Can I join in?
I’ve never really spoken to anyone about my childhood and lasting problems with my parents for fear that I’ll be told to get a grip and grow up. I suppose that’s what my parents themselves would say. On a few occasions I have mentioned to DH and a couple of very close friends that I find my parents difficult and they are very understanding – maybe I should try getting this out in the open a little more.
I could join up each and every post on this long thread and it would come close to the story of my own life. There are some differences, no physical abuse from my parents and I am sure I was loved and wanted – they just never talked in these terms and emotion was all but banned in our house. I completely relate to the poster upthread who mentioned keeping up appearances; our house was like a showhome and every aspect of our appearance was groomed to perfection – it was all an empty façade,
I don’t recall hearing the word “love” at home but neither too could sadness be expressed. My parents were a good generation, and possibly more in my dad’ case, older than any of my peer group and I think this made a difference in their attitudes towards parenting and the differences I could see in the way my friends interacted with their parents.
I must have been wanted; I know my parents tried for a baby for a long time and my mother ended up have some kind of pioneering fertility treatment in the late 70s which obviously worked. I don’t know what this involved – some kind of early stage IVF? Talking about anything remotely revolving sex or reproduction was “dirty” and “disgusting”. This is evidence, though, that I was a wanted child. I have half-siblings from my dad’s first marriage and they were held up by both parents as the golden children and from an early age I remember being told it was a shame I would never be as pretty, clever, successful, kind etc as them.
As with another poster early in the thread, there were no words for our private parts or for any bodily functions. Everything to do with that was secretive and shameful. I suffered from excruciating bouts of thrush and cystitis as a child and eventually my mother took me to a doctor although she made me feel small, dirty and degraded for “wanting” to talk about these things and “making” the doctor examine at me. She then refused to help me with the cream I was prescribed. I must have been around 5-6 years old. I still find it extremely difficult to talk to medical professionals about any intimate issues and am lucky to have found an amazing and supportive GP in recent years who understands when I talk around things – she is slowly helping me to be able to talk about and take ownership of my body. Despite suffering from the most crippling period pains from the age of 11 and regularly fainting with the pain at school, my mother also refused to allow me to speak to a doctor about such dirty things. I was 30 before the aforementioned wonderful GP finally helped me through the necessary stages to diagnose endometriosis.
I was abused by a regular babysitter as a child. I never told my parents. How can you do that when you are not allowed to talk about these parts of your body or when any kind of touch is seen as shameful and inappropriate? I guess he knew that and his threats of how angry my parents would be with me were enough to buy my silence. I also believed, into my 30s, that I had, in some way, offered myself to him and made him do these things to me.
I was badly bullied at primary school and I vividly remember one night, being unable to sleep and sobbing my heart out in my room at the thought of going to school the next day. My bedroom door flew open and my father demanded to know what the racket was all about. I broke down and told him how bad things were; I showed him the bruises from where I had been held down and kicked in the ribs. He said “is that all” and told me to toughen up and stop disturbing his sleep. I took that in my stride at the time as it didn’t occur to me that any other parent would react differently but as an adult I am sickened by his reaction.
As mentioned by another poster, I have countless memories of being scared in various scenarios and then afterwards being praised for not letting it show. I suppose that was easier than having to comfort me and god forbid, being seen in public hugging a small child. Sadness was also not allowed and the scorn poured on me or anyone else who “turned on the waterworks” was awful. Despite these difficulties with my parents, I did have an exceptionally close relationship with my maternal grandmother and was obviously upset when she died. My father actually hustled my out of her funeral and made me sit in a car so that nobody would see me crying.
Stupidly, the only time I have ever tackled them on this was, of all things, watching the X-Factor on one occasion and both parents were getting quite het up about the levels of emotion shown as the contestants were waiting to hear who was being sent home. That was the one time I snapped and shouted at them that people are allowed to cry, it is better than bottling up emotion.
My own first period was, like others, a traumatic experience. I was eleven and having never spoken to my mother about any of that stuff, was more scared that she would be angry that I knew what a period was. I couldn’t possibly say we had spoken about it at school. I tried to keep it secret but didn’t even last a full day. I was so frightened and upset about what was happening to me that she noticed something was wrong and eventually wheedled it out of my between sobs. This time I didn’t get into trouble for crying and my mother was actually pretty amazing, giving me all the products and information I needed but that window was soon shut again. As I mentioned, my periods were bad and I often leaked (stupid cheap unreliable sanpro that she bought) and she would often burst into my room with the bloodied underwear from the laundry basket, telling me that I was disgusting.
All of this has definitely affected my emotions as an adult. I still find it extremely difficult to ask for help or to admit when I am worried or scared about something. I don’t really feel comfortable with public displays of affection and often take criticism badly. Even when it is obviously constructive such as the trainer at the gym suggesting I adopt a different position to make things a little easier or if someone in my team suggests a different way of doing things at work, all I can hear is that voice telling me that I’m useless and can’t get anything right.
I haven't gone NC but I dread spending time with my parents. Like others, the consequences of doing so would be too much - I know I would lose my entire family so I grin and bear it even though I am still criticised for my appearance, choice of career and every single aspect of my lifestyle.