family
Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.
My Work As A Therapist And Substance Abuse Counselor Did Not Prepare Me To Counsel My Children Or Grandchildren
There is an elephant in the living room, and in this case, on the other side of the fence, and no one is talking about it and when the scapegoats in the family bring it up, they are told. No, silly, there is no elephant here! Or “What the hell are you talking about now? Are you crazy?”
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Psyche
Things you never knew
From the start, my life was complicated. My biological father took me away from my birth mother at 8 1/2 weeks old. I was raised by him and my step mother. I never knew about my real mother until I was close to 9 years old. One day I came across a picture in my fathers desk, and I saw a very beautiful woman with a baby. I just knew that the baby was me. So, that meant that she had to be my mother, not the woman I was currently calling mom. My step mother for one....had red hair, I do not. I tried to confront my father about this, he verified she was my mother; took the picture from me and told me to never ask about it again. That was the end of that, never again did I EVER hear anything about my birth mother while I was with him. Before this, instances had happened that changed my life forever. My father molested me at 7 years old. He also consistently did drugs and beat my stepmother. On one such day, the cops came and I was put into my first foster home. She was an older lady, very nice. The courts decided from there to try home visitation, and let me go back to my stepmother and father. At age ten, he decided that he couldn't do it, and signed off his rights on me. I knew even then, a child at that age rarely gets adopted out. Anotherwords, my future was now pretty bleak. I went through 8 foster homes in all, some more than once. My first and second foster homes I was put into on more than one occasion. The first was nice, the second was not. The second home was a HUGE farm with other 3 other foster kids, 2 parents and her own children lived there also. I got treated fine to start, but the foster mothers daughter walked in on me using the bathroom one day, and ran to tell her mother that I was "being inappropriate" in the bathroom. From that point on in the system, I was treated badly and differently. They thought that just because I was molested, that I would mirror things. Totally not the case. I went to school like most kids, tried to find some normalcy there. I joined choir, but never got to go to the concerts. I tried to fit in at the house and often put on little talent shows to get some kind of attention. I was looked at with care only in those times. Me and one other girl were constantly kept busy with chores, made to swim in irrigation ditches where the cows were instead of the big pool they had in the back yard. We were often fed expired food. I was very thankful to leave that place. The next place I went to had one girl leaving, and two little kids coming in shortly after me. We were outside playing on a hot day one day, and a lady came by offering us ice cream. I took it and shared with the little ones. I never heard the end of that one. Because of it, we all had to take epicac and it made us all extremely sick. I was then locked in my bedroom and only let out for baths and to go to the bathroom. My meals were served to me in there and if I didn't eat, I was verbally abused and physically abused. After this place, they put me back at my second home for a while. They went on a vacation to California and I got to stay with a friend of theirs. I wish I could've stayed there forever. They were nice and taught me about Jesus. The lady was very kind and didn't treat me like an outcast. Her and her husband were younger couple without any children. But it was short lived. I went back to my own personal hell for a while longer. After that, they put me in a place with a nurse and a cop. They had a blind daughter, and were extremely nice. Did I get in trouble there? Yes. Was everything always perfect there? No. But they were the first family that ever took me in and showed me love and tried to teach me what it was like to be a part of a real family. I would help them with their blind daughter all the time, we became fast friends. During my time in this house is when they found my mother. I was scared and excited and sad all at the same time. Would she like me? Did she want me? What about the family I was currently with? They said they wanted me and what was going to happen then? Would I ever see them again?
By Trisha Brandhorst 4 years ago in Psyche
Happy Mother’s Day
There are flashes of memories here and there of you. Nothing substantial though. As an adult I wonder what I did. What did I do that was so terrible as a kid that made you walk away from me, without even so much as a second thought? Was my behavior bad? Was I rude? Did I not follow your instructions? I realize you will never surface again to give me answers. So, I am forever left with memories, and doubts.
By #KristinaWrites4 years ago in Psyche
Explaining Anxiety to Loved Ones
Finding the words to describe anxiety and how it makes you feel can be challenging, especially if you’re trying to explain it to a loved one. Not only are anxiety disorders complex on their own, but trying to describe them to someone who’s never experienced anxiety before or been diagnosed with a disorder can be uncomfortable and challenging. Many people don’t understand how anxiety works, and they may assume that you’re overreacting or that you can simply “get over” how you feel if you tried hard enough. For those struggling to put their mental illness into words, our guide on how to explain anxiety to loved ones might be able to help.
By Stephanie Ruiz4 years ago in Psyche
Freedom is Calling Your Mother When you Want to
Freedom is being able to call your mother whenever you want and know that she can do the same. I built my relationship with my mother on a schedule, through booked appointments, locked doors, and the musty heat of a psychiatric ward. Through a haze of sedatives and through second-hand information. I built my relationship with my mother through a quagmire of guilt. There are only so many ways you can turn the truth; post-natal depression sent her into a downward spiral that exacerbated every problem she had ever had.
By S. A. Crawford4 years ago in Psyche
Mentally mindful for children ages 2+
Children’s mental health also matters whether they are 2 years old up to being an adult. Working in the childcare industry a lot of settings don’t bring mental health into their curriculum. I think that it’s extremely silly that children the age of 2 don’t learn about how their mind works and how many emotions they really have. For me it’s really Important that the children who are in my care learn about their feelings everyday. We have circle time where all the children sit down and learn about the weather, the days of the week, the months, how they are feeling but it’s never in depth of why they have these feelings and how to control them.
By Erika Busson 4 years ago in Psyche
Male Anger: The Truth About What You’re Not Being Told.
My dad was an angry man. His annoyance was not the sort that detonates on fire, but rather the sort that stews and burns. To the people who knew him, he was a sort and delicate man battling to earn enough to pay the rent as author, yet he was doing it in Hollywood during when moderate journalists, chiefs, and entertainers were boycotted and associated with being Communists or left-inclining extremists. His dull dispositions, his aggravation and outrage, were for the most part turned inwards. In any case, as a youngster I didn't see his aggravation, just his peevishness and outrage, and generally felt I had disappointed him somehow or another I would never understand.
By Jim patron4 years ago in Psyche
Born in a Cage
World on Fire The projectile shot out across the room and struck my face just above the brow of my right eye. I felt the blood pouring down the side of my face and ran to the restroom to clean the wound and hide my embarrassment. My brother was outraged when he received a reprimand for breaking my skin and even more so when the assault didn't immediately turn into affection. Consequently, I was forced to express love and forgiveness despite my own pain.
By HeyItsPhephen4 years ago in Psyche
