One Woman Therapy
Jul. 30th, 2003 03:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlHi Journal,
Welpers, I had another job interview today. This one was out in Great Neck and I think it went well. These people actually ASKED me questions! And they seemed to like me so, who knows? I may just be employed by next week. How neat would that be?
Anyway my quest to get right with myself and my abusive upbringing continues. I'm still reading "Adult Children of Abusive Parents." Cried no less than three times while reading last nights chapter. Man, it's just so unreal. Every time I pick that book up, i remember stuff. Lines, descriptions, will make me flashback to events I haven't thought of in ages, and those memories in turn help me realize things about my Mom and myself. Because now I'm older and can view them, not only with an adult eye, but with a therepeutic one. Hey you don't go through all the threrpy I have without learning a thing or two about the human condition.
To this day, even after darn near ten years in therapy, and at least 5 years of family therapy, Mom will not admit that anything she did to me as a child was wrong. The few times in the past that I have confronted her with the abuse she always claims that she was justified because I provoked her. I provoked her by being stubborn, by making mistakes, by throwing tantrums, by refusing to do things she told me to. And now, having gained at least a basic understanding of child development, I realize that none of that behavior was provocation. It was me being a kid. That's all. Six year olds are stubborn!!! Seven year olds make mistakes! Eight year olds refuse to wear the clothes their Mom's pick out for them! That is all part and parcel to growing up. ALL YOUNGSTERS DO IT!!! The fact that I behaved that way is nothing extraordinary, and my mother must have known that. After all it's not like I was her first child. She'd gone though all of it once before. I was just being the way I was hard wired by nature to be, and Mom punished me for it. That leads to the conclusion that the problems with her behavior not mine.
An example: we started doing really hard math in third grade. Stuff like fractions. And I was having a difficult time understanding it. So I would go to my mother for help with my homework, same as any kide would. Granted, Mom has never been any kind of whiz when it comes to math, but she was certainly better than I was at the time. We would sit down on the couch with my math book, she would glance over the lesson and then try to explain the stuff I didn't get. I was kinda slow as a kid. Hell I'm still slow. In any case, I'd never get it the first time she explained it to me. So I'd tell her I didn't understand and ask her to explain it again. At which point the woman would fly off the handle and start screaming and hitting me, claiming that I was lying to her. That I really DID understand but that I was just trying to get on her nerves by asking her to explain it again. To this day I don't get that logic. Why the hell would I want her to continue explaining the working of a subject I hated rather then just sitting down and getting the work done so I could watch TV and not have her yell at me? She would scream and rant and I would cry, and of course, no homework got done because she refused to help me with it.
Eventually I stopped asking her for help. Instead I simply ignored assignments I didn't understand. And it's a habit that continues to stick wit me. Rather than ask for help, I'll ignore something I don't understand. I would rather take the F or the D or whatever rather than expose myself to the threat of ridicule and hystria.
The fact that I cut school and never did any work were a couple of the things that first convinced her I was depressed and screwed in the head. Therefore, I find it ironic that I can trace those behaviors back to her.
With each passing day I'm realizing that I have become everything she ever told me I was. She had such complete and utter control over me.
Another memory:
My Mom has been on my case about my appearence ever since I was old enought to wear clothes! Like any little snot I was all weird about my grooming habits. I didn't like bathing or washing my hair. I didn't like brushing my hair, and I hated wearing it up. Again, I look at this now and see that I was normal. Most little kids aren't big on personal hygiene. I don't know why. I think it's genetic or something. But to my Mom, that kind of attitude made me ugly. She'd say to me, "UGh your hair looks like a rats nest! How can you stand to look like that? I'm embarrassed to be seen with you," and "You would look so much prettier if you just wore your hair up." She said other stuff but I can't remember most of it. Basically it all boiled down to me being a dirty girl who should be ashamed to be seen on public.
Eventually I morphed into that girl. Not many people know this but when I was in junior high school I wore the same clothes to school every single day. For real. Everyday, in snow, rain or shine, it was the same t-shirt, skirt, and boots. I did it because...well it was comforting. Here i had this outfit that I liked, that was comfortable, and made me feel safe. I think I wore it everyday to counter the unpredictability of my home and school life. Mom's abuse got worse as I reached puberty, and the kids at school picked on me so I had no protection. Of course, I see now that my strange clothing only acted as fuel to both fires, but at the time i just needed something reliable, just one thing. My clothes were it. I could control my clothing when I couldn't control anything else.
Looking back on this I can also see that wearing those clothes everyday was mildly obsessive-complusive behavior. It was a bizarre routine I undertook as a comfort to myself. It continued for four years, albeit with different outfits, but it continued nonetheless.It's a wonder I grew out of it.
And naturally the clothes would get dirty, but I wouldn't wash them until the weekend. So I would get all smelly and gross during the week. And I still wouldn't wash or brush my hair, so I really was this smelly dirty girl Mom had always told me I was.
Because of all the abuse I got as a result of that dirty smelliness, these days I am obsessively hygienic. I bathe everyday, I was my hair, I moisturize, I deoderize, I exfoliate, I buffer, I scrub, I re-scrub, I rinse and repeat. I go to insane lengths to make sure I'm not dirty. I find it funny whenever anyone tells me I smell nice. In my head I'm still the stinky 11 year old.
*sigh* there's more. I just can't write anymore.
Guess I should save some for later.
Welpers, I had another job interview today. This one was out in Great Neck and I think it went well. These people actually ASKED me questions! And they seemed to like me so, who knows? I may just be employed by next week. How neat would that be?
Anyway my quest to get right with myself and my abusive upbringing continues. I'm still reading "Adult Children of Abusive Parents." Cried no less than three times while reading last nights chapter. Man, it's just so unreal. Every time I pick that book up, i remember stuff. Lines, descriptions, will make me flashback to events I haven't thought of in ages, and those memories in turn help me realize things about my Mom and myself. Because now I'm older and can view them, not only with an adult eye, but with a therepeutic one. Hey you don't go through all the threrpy I have without learning a thing or two about the human condition.
To this day, even after darn near ten years in therapy, and at least 5 years of family therapy, Mom will not admit that anything she did to me as a child was wrong. The few times in the past that I have confronted her with the abuse she always claims that she was justified because I provoked her. I provoked her by being stubborn, by making mistakes, by throwing tantrums, by refusing to do things she told me to. And now, having gained at least a basic understanding of child development, I realize that none of that behavior was provocation. It was me being a kid. That's all. Six year olds are stubborn!!! Seven year olds make mistakes! Eight year olds refuse to wear the clothes their Mom's pick out for them! That is all part and parcel to growing up. ALL YOUNGSTERS DO IT!!! The fact that I behaved that way is nothing extraordinary, and my mother must have known that. After all it's not like I was her first child. She'd gone though all of it once before. I was just being the way I was hard wired by nature to be, and Mom punished me for it. That leads to the conclusion that the problems with her behavior not mine.
An example: we started doing really hard math in third grade. Stuff like fractions. And I was having a difficult time understanding it. So I would go to my mother for help with my homework, same as any kide would. Granted, Mom has never been any kind of whiz when it comes to math, but she was certainly better than I was at the time. We would sit down on the couch with my math book, she would glance over the lesson and then try to explain the stuff I didn't get. I was kinda slow as a kid. Hell I'm still slow. In any case, I'd never get it the first time she explained it to me. So I'd tell her I didn't understand and ask her to explain it again. At which point the woman would fly off the handle and start screaming and hitting me, claiming that I was lying to her. That I really DID understand but that I was just trying to get on her nerves by asking her to explain it again. To this day I don't get that logic. Why the hell would I want her to continue explaining the working of a subject I hated rather then just sitting down and getting the work done so I could watch TV and not have her yell at me? She would scream and rant and I would cry, and of course, no homework got done because she refused to help me with it.
Eventually I stopped asking her for help. Instead I simply ignored assignments I didn't understand. And it's a habit that continues to stick wit me. Rather than ask for help, I'll ignore something I don't understand. I would rather take the F or the D or whatever rather than expose myself to the threat of ridicule and hystria.
The fact that I cut school and never did any work were a couple of the things that first convinced her I was depressed and screwed in the head. Therefore, I find it ironic that I can trace those behaviors back to her.
With each passing day I'm realizing that I have become everything she ever told me I was. She had such complete and utter control over me.
Another memory:
My Mom has been on my case about my appearence ever since I was old enought to wear clothes! Like any little snot I was all weird about my grooming habits. I didn't like bathing or washing my hair. I didn't like brushing my hair, and I hated wearing it up. Again, I look at this now and see that I was normal. Most little kids aren't big on personal hygiene. I don't know why. I think it's genetic or something. But to my Mom, that kind of attitude made me ugly. She'd say to me, "UGh your hair looks like a rats nest! How can you stand to look like that? I'm embarrassed to be seen with you," and "You would look so much prettier if you just wore your hair up." She said other stuff but I can't remember most of it. Basically it all boiled down to me being a dirty girl who should be ashamed to be seen on public.
Eventually I morphed into that girl. Not many people know this but when I was in junior high school I wore the same clothes to school every single day. For real. Everyday, in snow, rain or shine, it was the same t-shirt, skirt, and boots. I did it because...well it was comforting. Here i had this outfit that I liked, that was comfortable, and made me feel safe. I think I wore it everyday to counter the unpredictability of my home and school life. Mom's abuse got worse as I reached puberty, and the kids at school picked on me so I had no protection. Of course, I see now that my strange clothing only acted as fuel to both fires, but at the time i just needed something reliable, just one thing. My clothes were it. I could control my clothing when I couldn't control anything else.
Looking back on this I can also see that wearing those clothes everyday was mildly obsessive-complusive behavior. It was a bizarre routine I undertook as a comfort to myself. It continued for four years, albeit with different outfits, but it continued nonetheless.It's a wonder I grew out of it.
And naturally the clothes would get dirty, but I wouldn't wash them until the weekend. So I would get all smelly and gross during the week. And I still wouldn't wash or brush my hair, so I really was this smelly dirty girl Mom had always told me I was.
Because of all the abuse I got as a result of that dirty smelliness, these days I am obsessively hygienic. I bathe everyday, I was my hair, I moisturize, I deoderize, I exfoliate, I buffer, I scrub, I re-scrub, I rinse and repeat. I go to insane lengths to make sure I'm not dirty. I find it funny whenever anyone tells me I smell nice. In my head I'm still the stinky 11 year old.
*sigh* there's more. I just can't write anymore.
Guess I should save some for later.
