The Fight To Break The Generational Abuse Cycle From The Inside Perspective

The Way I Was Raised Was Very Different From How I Am Attempting To Do This Parenting Thing.

That is not at all to say that I had a terrible childhood. My mother is a generational abuse survivor. And the male half to my genetics? I don't think therapy would help that man even if he went. My father never bothered to care about the child who lived with him until she was 9 before she was gone from his life forever after that.

Mom struggled to raise us. Being a single mom of three kids in the 90s was pretty rough. Not as rough as a single mom in the 1400s but progress is SLOW. Men are stupid, and women were barely recognized as human beings with basic rights instead of sexual property to men around the time I was born. Not that the laws were barely changing - but true progress in humankind is extremely slow.

She worked a lot. She cried a lot too. And she was the best mom ever. But emotional intelligence? It wasn't a thing yet back when I was young. I don't think mom knew at that time how to be happy or handle big emotions because... my mother is an avoidant trauma-bonded type.

She had it rough, so she taught me to be strong, intelligent, fierce and efficient. I was the oldest. So she depended on me for help with my younger siblings a lot. I don't resent not having much of a childhood. There's no point. It was what it was, and that's how it had to be back then. I grew up with a very strong work ethic but am also now, a little too independent. I was taught that my feelings didn't solve anything and that instead of crying and panicking and 'feeling feelings' over whatever happened - to jump on reaction and fix it without making a fuss. And if I couldn't, then I just needed to accept it.

By the time I was 12 I was helping to run the trailer park that my Grandmother operated. At 15 she left it to my mother so she could go die comfortably in Florida, while mom slept during the day and worked nights as an agriculture dispatcher for a trucking company, and can you guess who was ACTUALLY managing the residential park?

I was doing the accounting, collecting rent, putting in bills and notices into the PO Boxes, checking on the elderly tenants and cutting their lawns for them, booking people into the RV Park as overnight stays, bathing, feeding my siblings, and making sure they got to their bus stops to school and from school to home safely.

I was taught to repress my emotions so I could essentially raise my siblings while Mom worked 3 jobs to keep a nice roof over our heads and food in our mouths. I knew Mom depended on me because even though we had family, Mom couldn't count on them. An unfortunate amount of people can relate when I say Mom trusted me more as a 10-year-old to care for my siblings than her drug-addict sister or her lazy, sometimes addicts, most of the time just mostly loser boyfriends (don't judge my mom or my aunt. You guys don't know what kind of monster my grandmother was to them as children. Generational trauma is very real).

I Remember Feeling So Alone Some Days, Crying To Myself As A Young Girl, Feeling Insignificant, Irrelevant, and Unimportant.

I know that's not really how it was. But with mom working so much, and me allowing her to take more time with her younger children when she was home, I felt invisible. Before I had come to live with mom full-time, she had joint custody of me with my biological father and his wife. So there was underlying trauma that my mom had no clue about. She had ideas, based on my behavior when I first came home and the few things I did tell her. But she didn't know how deep it went.

For the sake of brevity, I'm going to dumb down the whole complicated story: Step-mom had an undiagnosed bipolar personality disorder. My father was a mentally/emotionally abusive cheating bastard. And me? I was at the bottom of the hill and you all know what direction shit rolls, right?

I learned to be very quiet when I was young. And if you started hearing yelling or footsteps stomping closer, you hide in the closet and pray they think you're outside playing. Because if you were found - AND you were hiding from them? It was going to be bad.

The story has a happy ending: Other mom got diagnosed and medicated, divorced my sperm-donors sorry ass and took him for everything he had plus their two kids, then called me when I graduated high school to apologize for everything that had happened to me. She told me that I was her first child, her first little love, and she was so sorry she wasn't able to stop herself from doing horrible things when Kevin would make her snap. She and I have a wonderful relationship today - and she will forever be my other mom. Because it wasn't always bad there. When it was just me and her, without Kevin, she and I always had so much fun.

I at least get the closure that a lot of people in my generation didn't get: An apology and acknowledgment.

But there was damage done that I did not realize would affect my future children, even if things got resolved later in life.

The results of my upbringing were the result of a smart, intelligent, independent woman, who can handle almost anything (except cockroaches and most spiders) and will move any mountain or solve any problem. I can do near damn impossible things.

I didn't have time for me to grow up with emotional intelligence. I didn't have someone telling me: "You're all important, not just your kid siblings. You matter. Your feelings matter. And you shouldn't hold this in."

So I shoved the darkness down, down, down and kept in tight. Because I thought that's what people just did.

One day the darkness overflowed, and my cousin walked in on me as I was dragging a razor down my wrist.

I don't like my cousin. He's ignorant, stupid, runs his mouth, thinks he knows things he doesn't even though he barely passed high school, very narcissistic, self-absorbed, an impulsive liar, and passes his unintelligent, unresearched opinions as facts when he speaks.

But he IS the reason I'm alive. I acknowledge that much at least. I also acknowledge that after that day my life was much more complicated. I had to find a way to fill the void inside with something OTHER than nightmares, pain, hatred for everyone else, and hatred for myself.

Timeskip to the version of me today with children:

When I was 30, I went through a WHOLE life and mindset change. I had had a daughter, and we had almost died together to bring her into this world. I was done with my misery, my patheticness. I felt like a victim (but I promise, only the CLOSEST people to me knew that I had problems - to the rest of the world I continue to this day to look like I have my quackers in a row). Went to therapy, read a bunch of self-help books, and listened to growth and healing mindset podcasts. All of that new-age crap.

Surprisingly, a lot of it wasn't just a bunch of koombaya bullshit. It helped a bit. But what REALLY helped was now I had a reason to want life to get better. And that was that baby girl. It took a while for me to actually face my feelings and GROW, but I eventually did hit a growth marker.

Before her, when I still felt alone and unloved and unnecessary - I truly didn't care if I woke up the next day or not. I welcomed the possibility of being isakaied by a freak death in my sleep or a car accident, though, I was very clear in my talks with the universe and God: "If I die in a car accident it needs to be a BAD one so I die instantly and don't suffer - because I've already done that enough- you got it? Or, if you let me die in my sleep, don't let my Mom be the one to find my body. She couldn't handle that. It's gotta be a stranger, like a cop or something. Or Dad (my adopted dad). I think he could recover if he is the one who finds my body. NOT Mom though... she's been through enough too."

Yeah. Sick shit like this popped into my head. Looking back, I now know how alarming that is, and if my life had gone any different... I don't know that I wouldn't have just given up waiting and just did the deed myself with the gun my Grandfather left me. As it was, only the thought of it being my mother who found me with my brain blown away against the wall kept me from doing it. I am a Christian and believe in God. I know that priests talk about the ultimate sin of suicide. It wasn't even the thought of going to hell that kept me from doing it. It was the thought of what it would do to my mom.

It's All Of My Own Darkness That Makes Me Hyper Aware Of How I Treat My Children

I'm not a gentle parent and there's nothing I loathe more than the thought of becoming one. I think I most closely align with "positive parenting.' And I struggle with it so much. Not because my kids are annoying or badly behaved, but because of me and how I am. There are days when I feel like I am the worst mother on the face of the damn planet:

I lack patience now that they are starting to get older and they need to KNOW things and ASK things, and they want me to STOP cutting the stupid onion for dinner so I can LOOK THEM IN THEIR EYES as they struggle to spit out a 5-word-sentence. I do it, but I struggle to not feel impatient the ENTIRE time.

I get frustrated when they are desperate for me to stop doing EVERYTHING I am doing, just to show me the same dance move for the 140,540,322,344th time.

Their little brains aren't fully developed so BIG FEELINGS are HARD. And sometimes those hard, big feelings become hard for ME to tolerate patiently (I am in general, a very intolerant person, and I am TRYING to change).

I lived for almost 29 years being tied down to only MY ambitions, and I thought I was going to be somebody worth something one day. So from the moment I could, I've been someone who goes NON-STOP through their day. Because going is what keeps the darkness at bay, and the fear and the sadness.

So do you know how hard it is not to react, hate myself, and resent my choices in life now that I can't do that anymore? I get nothing done. I get the dishes clean, the kids bathed and fed, MAYBE get an article written, my oldest through her homeschool lessons, and the laundry put away - that's a PRODUCTIVE day for me now. That's an exhausting day.

I used to work 15-hour shifts voluntarily because OT money was better than sitting in an empty house alone in the dark. I used to have time to write, paint, draw, exercise, sometimes sleep, work, work, work, and work some more and I was NEVER as tired as I am now. And I am doing NOTHING. Fucking NOTHING. Except talking to young kids and toddlers.

(Oh! Just so everyone knows, this is my inner, self-loathing talking, not my real feelings for my life or my kids. I love my life. I love my kids. I hate myself. Because I'm not able to do more. I don't have real superpowers. I'm powerless and worthless, and sometimes a financial burden on my family. So, just understand that I KNOW NONE of this is my kid's fault. It's my fault, for feeling this irrational stupid way and/or being too weak to change anything about it )

Those dreams of being a big-time author as a side job to being a pediatric oncology specialist or owning my own veterinary practice (after finding out for some reason human anatomy makes me vomit)?

Forget being successful. I'm struggling to be a good mom to just three little kids.

Recently I did a long 'think' about my internal reactions to my kid's emotional needs. I hate that my gut clench reaction is to become cold, unsympathetic, and irritated when my 3-year-old cries over a cup of spilled water. How many times have I told her, that accidents happen, they are okay to have, and there's no need to cry?! And young lady, are you SERIOUSLY sobbing like I murdered your pet kitten just because I told you that you had to eat more than just the cheese on your plate? For...FUCKING...REAL? WHY?!

She's 3. She doesn't have good control over her emotions yet, but I DO. I'm the adult. So why can't I stop getting irritated?

There's nothing more I hate than tantrums. When my kids start throwing a fit, that psychologist is saying I need to hug and kiss them and squeeze them to calm them down, but my instincts are telling me to become furious with them. My body responds in an aggressive way, like a play for power.

My brain knows that my children, when get upset over small, very stupid reasons, it's because genuinely their bodies are incapable of reminding them that whatever is happening is NOT a big deal and that it's all okay.

Thank GOD my brain knows that because that is the ONLY reason I am ever able to hold it inside and not act upset, even if I am. And by the time I'm stooping down after taking a few reactive deep breaths to my own feelings, the irritation and anger over the reaction is gone and in its place is soul-crushing guilt for feeling that irritation in the first place.

I am now researching ways to change the core of my entire existence.

My kids are beautiful, smart, funny, intelligent, curious, creative, and growing. They don't deserve my knee-jerk reaction to be irritated by their needs. I remind myself that the minute I choose to be a mother, my own feelings don't matter anymore. They are the only things that are important. People say that's wrong and blah blah blah - but you can stop. Because to me, I am NOT important. I have NEVER been important. But those babys? They are the MOST important.

And I want my subconscious feelings to reflect that. I need my trauma, my brain, my hormones, my strength, and my maternal instincts to all get on the same page. Because even though I don't ACT on my immediate irritation MOST of the time, I am a very broken and flawed human being who sometimes makes mistakes.

So I need to work on myself more, in new ways, so that irritation and impatience are NOT the knee-jerk reactions that I have to swallow down. I don't want them to be there at all. I want to be able to focus on those little moments that I KNOW that I am going to MISS TERRIBLY one day and enjoy them. So that way when I am 60 years old and my children are grown up, I don't have to hate myself for being an impatient HAG of a mom, who misses the times when her babies were little and still loved her.

So I'm coming up with some creative solutions to help teach us ALL some patience.

I wasn't taught patience as a child. I was taught to shut the hell up and do what I was told, regardless of how I felt. I do NOT want to teach this to my children. It has led me down so many wrong paths in life. I made so many mistakes because I wasn't made aware that my feelings mattered and that voicing my feelings could save me from pain. I was taught that silence was my sanctuary.

I refuse, refuse, refuse to let my children, who I know I have passed down genetic markers for depression and anxiety down to, believe that they aren't important and their feelings don't matter.

What I want most in the whole wide world, is for my children to grow up feeling confident in themselves. I want them to be courageous enough to use their voices and words to communicate their feelings and boundaries clearly. And I want them to know that it's okay to stand your ground in defending those boundaries and certain expectations of other humans.

I want them to have the emotional intelligence and the confidence to look at someone they think they are in love with and say out loud to them: "Please do not speak to me that way. I find it rude and disrespectful, and I will not and do not have to tolerate it."

And I want to be the one who teaches these things to them at a young age. And I want it to be because I actively practice this kind of communication and patience with them. I want them to be able to have this courage because as their mother, I took the time to teach them that they matter, their feelings matter, and they should use their words, no matter what kind of reaction the other person may have.

Kids are so observant and smart - they can shock you with how much unspoken language they absorb.

I do NOT want to teach my children, that I am irritated by their presence.

A real conversation with my 6-year-old daughter:

"I'm sorry for being annoying Mommy."

I could not believe it when she said that. And I knew that was MY fault because I sighed in frustration when I had to stop sweeping to acknowledge her for the 15th time in two minutes.

"YOU are NOT annoying my baby. Mommy is frustrated with herself because she feels like she isn't getting her chores done."

"But it's my fault because I keep bothering you."

"You are my daughter. You don't bother me. You are one of Mommy's best friends and I love talking to you. Mommy just needs to get better at being a good mommy, friend, AND a good chore person at the same time."

"Ok. I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too honey."

"I am going to go sit down and practice being quiet until you are done sweeping, okay?"

My daughter has some serious ADHD. So I tell her when her teacher is talking and teaching, she's practicing being quiet and using her brain to listen to the teacher's words. I have the same type of ADHD, so I try to think of ways that help me deal with school.

And there I am, both proud of my daughter, and crushed with my own inadequacy.

I won't give up, because I believe I can continue to grow my patience tree, and strive to be a better mom with more emotional intelligence and patience. I believe I can help my children have good, long, healthy, happy lives if I teach them these things that I'm learning a little too late in life.

And I believe that maybe, I can be even happier than I already am with my life, if I figure out how to get rid of this impatient hag bone stuck in my body somewhere.

A call for conversation with other parents?

I don't want to feel alone in this, so fess up! Who else struggles to have patience with their little ones? And, do you have any tips to help me overcome and get rid of my impatience?

Time is precious, thank you so much for taking some to read my article. I hope you enjoyed it and it proved useful in some way!

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