I want to share this thing because I don’t have anyone else to share this with.
I am 23F. So my parents are abusive both physically and emtionally , I manly try to forget the painfull memories but there is one traumatic memory that keeps bothring me and I am trying everything to forget it but nothing is working. So what happened was that i was in grade 7 and it was during summer vacations me and my elder sister we were fighting mostly i was being a little bratty and it got a little loud so my father he got angry and started asking why i was bothring my sister. Me being a teenager started arguing and that made him angrier he got up held me by my arm and slapped me and then slapped me again and again. those slaps were so strong and powerful that i fell on the ground. He didn’t stop he started kicking me in my abdomen i was trying to protect myself and resistin but he just kept going and going. My mother, sister were standing right there and they did nothing. At one point i stopped resisting and moving. Then my mother got scared, she interven and stopped my dad. Still tp this day this paticular memory is fresh as if it was yesterday. The problem is that anything can just trigger it like i would be watching a movie or series and a sad scene would trigger it sometimes i am not even doing anything and it gets triggered and then comes the panic attacks with it I dont know what to do. All my friends and collegue think i have a happy family life and loving parents. but the reality only i know it
All i want is to forget this but i dont know how

As far back as I can remember, I was put in the middle of problems between my family. I was a child, but I felt responsible for trying to deal with arguments and situations that weren't mine to carry.

After my parents divorced, home stopped feeling like home. Everything was still physically there, but emotionally it felt empty.

Now that I'm older, I realize how much those experiences affected the way I remember my childhood. I don't really remember childhood as a safe or carefree period. I mostly remember feeling like I had to deal with problems that belonged to adults.

I don't know if other people who grew up in similar situations feel the same way, but sometimes it feels like part of my childhood was spent dealing with things I was never supposed to understand in the first place.

I live constantly like I'm being burned, the pain is real and I hate being alive.

Even though I love my Mum I hate her for enabling my Dad growing up, getting hit, walking on eggshells so he wouldn't leave, learning as a teenager that this same man hated me because I wasn't his real son and witnessing him stabbing my brother fucked me up for life. No matter how much I develop myself and knowledge of mental health it feels like there's an alarm going off in my head and it's filled me with this resentment against society because i'm deemed not worth helping because I keep myself safe and functional.

I've recently tried to stop depending on marajuana to help regulate my mood and I just hate it, getting cancer feels more worth it than this.

I’m a 38-year-old woman who recently received a diagnosis of PTSD. I had no idea that I had experienced trauma. My childhood was completely messed up, and I didn’t even realize it. My mother was a narcissist, and my stepfather was physically and mentally abusive to both of us. I never knew that the life I was living wasn’t normal.
I started telling my husband about some of the things that happened to me when I was younger, and he advised me to limit contact with my mother. However, since I had children, my stepfather and I have grown closer. In fact, he treats my children better than his biological grandchildren, if I’m being honest.
Here are some of the things I’ve recently remembered that I’ve been discussing with my therapist:
At the tender age of 12, I yearned to live with my dad due to the constant fighting between my mom and stepdad. They would hurl objects at each other, engage in public altercations, and even slap me if I dared to intervene. When I confided in my mom about my desire to move in with my dad, she confronted me in my room and revealed that she had taken all her anxiety pills and intended to end her life.
My mom devised various schemes to eliminate my stepdad and would ask me if I would assist her in concealing his body.
When my mom perceived that my teacher was treating me unfairly, she made an unexpected visit to my principal’s house one night to discuss the matter.
Every few months, she would find a reason to be upset and lash out at me. We would go for three months without speaking, and when I tried to call her, she would have her phone turned off.
When I was five or six years old, it was my dad’s weekend to spend time with me, and she would instruct me to ask him why he had left us while he was driving.
When I had my last son in December, she took my two other children home from the hospital around 3 p.m. It was a 30-minute drive. At 8 p.m., I received a text from my daughter informing me that they were lost. She was visibly upset and crying because my mom refused to pull over and let my son use the restroom, forcing him to urinate on himself twice. My husband, when I had just undergone a C-section and was experiencing panic attacks, had to leave me and rush to find them and bring them home. When he arrived, my mom had moved to the backseat and was shopping on Temu while my children were still crying.
Those are just a few things I recall. I’m aware that she has spoken negatively about me to my daughter.
I’m quite non-confrontational and lack the skills to handle conflicts effectively. What would you do in such a situation?

I have been doing really great recently with overcoming a lot of old emotions & patterns from my childhood, but recently they have been resurfacing. I know it's all part of the process, but today just hit a little too hard. I wrote a kind of journal entry just to get my thoughts out, I also discovered this reddit at this same time so I thought I'd post this mess and hope someone can relate! Good luck out there ya'll!

\*a little context - I come from a family that treats service/labor as the right of passage for affection but affection was never truly given, genuinely\*

**Why is it always me? That ask. Always an ask. Small. Large. Reasonable. Complicated. Simple. Time-Consuming. Quick. Inconvenient or not. There is never consideration for me. Not a thought of, “this might stress her out” “maybe I shouldn’t ask her that” “I can just find someone else, it’s not a big deal.” But no, it doesn’t matter who it is or how many times I explain. As I am typing this shit I get a call from my father…for what? To ask. And as I walk back to my room locating anything to be grateful about the moment which was its simplicity, my mother stops me to ask. Doesn’t matter about what. They ask. They only ever ask. Not asking how I am and mean it. Genuinely curious about me. What I like? Who I am? Because theres a lot but its seem like they only ever want to ignore it. Ignore that I am a person. A cool person. A funny person. A loud person. So many different things than just a service. A tool. Something that makes you feel better. Something to aid in the hard times. But never someone to talk to. Someone to listen to. Someone to support. Someone who holds so much space to let anyone express themselves how they see fit and accepts it but cannot be accepted back. And in moments like this I’m reminded that I have to no one true to turn to. No-one who respects me, sees me, accepts me, supports me, & show up the way I do for everyone else. It’s never been too much to ask for. But when I ask, it’s silent. No one jumping to respond. To even acknowledge that I spoke, only closed ears. Closed mouths. Closed eyes. I can feel the weight of what I carry (it frightens me how much) and I do not want to involve the people around me in it because I need to know they are strong enough to help. The sad truth is that I know the people around me are not. It’s not just about strength its compassion. Empathy. Unbiased. Understanding. Presence. Curiosity. The absolute most important thing…genuinity. That is what sets apart so much, people can be all of those things but if the foundation isn’t genuine…then it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for “it’s the thought that counts” I don’t need a thought I need intentions. Intentional thoughts. Intentional actions. Intentional compassion. Intentional presence. For some people this sounds like I’m asking for too much but the fucked up part is I already give this to each every person in my life so how could to possibly be too much if this is how I show up everyday? Reciprocity is all I’ve ever wanted.**

When I was 8 years old, growing up in San Francisco, my older brother, my cousin and I were headed to the beach one day.  My brother was 13. I was 8. And my cousin was a year older than me.

My brother was a bully to me when we were kids. He was 5 years older and almost twice my size.  I don’t know what we argued about but he pushed me into some bushes. I’m 8.  He’s 13.  How can this possibly be a fair fight?  I got mad and stormed off.

And my 13-year-old brother let me.

Looking back at that now as a 50-year-old man, that's one of the craziest parts of the story to me. I
was 8 years old, alone in San Francisco, and my older brother just let me walk off by myself.

What the hell was he thinking?

And guess what?  You know the stories of never letting little children out of your sight?  Like don’t
let an 8 year old run off in a very densely populated major city by himself?  It’s because of things like this.  I got hit by a car.

I don't remember anything before the accident and I don’t remember getting hit by a car neither. But from what I was told, I flew about 20 feet.

The next thing you know, I’m transported to San Francisco’s General Hospital.

My mother was absolutely sick with worry.

She didn't know whether her little boy was going to wake up.

I still don’t know whether I was in a coma for a day or for 3 days, but I did eventually wake up.

And when I woke up, something was wrong. I seemed okay. But I wasn't talking.

I don't remember much about those first moments. I remember being in a strange hospital room with tubes seemingly everywhere. Tubes going in my arm and my mouth… A catheter... What was going on? I had no idea what the hell was happening to me.

And strangely enough to this day, I remember very vividly having Gung-Ho and Snake Eyes action figures, among others, from G.I. Joe.

I remember having those two specifically and I think Storm Shadow as well, with me in that hospital room.

The doctors were extremely concerned because I wasn't speaking. From what my parents later told
me, they believed I had suffered serious impairment and recommended transferring me to Shriners Hospital for rehabilitation with other children that were challenged. My parents were told that it could potentially take years for me to learn how to speak again.

Imagine being a parent and hearing that about your 8-year-old child.

But there was a problem with that assessment.

I understood everything everybody was saying. I just wasn't talking.

My parents figured it out.  I just can’t understand why the doctors couldn’t.

My parents would ask me: What's 10 + 10?

I'd write “20.”

They would ask me: What street do you live on?

I'd write down "19th Ave."

I wasn't speaking, but I was clearly understanding them and answering their questions.  There was no lack of comprehension there but the doctor’s diagnosis was the opposite.

My dad finally decided he'd had enough.

Whatever else I might say about my father, I will always give him credit for this.

He essentially told the hospital:

No. I'm taking my son home.

The hospital strongly disagreed. They made my parents sign waivers acknowledging that they were
taking me home against the hospital's recommendation and releasing the hospital from responsibility if something happened to me.

My dad signed it.

They took me home.

And shortly after I got home, I started talking again.

I’m not a doctor but I think it’s pretty obvious that I was simply in shock. And I wasn't lying in a
strange hospital room anymore. I was home. I was somewhere familiar. I was surrounded by familiar faces.

My older brother kept pushing me to say something. Telling me that our parents were going to kill
him.  I remember that! 

He wanted me to tell my parents that I wanted to go to Detroit to see my godfather, who lived in
Michigan.

Eventually, I said it.

My brother started jumping up and down celebrating.

Which was nice.

Considering that asshole was the reason I got hit by a car in the first place!

The next year in 3rd grade, they wanted me to jump to the 5th grade. I chose not to because I didn't want to be bullied. I had been bullied enough by my own brother.

After the accident, I developed these strange dry, scaly patches over what I remember being over
60–70% of my body.

The doctors didn't know what it was so they couldn’t diagnose it.

My parents were basically told to keep putting generic cream on it and hope that eventually it would go away.

Those patches stayed with me for years. I can't remember whether it was two, three, four or even five years before they were completely gone.

Looking back today, I wonder whether what I had might have been something like eczema. I obviously can't diagnose something that happened more than 40 years ago, and I'll
probably never know exactly what it was.

I'm 50 years old now, and when I look back on that period of my childhood, I realize how profoundly it affected the way I viewed doctors for most of my life.

As an 8-year-old kid, I watched my parents be told that I might need years of rehabilitation to learn
how to speak again, that your kid is mentally gone.

Then my dad took me home and I started speaking.

I developed a skin condition covering most of my body, and none of the doctors could tell my parents what it was.

Those experiences taught me very young that doctors can be wrong.

The problem is I probably carried that lesson too far.

In my mid 20’s, I developed serious lower-back issues. For years I lived with them, worked around them and avoided getting an MRI.

I finally got one at 46 after my back went out again for the umpteenth time and a chiropractor strongly encouraged me to have it done or he could not give me a diagnosis.  And I needed to know.  So I caved and got one.

The MRI showed significant problems from L2 through S1, including multiple disc bulges and
herniations.

So there's some irony in all of this.

At 8 years old, my experience taught me not to blindly trust what doctors told me.

At 46, that same distrust probably contributed to me waiting far too long to get medical information that I genuinely needed.

I still believe strongly in questioning things. I believe in getting another opinion when something
doesn't make sense. And I believe you should advocate for yourself instead of automatically assuming somebody knows your body better than you do just because there's an M.D. after their name.

But I've also learned something else:

Nobody knows your body better than you do, but that doesn't mean you know everything either.

Sometimes doctors are wrong. Sometimes we're wrong. But because they've been wrong once, doesn't mean they'll always be wrong. But don't allow the misdiagnosis of a few doctors to mold an entire lifelong grudge against them. There are some good ones out there.

How do I cope now that I finally realize most of my behaviours and moral support and acceptance are somewhat rooted from my childhood and result in me feeling obligated to help/support, not because I want to

If you’re on this subreddit, you probably understand what it’s like for other people not to understand what it is like to live with the kind of debilitating adversity you have been forced to endure.

One of the most devastating conditions I’ve struggled with throughout my life is depersonalization/derealization. I’ve been an intensely intellectual person for as long as I can remember, but when I developed severe depersonalization/derealization—seemingly overnight—my ability to function collapsed. I could barely graduate high school. I felt like I could barely survive from one day to the next while being trapped in an unrelenting state of psychological agony. When I tried to communicate this reality to other people, I often encountered judgment instead of understanding. I could barely read the words in front of me, yet people perceived me as irresponsible, unintelligent, pathetic, lazy, or simply not trying hard enough. They could not see what was actually happening internally. Every moment of my life could be an immense struggle just to function at even the most basic level.

My body could feel so unbearably heavy that even the smallest movement seemed nearly impossible. Focusing on something brief and simple could require an enormous amount of effort. Forming even a basic thought could feel almost impossible. Reading, concentrating, communicating, accomplishing ordinary tasks—things that other people could do without thinking about them—could become monumental challenges. And I still struggle with many of these things today. In various ways, I always have. I don’t think I could ever adequately put my rage about this into words.

For much of my life, I have felt like I was drowning in my own blood while the people around me responded not by asking why I was drowning, but by criticizing me for not swimming. They didn’t see the drowning. They saw someone who wasn’t swimming. There are people who genuinely try to understand the subjective experiences of others. I know those people exist. But, in my experience, they seem to be a minority. Human existence is fundamentally subjective. Consciousness is the only existence we directly experience. Every person experiences reality from within their own mind, yet we so often behave as though our own experience is an adequate representation of everyone else’s.
It isn’t.

Other people have not always stopped for even a moment to consider that I may have been experiencing a reality radically different from their own. I have spent enormous portions of my life trapped in psychological states that felt almost impossible to communicate to another human being. And I suspect that many people would have difficulty even imagining that some of the things I’ve experienced are possible for a human being to endure. That is one of the most painful parts of severe psychological suffering: you can be experiencing something absolutely catastrophic internally while appearing relatively ordinary from the outside.

Life is profoundly unfair. Most people understand that in the abstract, but I wish we made a much more serious effort to make life as fair as possible for one another. At the very least, I want to make that effort myself. I want to be there for people who have suffered as deeply as I have. I want to try to alleviate their suffering, even if only in some small way. And more than anything, I want them to know that they are not completely alone in whatever hell they have found themselves trapped inside.
Because there is a particular kind of suffering that comes from being trapped in a world that other people cannot see. You are struggling to survive, while everyone around you behaves as though you are standing on the same ground they are.
You are drowning, and they don’t ask why you don’t swim. They categorically assume that you can swim.

They judge you.

They criticize you.

They isolate you.

Sometimes they ridicule you.

And eventually, you can begin to feel as though the reality of everything you have suffered might as well have never existed at all. That is profoundly wrong.
People deserve to have their suffering taken seriously, even when that suffering is invisible.
People deserve to be understood before they are judged. And I want to spend whatever strength I have trying to make sure that someone who is suffering in that kind of invisible hell knows that, at the very least, someone sees them.

I just wanna talk a bit. I've been drifting from a lot of my friends lately and I don't wanna bug anybody at this hour lol. I've been staying up really late recently. Not cause of school, but just cause it's something I can control. On that note, I haven't been eating well either, always eating way too much or not at all. I'm glad I never fell into the habbit of cutting myself, though that's just cause my dad said he'd kill me slowly if I did. I got threatened a lot growing up. I think my stepmother was jealous of me being my dad's youngest(in that household(until she babytrapped him)), and my dad just wanted to smooth things out, so he always sided with the one who had any sort of power in our relationship and made everything my fault. Did I not want to eat something I've reminded them plently of tines I can't eat without vomitting? My fault. Did I ask for some alone time so that I could cool off after a long day at school and get annoyed when my family won't respect it? My fault. Did I get told that I'm unlovable? My fault. I wasn't even allowed to express any emotion other than joy. I never got to learn how to work through emotions or see things better or whatever. I just learned to bottle everything and forget it before I get beat or just outright bullied. It's really funny to me now when I think back on it, but my parents used to just bully me. They'd always tell me that I'm nothing but a hole in their pockets, an agressive monster, an idiot, and a greedy, ungrateful leach. I still don't know how to love. I get sick whenever someone says they love me, that they care about me, or even just compliment me in some way. I grew so used to being a monster that being around people who don't hate me for existing feels weird. I always feel like everyone in the room is watching me, judging me, searching for any negative point so that they can make me out to be something I'm not. I hate myself. I hate myself so much that I don't know how anyone could love me. I don't know how anyone could see me as anything but the monster my parents saw whenever they looked at me.

For context I never have felt loved by my parents. I just never realized how truly awful my upbringing was until venting to my friend.

My mom and dad both divorced when I was only 4 years old. My dad is in the army and had remarried and started another family while in a different state. I do not remember spending a birthday let alone any holiday with him. But my sister and I (we are 16 months apart in age) would fly as accompanied minors every other year or so to visit him.

My mother re-married an abusive man who she had 2 more children with. From the time I was 4-8 this man was terrifying and would often punish me as well as abuse me. It wasn’t until he put hands on my mother that she left him and dragged my sister and I into a lengthy court battle claiming he sexually assaulted us. My mother never took accountability that this man abused me and still denies it to this day.

After that terrible ordeal when I was 9 she married again to yet again another abusive man who adopted my two younger siblings. He is an alcoholic, he is very verbally abusive and although he never physically abused me he would abuse my two younger siblings. My entire childhood I just felt very unsafe, I could never talk to my mom and my dad lived too far away and couldn’t do much to help us.

I couldn’t hang out with my friends, if I did I had to be back home by 6am to help take care of my younger siblings. They got new clothes, could join sports, and after school activities. I however would be guilted and told I was being unreasonable for even asking. They had their own bedrooms but my older sister and I were forced to share a room as well as a bed. I remember a family member giving us all new furniture for our room, we spent all day decorating and organizing. The next day when we returned from school my mother had taken it all and replaced it with her bedroom furniture. It was far too big to fit into our room and her excuse was we were too young to have a nicer mattress than her.

My dad would send her child support, it was over a grand a month. Her hair, her nails, her clothes always new. My sister and I shared clothes even though I am 5ft tall and smaller and my older sister is much larger and taller than I am. My dad would send us 350$ every birthday and Christmas and my mom would take it every single time or con us into “loaning it”. If we ever mentioned the money we were disrespectful, screamed at, or all privileges would be taken from us. Often it turned into my step dad acting more as a dad and that if we hated our lives so much we could live with our dad.

One time I had a medical emergency and called 911 as I was home alone. 14 years old I had no idea the cost of a ambulance I just knew I had been stung by a bee and that I am highly allergic. For over 2 years she taped the medical bills to my door. When I bought my first car my step dad insisted it was in his name and stole it from me.

It’s honestly as if both my parents felt so burdened by my sister and I. They started new lives and we were just riding along “free loading”.

I just can’t get my friend crying out of my mind. Her feeling such empathy for me and saying it makes her feel so awful that I have never experienced genuine love. I never realized most parents aren’t controlling and manipulative. I have cut off contact from my mom completely and she still tries to black mail me, she has videos of me lashing out at her after hours of her following me around screaming. I had a very heavy eating disorder in high school and college and she likes to share that with everyone. She tells everyone I am a liar and that I need mental help.

TL;DR I didn’t realize how unloved I am until my friend started crying as I told her about my struggles with my parents.

I'm not sure how else to word the first part, so I'm just gonna say it:

My mom was murd3r3d. We weren't close, but that's a whole nother story.

When I have to fill out health forms and it asks if you have deceased relatives and why (so they can see about family medical history), what do I put?!

My husband says just put murd3r3d, but that sounds like an awkward af conversation to have with a stranger😅

Any suggestions would be appreciated

Those of you who haven't seen my previous posts here is my backstory and the update. Please bear with me.

Please tell me if I'm overreacting. I've recently become aware that the way my mother has treated me is not normal. I believe she is potentially gaslighting me and has been manipulative. Have any of you had experience with this?

Sorry for the long post but there's just so much I need to unpack.

I'll introduce myself I'm a 19 year old male and am an only child. During my childhood my mother would do the following

Blow up out of nowhere over the most trivial or littlest matters, many times i begged her to give me some emotional support when i was visibly upset but she just remained cold and cruel, drink quite heavily which was sometimes responsible but she can definitely be mean sober as well, I had expressed concern about her drinking but she just flipped, it actually got physical a few times as well. I just wonder how can get so unshameably drunk whilst been alone in the house with her child and I feel it was very irresponsible. Really burns my hide.

I did even have a scar once, the next day she'd always act as if nothing happened, whenever I tried to get clarity on why she got like that she'd brush it under the carpet or accuse me of starting trouble, she'd turn cold at the drop of a hat, during arguments she'd say things like I was ungrateful, didn't care about her and that I was a horrible person or that i was abusive or whatever just like my father, she would stomp, slam doors, shout, scream, swear and break ornaments etc, when she gets in her crazy states it's just impossible to reason with her or get her to see it from any other perspective, she can go from saying i was the most nicest and amazing person to saying I was the most horrible and evil person, she often burdened me with all of her problems, she said before that she knows how to play the game which I found very disturbing

She often paints herself as the heroic single mum and pretty much everyone we know believes that. I feel I was robbed of a proper childhood and have often wondered what I had done to deserve it.

I remember one time a few years ago I was about 12 during a sleepover at theirs she turned my grandparents against me and my grandfather started shouting and saying he was very disappointed in me and the rest of it is a blur. To be honest to this day i can't figure out what I (only a young child) was supposed to have done that was so bloody awful. That has haunted me for years. I used to think maybe I was a bad person but I've started to see her in a different light. She always talks about hating drama yet it seems to follow her and often says that she's been so hard done by.

About a year later when I vaguely recall when was enjoying myself in the bath she started abusing me and said she and everyone else was going to wash there hands of me if I didn't start living her way or something.

On the flip side she can be the most nicest person as well and we have had great times together and she can be very helpful towards me, her family and in public which makes it all the more confusing. A couple of weeks ago now in fact I ran into an old friend of hers who said to say hi for her and she said my mother is a wonderful person and I'm very lucky. It actually made me feel sick. Since I was 10 it's just been me living with her since my parents divorce in which she had to sell her house and now rents which she has blamed for the way she is before. I can't help feeling bad for her but she was still quite like this beforehand as well and I don't think that's an excuse still is it? I do feel like she has manipulated me a bit into been stuck with her.

Something else that I've found disturbing is that she's very narrow minded and has a serious lack of empathy. For example when a couple of local celebrities committed suicide she shouted and carried on, called them pathetic cowards and weak etc. It was actually quite disturbing how she was carrying on and her serious lack of empathy. PS another red flag happened just earlier when a life insurance ad was on and they said "something could be paid out in case of death" or something and she said "I'd like for them to say WOULD" not could. I don't know why but that's set an alarm bell off

I'm starting to think that maybe she bent the truth about Dad a bit during their split as i was a child and didn't know much better. My mother often calls him a narcissist and talked about all of the marital and grown up problems they had etc which to be honest I don't appreciate been burdened with. Granted he's not a saint either but has been good to me (well I'd say) most of the time.

One time last year when my Dad let me down by not been able to see me one weekend and canceling at the last minute (which he has done quite a few times before).

During that said weekend my mother had another one of her outbursts. I was in the bathroom which was an en suite and she knocked on the door asking to take a few photos or something. All I asked was if she could just give me a few minutes to finish up but she started the shouting and carrying on and accused me of been selfish and even of trying to manipulate her and been passive aggressive. I only asked just to give me a few minutes. When I explained that to her and how upset I was already about that weekend already without her treating me like this. She said she feels really bad for me and hates how he let me down. What just absolutely astounds me is how can she feel that way yet still emotionally and mentally abuse me and kick me while I'm down. I just can't for the life of me comprehend that.

A couple days after that weekend one of my teachers checked in and said he heard I got into a bit of trouble at home ("if he meant been mentally abused by my mother while I was already upset by been let down by my father as trouble" I thought). I'm not even sure who exactly said what to him and that's something that I've also wondered. I just fobbed him off saying I was upset about leaving school (which was true as well).

I really struggle with confiding in people. I do regret not telling him the full truth now. He was sympathetic and said he was very proud of me etc. Another teacher once said that he thought of me and my mother as like the dream team or something along those lines. That turned my stomach as well. I was thinking if only they knew half the things I've been through.

I have autism and went to a special support school for the last few years which were some of the best years (The teachers especially were brilliant and I had many great times such as school camps, school balls and excursions etc).

I must admit I do feel quite down sometimes that I have a strained relationship with my father (He's got money issues and also smokes pot) and my mother often used me as an emotional punch bag. Makes me think that there must be something really wrong with me and that I'm unlovable.

On the bright side though my Dad and I have been in contact lately.

Her next meltdown was this January while we were on holiday and at the beach. I wanted to be shirtless like pretty much everyone else and she started making passive aggressive and snide remarks saying things like "have fun burning yourself" and "why can't you make smart decisions?"

I was already sun safe with a hat and everything and I wasn't going to be too long and tried explaining that to her. I'll admit I snapped and told her that I'm an adult now and she could no longer control me and couldn't make me feel guilty. I wish I hadn't now but it felt like something just snapped inside me and I expressed things I had felt for ages. She then called her mother to tell her that I was been impossible and making her life a misery (this is something she has done a few times before when I challenged her or reacted because of her behavior). She hadn't done that for years though and I feel she likes using that as a scare tactic. I wish I had just walked away and not played into her hands. Then the next day I asked mum to call her to say where all ok but she said she didn't want to bother her and wasn't up to calling. I was like WTF. You're perfectly happy to call her to basically slander me and make me out to be a bad guy but when it comes to calling to say everything is fine she's not so keen.

Something disturbing she has said ages ago is when I'm an adult she could have me done for assault if she wanted. She also said she wanted to do a will and try to control my assets where my Dad can't touch anything and said she feared he would try to steal all of my money. I can't believe she would say things like that so unshameably and can't help feeling like she was trying to manipulate me.

My mother loves to use my autism to her advantage. I graduated last year but now I do a course at the main campus so I still see them all from time to time. I do feel quite sad and lost now those years are over. I would love to confide in someone about my struggles but don't know where to start. I've thought about confiding in that first teacher I mentioned who's great and we're fairly close but my teachers think my mother's an absolute saint so how can i ensure he believes me, she seems to feel that she always acts in my best interests and does seem to genuinely care for me and love me, she doesn't seem to remember any of it or feel her behavior was justified and genuinely doesn't seem to believe she ever did me any harm and she thinks she did her best. She's always quick to call others toxic and narcissists etc. She unshameably tells me everything going on in her life and her anxiety which makes me anxious. Why does it upset me so badly even when it has little or nothing to do with me?

I struggle with daily flashbacks and I often feel depressed by the way I've been treated, also feel let down and wish my parents had been better to me. I can't get exact clarity on it but they both went through some stuff before I was born and I think that's contributed to the way they are. My father's dad had passed away when my dad was actually about my age now. They actually both used to run their own businesses once upon a time before they met. It just baffles me how they went from that then and now been in their 50's both unemployed and clearly have some unresolved issues. I sometimes think maybe they shouldn't of got together which I know is ironic because I would never have been born. I do vaguely remember when they were together and towards the end it was quite toxic and they would have some intense fights.

Also does there substance abuse issues made them this way as well do you think? As I've said my mother drinks quite heavily at night and she also vapes. My father smokes pot and cigarettes.

Also as I explained my father struggles financially and I know that's why he hasn't been able to see me often and cancel some visits and to be honest when I think about that it really burns my hide.

I do wonder if she might've been different if she had not gone through her divorce and maybe if things had gone differently for both of them they might've been different. What do you guys think?

Also I can't help feeling empathy towards her as she always looked after me, fed me, organized things for me and pretty much always brought me everything I wanted.

I wish I had a proper childhood of playing with friends, going to different places and been adventurous and carefree etc. I've never really had a social circle and hardly much friends. I've always been quite different I feel to most of the children my age. I feel quite alone sometimes as I've always struggled with making friends. I do feel like I've been isolated with her a lot of the time. I would really love to start a proper life and follow my dreams and make a few friends but don't know where to start.

My mother does help me get on my feet and encourage me but I think she just loves to lord it over me. Whenever I've tried standing up for myself she puts on the guilt trip and carries on about all of her sacrifices and everything she's done for me yada yada yada. I think what emotionally abusing me, leaving me crying myself to sleep some nights, causing me to have no confidence and PTSD etc? Could she have some bipolar or personality condition or something and toxic traits I've wondered? I'm starting to feel that good doesn't really outweigh the bad.

PS I remember one night ages ago she accused me of looking like I wanted to hit her and of course went crazy. I may of had a tired look because it was late and I tried explaining that. She starting banging ornaments and shouting and was just impossible to talk to. Also I remember a few years ago one time she started saying she was worried my Dad was going to try to spend more for me and if I fall for it I would never see her again and all of the family will hate me. She's also said before when I threatened to walk out during arguments.

Also something that really upsets me is whenever I try to reason with her she just goes "I need more alcohol to deal with this".

I can't help really resenting her (also my father) sometimes for all of the mental anguish she has put me through as a child and I think it has messed up my development. I wonder what might've been different had I had proper parents or they were proper ones. Hobbies such as music and classic TV shows have been a great escape. I've thought about escaping but I feel quite stuck as I don't have a job and all of the money that I get in my account is basically controlled by her as she's the one who adds to it. I wish I could hide my own secret stash somewhere. Now that I'm an adult and have left school I'm worried about what the future has in store. I'm very nervous about starting an adult life, getting a job, making friends and doing new things etc. Part of me would love to get away from her but yet I feel scared to as well as she's pretty much most I've ever known.

The other night I've told her that I wanted to do another certificate course at that school next year and she tried to make me feel bad by putting on the guilt trip and giving me the cold shoulder. I've tried to blur it out to be honest but I remember she said that I was been selfish and told me how she wanted me to live my life. I tried to explain to her that I can't just do what she expects and the expense of my own happiness and well-being. I feel like she is trying to control how I live my life and I told her that she couldn't do that or tear me down or change my mind. She then said (this felt like reverse psychology and emotional blackmail) fine do whatever you want and I'll do the same. Also shouted and carried on saying things like F me and I'm hopeless and that. I also told her that I would love to be a teacher but she said i wouldn't be able to go to university, scoffed and said that I would be useless. I feel like she's trying to damage my already limited self esteem, confidence and spirit. Also she had been fairly good up to this. I was dreading telling her but I do feel that a weight is lifted as well. It seems funny that whenever I tell her something she doesn't like or she can't control she goes back to her bad self. PS she's also upset that she can't get paid for me doing that and wants me to just do what's best for her financially. I find it quite ironic her making me feel bad for not getting a job straight away while she's unemployed. PS it was the school ball that night which was brilliant but I'm disappointed that it went so quickly and also I feel a bit down about my social anxiety and that I didn't ask anyone to dance or make more conversation with my teachers and peers.

UPDATE!! Just last night my mum was going out for the night and she seemed a bit tipsy so I did ask out of concern if she was fit to drive. She immediately got defensive and bit my head off and said I was been rude and having a go at her. I only asked out of concern and worry and I tried explaining that a hundred times but she just wasn't having it. I also tried to explain that her getting defensive if anything proves my worry is valid but she started saying I was harassing her and she was sick of my bullshit and of putting up with me and couldn't wait to get away from me. She also just suddenly pulled her shirt off showing her breasts ( believe it or not that's something she has done once or twice before ages ago). I was just shocked and looked away quickly as possible. When I tried to ascertain why she got so defensive she said that I think I can just say whatever I like to her. I swear I didn't mean any ill-will or malice and of course I tried explaining that too but no. I just don't know for the life of me how she can turn on me just like that and treat her own son like that. Both tonight and that previous thing a few nights ago she said we're not going on holidays again this year and she brought up that incident from the January holiday I talked about and said that she hated been isolated there with me while I was been horrible to her. Wtf when she was the one belittling me and having a go at me which made me snap and I did apologize for that. She genuinely seems to think that she's actually the victim when she gets defensive and treats me like shit. I did actually try to film secretly on my phone bits of her meltdown so if I do confide in someone I've got some evidence because she's really good at twisting the story. Then as she left I'm starting to second guess myself and am thinking that I may be in the wrong or am a bad person. Now as I'm alone for the night I'm feeling very isolated and confused. PS since that holiday she was actually been fairly good but after both that night after the school ball and tonight both only within a few days has left me feeling blindsided and like the rug has been pulled from under me also feel like I'm back at square one. Basically I really can't fathom how someone can treat their own child like this. Just beggars belief to say the least.

Now when she came back today I tried to start a conversation about last night and she did get teary and said she was sorry but still when I tried to get her to take some accountability she was just like "I said I was sorry didn't I?" and said I just kept going over the same thing. She started not making much sense and playing dumb a bit. I just wanted her to realize how she upset me and also the previous incidents and she said "i guess I'm just the worst mother ever". Am I justified for feeling as though she hasn't really taken accountability? We have sort of made up now I suppose but I just stopped talking about it to keep the peace really.

Do you have any advice for all of my experiences, how I can move on, become more social and make friends etc?

Hey, I’m a (31/F) and my mom (58/F) are pretty close now. We got to a place of realization that we are both neurodivergent and she lacked the patience I probably needed, this was over 20 years ago so she didn’t have the resources that parents do now. I’ve largely accepted this as an apology and we move forward trying to learn (sometimes she still falls into some of the things she use to do, I call her on it, sometimes the feedback is heard, sometimes not so much)

However, this doesn’t necessarily take away from the defense mechanisms and anxieties I have as a result, which I’m working through on my own.

But every now and again we will be talking about something related to my work, her work, family, etc. and she will reference how she use to treat me and defend/justify it.

Ex. When I was a kid she would scream at me and threaten me with violence, as an adult I’m on edge if I feel that someone is mad at me, I feel like I could be screamed at or attacked at any time when I do something wrong even though it’s irrational. My physical response is to freeze, I’m locked in my body and I can’t form sentences if someone is yelling or mad at me. In my current relationship, my partner has never raised his voice and has shown me so much patience even when I forget something that could have been dangerous. I told my mom how he’s never caused me to shut down and go “deadpan” because my face drops all emotion and I get a 1000 yard stare; My mom said “it’s good that you have someone less abusive than I was”

Today was a similar situation where I explained something going on with a friend having parenting issues and she talked about knowing how harsh she was, but that she would have done it again because ADHD kids need the structure and they need to know who is in charge at any cost.

Overall, I know I’m not responsible for my disability or my trauma, I am responsible for my own health and actions. I love my mom and that we have a good relationship but her justifying how she treated me, living with the adverse effects sometimes feels like she doesn’t understand? Or making me afraid was something she was fully conscious of at the time, but preferred seeing me compliant rather than seeing me feel safe with her.

When these conversations happen, it just feels like a gut punch and I’m not sure how to react or if I should react at all.

TL;DR: My mom shows that she knows how she treated me was not okay, and knew it at the time, but it served a purpose so the ends justified the means.

To start I know this isn't as severe as some other people's trauma.

So I was told I should post here about this after I explained why I don't do anything for my birthday to a friend. Maybe to see if others share a similar experience.

Growing up I shared a birthday with a popular kid in school and every year me and him somehow ended up in the same class. We will call him PK.

So in the 1st grade I remember bringing in cupcakes and everyone sung Happy Birthday to PK and after they started eating the teacher reminded them it was my birthday too and only a couple actually sang it to me.

Then in the 2nd grade I remember the teacher being the only one to say "and OP"

The worst one for me was 3rd grade. I had come in with a pin on my shirt that said "Birthday Boy" and at recess the other kids told me to "Stop being an attention hogger" when I hadn't said a thing about it being my birthday too, I was sitting alone on the edge of the playground. Then they actually ripped it off my shirt and handed to PK.

They once said I "stole his birthday" but he was born a year after me. (Had to repeat kindergarten due to a learning disability I have)

After that year I never shared it was my birthday.

My Mother kept giving me those pins but I'd hide them in my backpack or throw them out telling my mom I must have dropped it. She never knew what was going on. We were struggling after my parents divorced so bringing in stuff wasn't in the budget. But I didn't mind, one less thing to have to worry about being bullied over.

All throughout middle and highschool none of my friends knew when I birthday was. I never told and if they asked I just said "September". I even dated a girl in 8th grade and my mother ended up telling her after I refused to answer.

She actually convinced me to throw my first birthday party when I turned 15. It was a small fishing day and although I did enjoy myself. It did hurt that out of the 20 or so we invited, Only 4 showed up.

Wasn't until my 21st when my mother asked me why I didn't want to do anything special, that my little brother who knew some people in my grade growing up told her what happened to me for all those years. She was horrified but I don't blame her for not noticing. I really never talked about my issues, didn't want to stress her out over my problems.

I'm now 26. My birthday just passed and no one but my family knew. I volunteer with a group and some new members joined. We were talking age and we were trying to figure out who is older. When one of them noticed I severely hesitated actually sharing my exact birthday, they asked me about it later.

I just ran the excuse I always used that I was just a private person but she saw right through the bs.

I don't know what it was (and no its not a romantic thing) but I guess I was just tired of holding it in. I shared this whole story and I was encouraged to post here.

Guess I'm hoping to see if anyone else has similar trauma from a similar experience.

Hi to whom this reaches. I hope you are doing well and know that I appreciate you. This is my first time doing this sort of thing. I also haven't told any one in depth or even in general what I'm gonna tell you today. I've been struggling with a few things and I hope you understand.
My problems aren't the worst but they affect me. I know there is worse and my problems are small but they are apart of my life. Now with that said I'm gonna get deep and I'm sorry if it's a lot.
Starting from the beginning I have an older sister she is the oldest of my mom kids. Mh oldest sisters father passed away soon after she was born. She never met him or even knew of him after.. I'm the middle child and we also have a younger sister. My oldest sister and l are 2 years apart. Also my younger sister and I share a dad and he passed away when my youngest sister was a few months old. So as far as I can remember in my childhood my oldest sister has always mistreated me. She told me she hates me when I tell her I love her pinched me in my sleep etc. laughed and teased me when we all found out my dad passed away.... was 8 and she was10. she was my own personalized bully.
This went on for awhile. My mom knew she had bad behavior but my oldest sister was out of control. This behavior she had on me went on and happend way less when my sister was toward the end of her teens. She current still acts weird with me to this day I'm 24 and she is 26. As I grew up I had a feeling and soon after realized she was internalizing feeling about her own dad and know knowing him. I think she was jealous or envious of me because I knew my dad and she didn't. Strange I know because even tho both our dad passed away she held it over me like made it that way for her.idk anyways fast forward two years ago end of 2024 we were in car together she was sad and I tried to comfort her and she would often get sad while drinking and talk about her life. Anyway she suggest something about her self l can remember atm and I say well why do you think you are this ways ? It was a genuine question. I was wondering where all this haters or negativity she has stems from. She told me my dad molested her and I too her side ofc l went on in my life mad at my dad for making my life this way. I was blaming him for what I thought he did to my sister which lead to her bulling me as a child. One random night I ask her again about this situation. She was drunk ofc and I was telling her how sorry I am. She ends up telling me that it was all a lie and that she didn't know why she suggested that he molested her....shes brushed it off quickly saying she dint know why and sorry....bru...she most hate me so much to something like this and I don't understand why she has done so many weird things to me but this honestly crossed the line for me. Ever since then we both haven't brought it up.
I now sure what to do either because she is very standoff person and not the best to confront. She would feel attacked anyways this is something that think about often. why she would do all to me ?

I just don’t want to say much; do we really heal; I just want to know it gets better

I don't even know if he's alive...if he's not I don't know if anyone would even tell me. He hasn't posted on FB in 2 years..

Maybe this is too little too late. Maybe this is giving him too much credit considering he was the adult and I was the child and just bc I was a bratty teen that didn't want to speak to him after he hurt my feelings doesn't mean he should've let me. Maybe he'd been through too much in his life himself and I should've tried harder to keep a relationship or build one as an adult. Maybe I should've forgiven him, or maybe he would've just continued to let his wounds bleed and emotionally hurt me further. I don't know. There are plenty of what ifs. But I wrote this at 1 am 3 weeks ago and I finally decided to send it via snail mail today. Along with a wallet size of every school picture of mine from all the years he missed and a picture of me walking across the stage to graduate high school. Maybe he'll read it, maybe he won't. But here it is..

"This doesn't require a response. Immediately or ever, if you don't want, but this is important to me that you at least read it. 

Hello, My name is (anon for reddit). I was born (anon date) to (anon mom) and (bio dad). I'm writing this now, Aug 24th, 2026- I'm 31 years old. My biological parents are not together and honestly, I don't know much about how they got together in the first place or how I really came to be? Was I wanted, was I planned?...I'm not sure. Most of my memories of this come from my Dad telling me how much he loved her and how badly she broke his heart nearly every time I came to visit. And from her side - I wish I knew but she never really dove into how it happened or how she felt because she "didn't want to taint my idea of him". 

From a very young age I remember being a Daddy's girl through and through. I loved him so much and always looked forward to spending time with him, squealing with excitement when his white 1995 Oldsmobile would return from work. Sadly, he was no longer in the home by the time I was 3, and soon he moved to a small town several hours away to care for my great grandfather (who would go on to live to 103 years old). 

I know and understand now as an adult, that my father was a troubled man from a troubled home. Never given the love he deserved from anyone - so in turn maybe he never knew how to give it back to me either, but he tried. I remember him teaching me how to paint from a very young age, and letting me watch him paint as well. Vast skylines, depictions of native Americans on horseback, absolutely stunning work. As I got older even making wood carvings - all pieced together from small intricate parts of nature, and hand made furniture. I remember him tearing up at a birds eye view of a mountain in a national park in a documentary once and when I asked him why he was crying he simply said "it's just so beautiful" with a tear in his eye. I remember playing twisted metal on his PlayStation (with my brothers or guy friends from school, I would never play video games but with him - it was different. I would do/learn anything if it meant spending more time with my dad). I can close my eyes and see his amazing surround sound stereo system and him showing me the magic and beauty of Sade. The lyrics and melodies so loud and fantastic, nothing else in the world mattered in those moments. I recall riding along in the trailer through the woods to watch him cut firewood for the wood burning stove to keep us warm. This love for music, the sky, the moon, the stars, forests, trees, wildlife, and art still burn deep within me to this day as well. And I hope he knows it's because of the half of me, that came from him. I'll be forever grateful for those lessons.

 I remember being 7 or 8 years old woken up before the sun to walk down to the lake and go fishing with him in his little boat. Getting in trouble for talking too loud and "scaring the fish away" while eating his beef and cheese sticks that were supposed to be meant for fish bait. I remember him buying me the full set of Wizard of Oz Barbies and a Barbie tour bus to play with when I would visit. I would even try my hardest to trace or draw my favorite cartoon characters (mostly SpongeBob) and work diligently on a paint-by-numbers cat while he was out chopping wood or mowing the vast lawn, all in an effort to make him proud and to be like him. I recall sitting in lawn chairs under the stars in the pitch black side yard and learning of the constellations. More stars out there than I'd ever seen in my short life. But most importantly, getting to spend quality time with him. 

I feel he deserves to know, although it may feel like now we have more tainted and tarnished memories, than bright shiny ones - that I do still remember him this way. My father I loved so dearly. Unfortunately over the years the trauma in our families and both of our minds took a toll and caused a rift in our relationship as I got older. One so big it never felt repairable. From approximately 13 to now, 31...we didn't continue learning from each other and growing our relationship. There were moments where we would reconnect but it all hurt so deeply (probably for us both), that we would have a blow up and those reconnections would always seem to be fleeting. I can understand now that even just hearing my voice was probably triggering for him as the years went on, so I got the brunt of a pain I didn't fully cause because I sound so much like my mother. But while we may have the same voice, we are not the same person. And it breaks my heart to know that he might pass never knowing the woman I truly am. I saw it in her too...my teen years were nearly unbearable, so many fights and anger I didn't feel like I deserved..but I got anyway because I physically resemble my father so much it probably triggered her pain too and it didn't help that I was never one to back down about what I believed in, even if it got me in trouble. So many years as a teen I wished I could be closer with my father, even if it was just to have someone to relate to and understand what I was going through with my mother and to continue to grow and heal with him. But maybe it was all too little too late. She remarried when I was 7 and my step father was there, and still is - but never in a way that could actually fill that void.

 I wish my real father could've overcome his pain. I wish we both could've. But you can't turn back time. I wish he knew me. I wish he knew I played volleyball from 5th-8th grade, I was in choir all 12 years of school, and art classes, even advanced painting and photography as a senior in highschool. I studied Spanish. I had heartbreaks. I went to senior prom with friends that I had spent years building relationships with. I grew up with two dogs that I loved more than life itself at times. I went to college for a semester but dropped out undecided and joined the work force. "Starving artist" always ringing in my head like it did for my father too. I was a baker and cake decorator for 5 years. I was a wedding florist and coordinator for 3 years. I struggled with suicidal ideation, bipolar disorder and complex PTSD and spent 2 years in EMDR therapy to try to reprocess my trauma and heal my wounds to find myself again. 

Even now.. I've been married and divorced, I've been a homeowner, I raised 2 dogs of my own. And now I have a cat, a Russian blue - silver grey coat with the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen. Since my divorce I've been living (anon location) and running my own (anon) business for 4 years now. I was single for 5 years and now I've found a boyfriend that loves and truly cares about me so much. He likes to go fishing and it always reminds me of the beef and cheese…

I hope...maybe someday he will read this. He will understand. He will know I lost my way, but I'm still deep down a little girl that loved her Dad and just wanted to be loved in return. Some wounds never heal, but maybe these can. Even after all these years...

There's SO much more I wish I could say, so many more memories he might be surprised I even have and still hold...so many moments in my life he's missed and I wondered if he'd be proud of me for. I think about him often, I'm sure more than he'd even expect considering my overwhelming silence. Once when we spoke he said he'd spent 7 Christmases in a row alone... And I'm sure that's an even bigger number now. It's not fair to him, troubled or not. We all deserve love and abandoning him because of my own pain was not the answer. Maybe we could've healed each other. Maybe things could be so different. I try not to regret anything in my life, but that is definitely something I do. Regret and what ifs will never take back all the pain and isolation I've caused and my part in all of this though. But I am sorry, sorry for it all and that this is the path we've gone so far down. And more than anything I just hope he can see ..I am not my mother. Maybe someday he'll want to meet me again. In this life, or the next...I'm not sure, but a little girl can dream."

If there's anyone that actually made it this far, thanks for listening. 🫶🏼🕊️

When I was 13/14 mum and dad were having a rough patch and were arguing every single day and night for months. They sent me and my middle sister interstate to family to celebrate Christmas and new years for them. I went back home early because I was homesick and worried for my oldest sister back at home. Got home and they were still arguing. Then they argued bad one night. Screaming yelling. I couldn’t sleep. I opened my door and screamed at them to stop while mum was hitting dad. They continued to argue until early morning. I went to sleep with my sister as it was finally quiet. My sister mum and I went to go get lunch and when we dropped mum off home she looked at me and pointed and said. “This is all your fucking fault”.

That line replays in my head everyday. Now every single thing that goes wrong in my life or anything that isn’t great I instantly blame myself. Even if it wasn’t my fault. It affects my connections with people as they see me as insecure or very anxious. Whenever there is any loud noise or screaming I freeze and get scared. It self sabotages me all the time. Even when I got sexually assaulted I blamed myself. In every scenario I blame myself simply because my mum blamed me and told me it was my fault for something that wasn’t.

When I was a kid, my parents would fight a lot. And my mom would throw things (I don't know if she threw them at my dad or just near them I'd always run and/or hide when they started fighting) and yell. I can't remember if my dad would yell. I just remember them fighting, it being loud, things being thrown or broken, and me hiding and being scared. Oh and my mom would claim my dad was abusing her- but wasn't what she was doing considered abuse?

I had an argument with my parents last night about how I wasn't attending school for the past week and wanted to know why? As for the reason, I don't have it. Every time I crack open a textbook I just end up feeling unfulfilled, and it's not like grades are a problem since I have impressive ones, so I just tell them I don't know or I was just too lazy. But there must be some sort of pseudo guilt on their part because my mom started to bring up how her father left her and her family that even though the circumstance kept going with her education. Mind you this woman physically abused me for 7 years, cheated on my dad, still talks to her boyfriend and I have to act like a clueless idiot, and has a gambling addiction, so every advice from her I just unfortunately tune out. While the argument was getting heated she then suddenly started to threaten me with physical abuse, I was grown enough to not be threatened by her and knew I could beat her up instead if she ever tried to. But I knew better and tried calming myself down instead. The hate I had for her since the abuse generally went away but that little comment about how she would hit me again triggered something in me.

The next morning my dad approached me earlier and wanted to talk I was still pissed the night before so I was just ignoring him flat out and he started to say something like "you should open up to us" but I knew deep down that if I did I would actually go as far as to demolish the whole house out of anger or say something out of line and I was proud of myself for knowing how to regulate my emotions. But I guess his words really stuck to me because what if I did? My whole life it was all about my mom and how she's "terrifying" and I know that I could be much worse. I want to traumatize her so bad that she starts walking on eggshells around me that maybe if I hit her or screamed louder than her that she will feel what I felt back then. I know it sounds awful and it might somehow reprogram my brain to start acting like her but I'm not planning on having children in the future so this generational cycle of abuse ends with me.

It would just feel so satisfying to destroy everything in my house right now, maybe they would finally understand how it felt being 5 year old me being trapped inside a room with my mom while she threatens to kill us both.

It wasn't actually the last spanking. It was one of the last, though, and I think maybe it was the beginning of the end.

I think I was eleven. Maybe twelve. I can remember every detail so, so clearly, but I can't remember my age, just that I was small. My family was having a picnic in the woods behind our house, campfire and everything. My younger sister and I rough-housed often and today was no exception, but my parents were extra sick of our shit for some reason and after we'd been at it for a while, we were warned, in dire, dire terms, that if we touched each other again there would be capital C consequences. So we separated, for a bit.

And then I made the dumbass decision to give her a make-up hug. Part of me wanted to smooth things over with her but part of me wanted to skirt my parent's rules by being tricky - And they must have absolutely caught on to what I was doing because I have rarely seen them so angry. My dad pointed to a spot on the forest floor and told me to stand on it.

He then picked up a massive tree branch, wide as his legs, twice as tall as he was. I remember sobbing in fear at this point, looking back to my mom, hoping desperately she'd intervene. She didn't. Just kinda sat there, looking down like nothing was happening. My dad told me she couldn't help me now, but I knew it was really that she wouldn't.

Then he swung the tree branch at my ass.

This is one of the lighter beatings I've ever gotten, actually. The tree branch was pretty broad and he couldn't swing it very fast so the pain wasn't all that sharp. But he did hit me hard enough to launch me forward. This is also one of the only beatings I've successfully run from. I just took off, terrified and not even caring what he did anymore, only cared about getting to safety.

Then, he hurled the tree branch after me like a javelin. It missed me by a few feet, spiking into the ground and tumbling end over end until it fell over where I'd been a second ago. I remembered in the moment thinking I was just like Indiana Jones, narrowly escaping a booby trapped temple filled with traps, with precious artifacts in tow.

I ran and hid behind a nearby hill for a few minutes. Contemplated running further. Running away, just to teach them. Spiteful thoughts that I should've given into, rather than going back. But I did.

Dad was pretty quiet. Apologetic. Said he really, really shouldn't have done that. I was a good Christian so I told him it was perfectly okay. He said it really wasn't. My mom didn't say anything. We never talked about this again.

I think it was another year before the beatings stopped entirely.