself and like you love god. Preaching that everyone is welcome in their church and that God is color-blind–only to bitch before and after the service about how “those damn gooks from Vietnam” or “those stupid towel-heads that blew up the World Trade Center” or "those Asian and Indian foreigners"or “those faggots and queers that are blatently committing and flaunting their sins.” If they’re going to Heaven, send me to Hell. Burning in eternal fire and flames would be a vacation compared to an eternity of their bullshit.

As a side note, I realized in college that my parents were the ones that were wrong and that I would never change them. It took a lot of writing and talking and counselling to get through the pain of everything they did. One of my professors supported me through all of that and offered me a place to live so I wouldn’t have to go home to their house. I realize that they will never be better people. I know they are too jaded to ever see that they hurt me. And I don’t regret never seeing them. Not ever. Because I’ve learned that I am a good person and I don’t need their approval or the approval of any other person or any God or god-like figure to live my life in a good consious manner.
(sorry for the length of this post–I know that I just poured out most of my life story out here, but what I went through has only made me a stronger person. I didn’t ask to be born to my parents but I dealt with what was handed to me, and I came out okay. And parents, don’t ever use religion to justify abusing your children. Bad idea.)

You know the Tori Amos song “Silent All These Years”? You know the line “I’ve got the Anti-Christ in the kitchen yelling at me again”?
Sums up the first 18 years of my life perfectly.

I can’t stand my parents. I’m moving out as soon as possible, I might move out before the end of the school year (I turn 18 in march). They’re too controling.

Oh, my God, ghandi. How can anyone worship a god that would tell them this was the right way to treat their child? I’m surprised the state didn’t step in and turn you over to foster care.

My mother’s parents (I will not dignify them by calling them my grandparents) were hateful people. They lived in Canada, and we only saw them once a year or so, but during those two weeks, they made my life hell. I had to ask permission to turn on the tv, I had to ask permission to turn off the tv. They made me food they knew I hated (I don’t eat eggs) and then got mad at me when I didn’t eat it.

I remember one time I was about 13. My sister and I were washing up the breakfast dishes, and my mother and sister were tickling my father. My mother’s mother kept urging me to tickle my dad too, so I yelled at her above the laughter and screaming, “Wait a minute!” Then I dried off my hands and joined in the fun.

A while later I’m still in the kitchen and everyone else has left. I’m finishing up when MM comes in and says, “Aren’t you going to apologize?” “For what?” I ask. She then slaps me across the face with a rolled up newspaper and says, “Don’t ever yell at me like that again in front of my husband.” I was only 13, so I immediately began to cry and apologize. At different times when I was a young teenager she called me a “Fucking bitch” and a “Selfish bitch” to my face. Of course, when no one else was around.

I told my mom some years later and she didn’t believe me. I must have been thinking about something else, she thought.

I haven’t talked to her parents since I was 18 or so. My sister also no longer talks to them, after they blamed her for divorcing her husband when she found out he was bisexual. (She should have loved him more, you see.)

My mother…well, my parents got divorced when I was in college. During the last years of their marriage my mother was setting my father up for a big fall legally, and he ended up getting charged with state sales tax evasion even though she was the one who did all the bookkeeping. I was trying to get both sides of the divorce story, so I talked to my mom and dad separately before things were finalized. I think she got mad that I was not on her side in the divorce. I wasn’t on anyone’s side, I was at college and basically supporting myself, so the angst of “Who’s going to take care of me?” wasn’t a factor. She also moved to Canada to take care of her parents, and the last I heard, they’re now in a nursing home. She hasn’t visited my sister in years (they’re still on speaking terms.)

It’s funny, but after the divorce my dad and I got real close. He’s a wonderful person, and I think his SO (they’ve been together for 13 years now) has been very good for him. He wasn’t very demonstrative, and it wasn’t until about ten years ago that he first said he loved me. So my kids have four loving grandparents, Ivylad’s folks and my dad and his SO (whom I refer to as my mom sometimes on this board because it’s simpler.) My mother has never seen my daughter and hasn’t seen my son since he was a month old. So I think even though my mother walked away with a hefty divorce settlement, my dad won in the case, because he got the grandkids.

Jeez, sorry about the length, but this is a very cathartic thread.

My dad used to be a vicious, controlling jerk. Not as bad as some, but rather worse than I think he needed to be. I won’t air out all the laundry (some has already been heard). At any rate, now I’ve lived on my own for almost three years, and our relationship is much better. (I’ve always had a good relationship with my mom.)

My parents divorced before I was in Kindergarten.

I get along with my mother very well. Actually, we’re good friends.

I haven’t spoken to my father in almost two years, for reasons that I won’t get into now.

A word of advice - sometimes parents can reform, and relationships can get a lot better.

Other times, they can’t.

I get along in stellar fashion with my mother. We used to have religious tension – really, the issues were hers, but it made for some very wrenching situations. When my parents figured out that I wasn’t a Christian anymore, my mother cried. She asked me to reconsider, because she wanted “to spend eternity with me”. (That is, I was apparently going straight to Hell.)

However, when my parents finally divorced (thank goodness), my mom finally got out of that conservative Christian mindset. Why? One of her pastors decided to preach openly and often that divorce was sinful, and because she was shunned – in fact, still is – by a number of people at her church. She also must have done some hard thinking about morality and peoples’ lives and lifestyles. I think she got a taste of what it feels like to no longer be considered one of the ‘flock’ by holier-than-thou arrogant types. We still don’t agree on matters of faith, but she doesn’t try to push it on me anymore, and she’s seen that not being Christian doesn’t make me an immoral or evil person – jsut as being a (self-professed, at least) Christian doesn’t make you good, or kind.

Adults can sometimes grow up too, later in life. My mom was raised in a rural farm and went to school in a small town, and married my father too young. He was a controlling, manipulative person and I know now, in hindsight, that a lot – in fact, virtually all – of the problems we had between us when I was a teenager were because of him. We’ve put those things behind us.

However, sometimes parents don’t ever change. My father was very big on the “you’ll understand it when you’re older” logic, but as an adult, it doesn’t make any more sense. He’s gotten even worse during the whole divorce, making everything bitter, and now one of my sisters and I won’t see him at all anymore. (One sister still does see him occasionally but is very dismissive of the relationship.) He wouldn’t stop trying to manipulate and control our lives. He would use harsh criticism, mockery, patronizing tones, or would roil into a rage at the drop of a hat. We tried reasoning with him, tried discussing the problems, even family therapy – nothing worked. We’d try to bring up an incident from our childhood that really hurt us, and he’d just say “Well, I don’t remember THAT!” and refuse to discuss it at all. When we’d try to talk about his behavior, he’d just get defensive and angry and try to make a fight out of it.

It just wasn’t worth seeing him. It got to the point where we couldn’t talk about anything. I couldn’t talk about anything from my life. Work was always an issue because he never thought my job was good enough, and would be politely condescending about it, or try to make “suggestions” about what I should do, then get mad when I didn’t just go and do them. (Suggestions like “you should go to law school”, when I’ve never had any interest in being a lawyer; I was in Mock Trial once, and that somehow got him started. I even hated being a lawyer in Mock Trial and switched to a witness!) We couldn’t talk about my interests, because he disapproves of pretty much all of them, because they take up time and effort that could be used at work. (My dad is a workaholic.) I can’t talk about the family goings-on much because we can never mention Mom without him acting weird. He won’t talk about work much because he was effectively demoted and it embarasses him.

Meals were problematic because I’m a vegetarian, and he doesn’t approve. I’m also overweight, so he tries to tell me what to order at restaurants (which I find extremely embarassing and it upsets me); when we go over for dinner, he’ll have a nice meal, but everything but the plain lettuce salad will have meat in it so that I can only eat salad with no dressing. Of course, he would universally offer me meat jokingly (“Are you SURE you don’t want a hamburger? Ha ha ha!”). I’m not a humorless vegetarian, but combined with all the other things, it really made me angry after about the billionth time.

Unfortunately, he is the wealthy member of the family. When I went to college, my parents were still together at first, so I was dependent on him for money during the later years unless I wanted to transfer out to a less expensive school. He kept pulling back funds every time, especially for things that he knew Mom would pay for. He’d roll back how much he’d pay me, so I’d get a job to pay for rent and books; I’d have to keep it secret, because when he’d get wind of it, he’d hold back even more money because “now I can afford it”, so I’d be working, but still not have enough. He’d promise to pay for something, then change his mind at the last minute when it came time to write the check. He was constantly late. I don’t want to bitch too much about money because I know a lot of parents can’t afford to help, but it was just that I know he could easily afford everything, and I had gone to an expensive out-of-state school (that he encouraged me to go to!) based on what he said he was willing to pay, but then he would keep changing his mind all of the time because he wanted my mom to have to pay, because he’s angry at Mom. (I tried not to go to Mom for these expenses because her income is a lot more limited – about 1/10 of what he makes.)
He does this to all of us, unfortunately. Seeing what I was going through, my younger sister was afraid of what would happen in college for her; he said “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything” then to rescind it when she’s signed up and committed.

I’m sure I frustrated him because all of the controlling, manipulative bullshit got him nowhere with me. I’d get mad or upset, but I’d never change. I’m still a left-leaning vegetarian heathen who disagrees with him on every subject, and he doesn’t handle it very well, even though I make it a point never to bring up politics or religion with him. Fortunately he knows very little about my life. I prefer to keep it that way.

Parents are like anybody else. Just because they say that they’re acting in your best interest doesn’t mean that they are. Sometimes they’re not even good people.

I thought I didn’t like my parents until I read this thread.
I’ve realized I have it pretty damn easy…


I’ve not seen my dad for 18 years.

When I was sixteen he threatened to hit my disabled mother. I told him that if he tried, I’d hurt him.

He tried, so I did.

  1. If I had believed that I would have committed suicide upon graduation.

  2. How can anyone believe that? It seems like a set up to keep someone in an abusive relationship.

  3. I have learned that nearly all of the rules that my mother enforced were just as arbitrary and selfish as they seemed at the time. They were completely unnecessary to raising children and did more harm than good. The only benefit that I can see now is they made me realize that she never liked me and that has made maintaining emotional distance from her easier as an adult. This has improved our relationship to the point that conversations with her are merely stressful.

I haven’t spoken to my parents in almost two years now.

My mother has been disappointed with me ever since I dropped out of school for the first time. I partially redeemed myself when I got into law school, but dropping out of law school was the last straw. Apparently, my failure to excel academically was proof of her own worthlessness.

There’s also the attitude she has toward gays and transsexuals; I’ve never directly talked to her about my gender issues, but apparently my ex did tell her that I’m “gender confused”. She thinks it’s “just a phase”. The one time the topic came up in discussion she opined that transsexuality is a purely psychological condition that should be treated with drugs and psychotherapy. That, combined with her deep distrust of psychology as a discipline and her conviction that she knows more about all matters medical than anyone else has led me to not discuss the issue with her.

My father, on the other hand, has become increasingly conservative politically and increasingly religious in the past few years to the point that I can’t stand being around him. He even donates money to the American Family Association, which to me is one of the most odious organizations on the face of the planet. And his attitude towards gays is even more reprehensible than my mother’s.