Jennifer Lambert

A Sacred Balance

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Raised Better

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I remember being spanked, backhanded, pushed, yelled at, belittled, called “stupid” and “worthless.” I was told to stop crying or I would be given something to cry about. Nothing I ever did was good enough.

I was not a bad kid. I got good grades. I seldom got in trouble at school. I did home chores, anything I was asked to do. I helped with cleaning and cooking and yard work.

All grown-ups were once children…but only few of them remember it.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

My parents stole so many wonderful memories from me that I longed to happily share with them – moving out in a healthy way, graduating college and grad school, having my first baby.

I did my best to drag myself out of the pit I made. I struggled. I learned. I grew.

What if I had been raised better?

What if I had been protected, loved, cherished, validated?

I can reparent myself as I learn how to gently parent my four children. I can repair and heal myself as I learn better ways.

I’ve spent over twenty years stressed and anxious about my four kids.

I have running commentary inside my head all the time:

Am I doing this right? Am I doing enough? Should I back off? Should I do this? Should we stop that? What can I do differently? What is working or not?

And I have so many regrets about doing the wrong things when I was a younger and more inexperienced parent.

What are my expectations and are they about my ego or what’s best for my child?

We sometimes struggled to give our kids the life we didn’t have. We have no guidance or role models.

When children are little, parents do have to make (sometimes hard) decisions for the child. I try to include my kids and respect them, but sometimes I have to override their wishes to make the best choice for their well-being.

Children naturally trust parents and are attached to them as caregivers. They have little choice, so it’s very important that I do the best I can and treat them well and respectfully. I want my children to grow up healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Better than I was.

I made sure we enrolled the kids in recreational sports, dance, gymnastics, music, art – whatever was available and they expressed interest in. The kids often shared my enthusiasm and we were careful not to pressure them. If they expressed they wanted to move on or update their interests, we welcomed their input and made necessary changes.

As my kids grow into teens and young adults, they sometimes express themselves to me and their dad in ways that hurt. I try really hard not to be triggered or take it personally. I try to listen and understand. I cry alone, in secret. I don’t want my kids to feel guilty or wrong for telling me their thoughts, wishes, dreams, feelings. I want them to feel safe to tell me anything. I don’t want to put pressure on my children to rescue me.

I worry constantly if I’m saying or doing something like my parents did to me.

I have to update my expectations often as I continually remind myself and realize that my children are individuals with their own lives to lead. Parents surely have dreams for their children, but we can’t and shouldn’t impose that or try to live vicariously through our kids.

I have spent over twenty years meeting physical needs and trying my best to guide my children into being healthy adults – mentally, emotionally, psychologically.

If the consequences of my child’s action or inaction does not affect me, then I must force myself to back off.

My kids this spring are 11, 14, 15, and my eldest will be 21 this fall.

I have imparted my values to them. I guide them and answer questions. I try to be proactive. I tell them what my experiences were in similar situations.

I can only be as concerned as my child.

My child’s grades do not affect me.

My child’s hair, skin, makeup, clothing is their personal choice.

My child’s possessions are their responsibility and I cannot dictate how they treat their possessions.

It is not up to me how my child spends her money (whether money is earned or a gift).

My child’s choice to quit or postpone college is not about me.

My child’s car (after age 18) is her responsibility for maintenance, insurance, gas, repairs.

My child’s choice to move into an apartment is not my fault nor can I control anything about it.

My adult child’s food choices are not my concern unless they become disordered or extreme.

My child’s tax return is her responsibility to gather paperwork and to file.

It is not my job to say “should.”

It is not my job to offer unsolicited advice.

It is my concern to help my child manage her personal hygiene and keep her room relatively clean and neat for physical and mental health and to learn executive function.

My child’s health is my concern. No matter her age. I worry about physical, mental, and dental health. I worry that my adult child has to buy her own health insurance this fall. I worry about some of her personal choices that could pose problems later. I worry that I will want or have to rescue her from herself.

While I will, of course, rescue my child in an emergency (in most cases), it is not my duty to be anxious that she makes different choices than I did or would in her circumstances.

I do intervene when a child’s mistake, words, physical abuse, action, or inaction affects her siblings or others. It is often difficult to parent a child who doesn’t react to natural consequences or is constantly flippant, expecting the problems to just go away on their own. Lack of empathy and refusal to make amends is not ok.

It’s been hard having a child who laughs at consequences and no punishment matters.

Parents are still constantly learning.

I am so glad I am out of the baby, toddler, and young child stages. I love having older kids and teens. Conversations are lively and exciting. I love seeing my kids still act like kids and wanting to be together and show affection to each other.

Look at how much love and joy comes from just letting people be who they are.

Dan Levy

Linking up: Pam’s Party, Random Musings, Mostly Blogging, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Marilyn’s Treats, Uncommon Suburbia, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, Jeanne Takenaka, Grammy’s Grid, Our Three Peas, Grandma’s Ideas, Soaring with Him, Anchored Abode, Ridge Haven, Ginger Snap, Fluster Buster, Girlish Whims, Ducks in a Row, Katherine’s Corner, Penny’s Passion, Crystal Storms, Debbie Kitterman, Slices of Life, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Simply Sweet Home, Embracing Unexpected, OMHG, CWJ, Create with Joy,

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I am not insignificant

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I’m in my mid-40s and I still fight my inner thoughts that tell me I am worthless, unimportant, insignificant.

It doesn’t help that my parents still remind me, if not so much in the words they used to use during my childhood and youth, but in their action, inaction, criticism of myself and family, my parenting choices and lifestyle. They mostly just ignore me and my children. They’re uninterested in what we do. I don’t bother to share our triumphs with them. I rarely call them and when they call me, it’s only to list their medical appointments and complain about everything.

As an only child, I didn’t know anything different than my life with my dysfunctional parents. Since I wasn’t sexually molested or physically beaten, I didn’t realize I was being abused verbally, emotionally, and psychologically. I think many of us just wave away abuse and think others have it so much worse.

I often didn’t eat lunch at school. I remember sitting at the dinner table many nights, refusing to eat. I had frequent migraines for many years. I remember having painful digestive issues. I don’t have many memories of my mother comforting me or caring for me when I was sick or not feeling well. I remember my father with cold, wet washcloths and massaging my eyebrows.

I felt like a burden whenever I was sick, like I was inconveniencing my parents.

I struggled to make friends at school. I struggled with school, but I managed to make good enough grades and stay out of trouble for the most part.

I didn’t know other families were happy, loving, accepting while mine was demeaning, humiliating, intolerant.

Kids can’t be expected to recognize dismissal, emotional neglect, narcissism. I just learned to cope and avoid and cater to my parents’ sporadic moods. I woke up every single morning with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, worried what tantrums my parents might have that day and over what minor inconvenience or misspoken word by me.

I had a lot of freedom as a kid in the 1980s.

But it was mostly neglect.

I had no escape, no safe spaces.

We didn’t attend church. I mostly felt lost and alone at school. I was sent outside to play if I was home.

After school and during summers, I ran the neighborhood, often having lunch at a friend’s house and not coming home until the street lights came on.

My dad traveled a lot and it was more peaceful when he was gone. I wasn’t allowed to have friends over if he was home. I didn’t know this was unusual. I always accepted an invitation to a friend’s house to get away from my own home.

I avoided most of my friends’ parents while also silently begging for attention. They probably thought I was weird. I feared all adults, all authority.

My jack o’lantern was always smashed in the street on Halloween. The yard was often TP’ed and the house and mailbox egged. I didn’t know what this meant, but I realized much later that my dad was hated in the neighborhood for years for his outspoken intolerance and criticism. My parents didn’t have any friends.

My bedroom door didn’t close; the hinges were warped. I wasn’t allowed privacy. Closing the bathroom door never mattered; my parents would walk in without knocking.

I was encouraged to try many activities, but they never lasted long. I longed to do ballet and learn piano, but it never happened. Ballet lessons were “too expensive.” We had an old, out-of-tune organ and I got lessons for a few months when I was in fourth grade, but it was hard to practice. They wouldn’t pay to tune the organ or get me a piano keyboard. I didn’t know there were recreational sports, but I’m sure it was also too expensive.

I was a cheerleader in eighth grade and I can’t remember a single game where my parents attended to watch me cheer. They didn’t even pick me up from games. I had to bum rides from other parents to Pizza Hut and my parents would pick me up there. It was embarrassing to be the only kid without parents.

I tried basketball and tennis in school but I felt very out of place and didn’t know all the rules of the games.

I wasn’t allowed to take art in high school except for one semester as an elective. It was a tiny victory.

When I became a teenager and expected to do teenager things, my dad criticized me for wanting to hang out with friends or date. He acted jealous and irrational. I had no privacy. There was no trust. I’m surprised he got me a car – a 1974 VW Bug for $650. I’m surprised he let me have a part-time job and keep all my money. I had to lie and deceive just to go meet a friend at a store or restaurant or the library. He acted jealous I wanted to have other relationships.

I was never a bad kid. I was too scared to ever really do anything. I was always home on time, but I was yelled at if I was even one minute late. There was never any grace.

It hit me hard the other day that my parents told me I was unlovable and made me break up with my boyfriend when I was about eighteen. He was a lovely boy and his family were great. They loved me. They were kind and good to me.

Who knows where it could have gone if it had been allowed to progress naturally? Would we have grown apart during college? Would we have grown together? I will never know.

My parent’s selfishness and unwillingness to relinquish control broke both me and him. I never got to apologize to him. I found him on social media and he’s divorced with a couple kids and remarried. I won’t contact him to dredge up anything because why should I now, so many years later. It would be selfish of me. None of it was his fault.

My parents also gaslighted me after my suicide attempt when I was 21, that I was just being used by the man I was seeing. Again, they told me I was unlovable and stupid to put myself in this vulnerable position where they continued to control me.

My parents found therapists and doctors to tell them what great parents they were and how childish I was. I hadn’t reached individuation. I had no autonomy. I mean, really? I was 21, being treated like a 12-year-old.

A child that’s being abused by its parents doesn’t stop loving its parents, it stops loving itself.

Shahida Arabi, Becoming the Narcissist’s Nightmare: How to Devalue and Discard the Narcissist While Supplying Yourself

I was weak and hurt and fragile. I felt trapped.

This pushed me over the edge to run away and marry him.

I regret this, but it is what it is. What if I had been stronger? What if I’d had any support from anyone?

After I ran away, my parents found another therapist to tell them what a bad daughter I was – selfish and childish and ungrateful.

But I wasn’t a bad daughter. I was a desperate daughter, seeking connection.

My parents love to remind me all they did for me. They bought me clothes and kept the groceries stocked and paid for the house we lived in.

They provided for my basic needs.

They bought cars and paid for the insurance until I ran away. I never really asked for or wanted the cars that they traded in every couple years. It was like a weird game for them. They claimed newer cars were safer. Obviously I needed a way to get to school and work and I appreciated not having the bills.

They paid for my divorce. My parents co-signed for my apartment. Then my father co-signed on my home mortgage.

But, they never paid for my education. I did that with scholarships for my bachelor’s and a loan for my master’s. They maybe paid some tuition when I dual enrolled as a high school senior and paid for some books and admin fees.

Oh, how they love to remind me about every little thing.

Everything had strings attached.

They don’t value emotions or struggles or triumphs.

They refuse to discuss anything they don’t like.

Moving away was probably the best thing I ever did.

I had panic attacks the first two years. Then I spent a few years trying on personae to see who I liked. I didn’t know who I wanted to be. I couldn’t remember what I had ever liked.

It took many years to learn how to be myself. Sometimes I still forget.

Yes, I have been to various therapists. Yes, I have tried various medications for depression and anxiety. It’s been a long, hard road – to nowhere.

I am healing myself.

My parents have never expressed interest in maintaining contact with me or my children via snail mail, social media, or any communication technology. They just don’t want to. They sometimes complain that my emails go to their spam folder, but I don’t understand how that would happen.

My parents only visited us a few times times during all these sixteen years. They always stayed in hotels, which is a small blessing.

My parents drove out to San Antonio, Texas, twice, for the births of my middle girls. They were no help to us during that time. I had to entertain them and go out to dinner with them – all sooner than I should have left the house.

They flew to Hawaii for a vacation during December – the rainiest dreariest month. My father was sick almost the whole time and the plane ride for hard for him.

He couldn’t be bothered to come back out for the birth of my son a year later. My mother came alone and it was stressful. I had to rely on her for help. After all, wasn’t that why she was there? She was cruel to my daughters and I was unavailable and didn’t know until after she had flown home.

Then they visited me and the kids in Utah while my husband was deployed. My kids’ schedules were greatly disrupted and my parents wanted me to cater to their needs – to the detriment of my children. They got mad at me and left early, then sent me hate mail about what a bad mother I am and such a disrespectful daughter.

They never visited us while we lived in Germany.

We stayed with my parents before PCSing to Germany and when we PCSed back to The States. It was stressful. My dad had tantrums and left for an entire day, disappointing my son. Promises were not kept with my eldest. Everything was performance-based and we were all so confused.

They came up to Ohio for Christmas when my husband was deployed the second time. It was mostly ok. They stayed at a hotel and my kids are older and busier and less bothered by them.

They surprised my husband by driving up for his promotion ceremony in spring. They adore my husband.

Over the years, my relationship with my parents is superficial at best.

I reply to their emails every day or two. If I don’t email every day, I get criticized for not caring. They use Yahoo email like the rest of us use Messenger and they think my replies should be instant. My dad still has an ancient cell phone that only makes and receives calls. My mom got a newer Android phone but she doesn’t really know how to use it.

It’s been a lot. I’ve spent years trying to heal myself and this generational trauma.

I’ve struggled to make healthy relationships with others all my life. I worry my kids don’t know how to make and keep friends because they don’t see me or their father succeed in this. I feel alone and lost.

My parents have ignored me since January 6 and I really don’t know why this time.

They periodically do this and I always contacted them to apologize – for nothing, anything, just to make amends to whatever imagined ill they felt I inflicted.

Perhaps they’re mad that I voted differently and have different political views. My father emailed my husband, telling him he bought a gun and carry license.

I carry all this heaviness around with me all the time. My kids and husband don’t have these weights. They will never understand.

I am not insignificant.

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Red Flags

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It’s important for me to teach my kids about red flags in relationships.

I didn’t have anyone guide me in healthy relationships when I was a teen or young adult and I found myself in toxic patterns.

We seldom see the red flags while we’re walking past them or living with them.

We want to ignore the red flags. We’ve been taught to only see the best in people. We’ve been taught to be polite and compliant.

I realize there were so many red flags in my previous relationships that I should’ve seen, that maybe my parents and friends should’ve said, “Hey! This isn’t ok!” but they didn’t. Even when I knew I wasn’t healthy enough to protect myself and relied on them for help. They didn’t vet my relationships well. They didn’t see it either or didn’t care.

I was deceived about so many things. I had no power to discern the truth.

I was so naive. I was so gullible.

Big Red Flags

Communication

He made fun of me, belittling me, humiliating, shaming. I took it because he was “older and wiser” and I just thought I surely must really be dumb.

He was often distant. He monopolized conversation. It was always about him. He didn’t want to hear my stories. He didn’t want to know what I did at work that day. He only wanted to talk about himself.

As an introvert, I’m a great listener. This wasn’t a red flag at all for me. I loved learning about his past and hearing the stories that were important to him.

But I failed to realize that I wasn’t important to him.

Trust

I want to be trusting. I want to believe the best. I’m still devastated that people will lie and deceive.

Years later, I’m still realizing how he lied to me and about the stupidest things. Things that shouldn’t have really mattered.

He lied about dealing drugs. He lied about stopping the dealing. The gallon bag in the hall closet was not full of catnip.

He left me at a party with his friends. I wasn’t that comfortable with his friends. I didn’t know what to say or do around them. I had to wait hours to get a ride home.

After the separation and divorce, he lied about my daughter. I was a puddle of emotions every weekend she visited him. I wondered who she stayed with, what she ate, where she slept. I asked why she returned with infected bug bites all over her legs and the worst diaper rash anyone had ever seen in history of diaper rashes. He had no good answers. She stayed with his father, his niece, his girlfriend. He had to work and he wasn’t that involved or interested.

And I just recently found out (eighteen years later!) he plotted to start a custody battle. But he never paid the child support or the credit card that the court mandated.

His narrative to his family and friends about the divorce are vastly different than the truth.

Abuse

He was addicted to porn. He made fun of me. He didn’t like my lack of experience. He said no one had every criticized him in bed. He didn’t like the way I looked. He didn’t like where I had hair. He wanted me to look fake and plastic like the porn models.

So many red flags before he ever hit me.

Then I really believed I deserved that first time. I calmly patched the hole in the wall of our rental house and fixed the windowpane.

The second time he hit me, I left. I didn’t want my daughter witnessing that.

He was furious with me for being so hands off while our daughter toddled around, learning to walk. She stumbled and bumped her head on the coffee table and he lost it.

Earlier that day, he had been talking about wanting another baby. I was barely hanging on financially. We had just bought a house near his parents. I was commuting to work about an hour each way. He made about $10/hour, developing photo film.

His family is Pentecostal evangelical. This was the first taste of any real religion or church I had. It all but broke me. They didn’t like questions. They didn’t like women being intelligent or leaders. It was hard and I tried to conform to what they wanted. I thought it must be right and good. I never could live up to their standards. We got married because his church said it was sin to live together.

I don’t even remember what my wedding ring looked like. I do remember picking out one together at a shop, but he lapsed on the layaway, so I didn’t get that one. He wore a borrowed, too big suit to our small wedding in their warehouse church. The “reception” was at his parents’ house. I remember cubing cheese in the kitchen and there wasn’t enough food to go around. My father didn’t go at all. My mother attended the wedding and went home. There was only one night in a local hotel I was comped as a kickback from work. Nothing was idyllic. Nothing was looked back on as charming. It was sad and devastating and embarrassing.

I can’t remember him ever giving me gifts. I remember maxing out the Best Buy credit card for electronics for him. I remember explaining and then arguing that the bank card was attached to our joint account and if he blew money on cigarettes and soda, I didn’t have enough for gas to work or monthly bills.

I was criticized by his family for negotiating the purchase of vehicles from his cousin, who worked as a local Chevy salesman. I was encouraged to use that dealer because that’s where his whole family went. I also went to another dealer just to check pricing and loan info. I was able to get a better deal than from his cousin. They accused me of disloyalty to their family. I still find it ironic that they thought it was better to pay more for loyalty.

I should have seen and reacted to the red flags sooner. Hindsight is always 20/20.

It takes a long time, years…to heal from abuse. Trauma reactions continue with my current relationships. I try to recognize where my triggers occur and deal with that so I don’t confuse my husband and children. It’s never about them.

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My Father is a Racist

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I tried to set a necessary boundary. I asked my father to please stop sending me racist emails.

After ignoring me and pouting for a week, he sent me a hateful email telling me that he is proud of being a racist and he can cut me off if I don’t like it.

Well then.

He just told me that he wants to complain about Black people to me and speaking his mind is more important than maintaining a semblance of relationship with me.

My parents are racists.

I am 44 years old and my parents are turning 80. I am an only child.

My parents have disowned me before.

I was 21. They sent me a torn-up copy of their will in the mail and informed me that they had a new one filed with their lawyer, leaving their estate to a local college.

He has ignored me for weeks, months, even years.

I didn’t realize I grew up in an abusive household until very recently. I was spanked as a child, but that was normal for my generation. He seldom hit me after I was a teen, but I have extreme trauma responses to certain verbal phrases and tones of voice. I was frequently told I was stupid and worthless when I disagreed with my parents or didn’t meet their expectations. I was often negatively compared to my father’s mother.

My mother doesn’t have a thought of her own. She just echoes my father. She brags about her selfishness as a teen, young adult, and her years of marriage before I was born thirteen years later. My family and I have seen her selfishness in action numerous times.

I was not allowed to socialize with anyone who wasn’t White and appropriate. This wasn’t exceptionally difficult until I was a teenager since there really just weren’t that many non-Whites in my elementary school or neighborhood and races often separated themselves at lunch and on the playground throughout high school and college. I didn’t understand or think much about it then. It’s just the way things were.

My father was often traveling for work when I was growing up. He always said he hated it and he had anxiety from the stress, but it was much more pleasant for my mom and me not having him around much.

I couldn’t have friends over to the house if he was home.

I don’t remember him being at any of my birthday parties.

He didn’t come to the hospital when I attempted suicide.

He refused to come to my first wedding.

He refused to attend my graduation ceremony when I earned my Master’s degree in education.

He didn’t visit me when I gave birth to my son.

He sent me hate mail while my husband was deployed the first time, telling me what an awful mother I am, after they cut their visit short in rage.

He had a tantrum and broke promises to my children when we stayed briefly at my parents’ house during our PCS from Germany to Ohio.

He’s told me many times that it’s all my fault, that I am disrespectful and selfish.

Since I always put myself last, it especially hurts deep when I’m called selfish.

It’s really hard sometimes.

Therapists makes it sound so easy that I should find and have a support system. Moving every 2-4 years with the military makes that harder than it should be.

I’ve never had a support system. I am all I have.

I’m tired of walking on eggshells all the time.

Grief is real.

Though its way is to strike
In a dumb rhythm,
Stroke upon stroke,
As though the heart
Were an anvil,
The hurt you sent
Had a mind of its own.
Something in you knew
Exactly how to shape it,
To hit the target,
Slipping into the heart
Through some wound-window
Left open since childhood.
While it struck outside,
It burrowed inside,
Made tunnels through
Every ground of confidence.
For days, it would lie still
Until a thought would start it.
Meanwhile, you forgot,
Went on with things
And never even knew
How that perfect
Shape of hurt
Still continued to work.
Now a new kindness
Seems to have entered time
And I can see how that hurt
Has schooled my heart
In a compassion I would
Otherwise have never learned.
Somehow now I have begun to glimpse
The unexpected fruit
Your dark gift had planted
And I thank you
For your unknown work.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

I just tried to set a small but clear boundary: stop sending me racist emails.

There’s a lot of white folks out there hanging on to their God-given right to look down on some other class of people. They feel it slipping away and they’re scared. This guy says he’s bringing back yesterday, even if he has to use brass knuckles to do it, and drag women back to the cave by their hair. He’s a bully, everybody knows that. But he’s their bully.

When men fear the loss of what they know, they will follow any tyrant who promises to restore the old order.

Barbara Kingsolver, Unsheltered

I couldn’t reply to his email or call him like he requested. I knew I would make it worse since I was so hurt, upset, and angry.

I try to capitulate. I try to write his attitudes off as old, retired Army, the way he grew up in the 50s. But those are just lame excuses. There are numerous others his age, military, with similar circumstances who are not racist.

Every time I think things are good, going well, I am shocked into this twisted reality where my parents are not good people, not nice people.

Then he sent me another email over the weekend that he had received his birthday card and orchid and apparently all is well.

This is not normal behavior. I shouldn’t have to appease him with gifts like he’s a god, like he thinks he is.

Is this the precursor to dementia, Alzheimer’s? I grew up with this kind of abuse cycle, but is it getting worse or is it that I’m just older and won’t abide it?

This can’t be ok.

We cannot control another’s behavior, but we can control our own response to another’s behavior.

Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is.

Mandy Hale

Want To Have Better Conversations About Racism With Your Parents? Here’s How

He finally reluctantly came around and pretended we never had that email exchange, but he occasionally refers to “not being to talk about politics” in a sulk.

But it’s way more than politics. It’s more than the financial differences of the two parties in America for the past several hundred years. It’s about lives. For a man who is proud to have voted straight Republican his entire adult life, I can’t excuse it. For someone who voted for Trump twice, it is sheer hatred of other and I can’t excuse it.

All the effort to be antiracist and teach my family to be antiracist is worth it. Loving others and healing from our own abuses and trauma and relearning how to live well is worth it.

Resources:

AntiRacism Resources:

How do you maintain boundaries in toxic relationships?

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Ashamed

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We aren’t born ashamed.

We have to learn how to be ashamed.

And then we shame others so we don’t feel alone.

Our culture thrives on shame.

I think we have to remember constantly that shaming is one of the deepest tools of Imperialist White Supremacist Capitalist patriarchy because shame produces trauma and trauma often produces paralysis.

bell hooks

Parents are told to shame their children into behaving. Teachers shame students in class to conform. Peers shame each other and it’s considered normal, but it’s really bullying. And when they grow up, these adults bully and shame others to keep control.

We feel guilty when we do something wrong.

We feel ashamed when we believe that we are bad.

I don’t dance.

I used to dance.

I first took lessons when I was in first grade.

I loved ballet and tap. I loved the pink and black practice suits and the recital costumes. I loved the music and the counting and the French words and the practicing and the barre with the stretches. I could point my toes in a perfect arch and suck in the dimples on my buttocks to please my teacher.

I love watching musicals and ballets – live and on TV…the pretty costumes and twirling and how easy it looks.

My parents couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for dance lessons after a year. I was heartbroken. I begged every year to be re-enrolled, but they didn’t take me seriously or couldn’t afford it until I was 12. The studio really didn’t have beginner courses for anyone as old as I was, so I was placed in a class for adults who just wanted the exercise. It was embarrassing. I was good and I was placed in the recital with other dancers my age. I could’ve possibly moved on to pointe the next year or so, but I was too ashamed to continue when I was awkward, lanky, developing. I hadn’t danced for so long and I felt so behind my peers.

I quit dancing and I still regret it.

That feeling of shame rears its hot face even now that I’m older. My husband loves to dance and he used to teach lessons. I don’t even want to dance with him in the privacy of my living room. Ballroom dance and contemporary dance are very different from ballet, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I love to watch him dance with the kids and teach them the classic moves.

The only thing that should ever make a child feel small is the great expanse of Mother Nature.

Nicolette Sowder

Shame isn’t an easy thing to ignore or overcome.

Shame permeates our society.

I’ve been bullied and shamed in parenting circles, at work, in church…it’s like an epidemic or an addiction. People think shame is normal.

We are taught with shame at home, in schools, and in churches.

Brené Brown poses the question of why people feel so disconnected from each other, and she answers it with a very simple response: Shame. Shame, she believes, is the culprit: “I ran into this unnamed thing that absolutely unraveled connection in a way that I didn’t understand or had never seen. And so I pulled back out of the research and thought, I need to figure out what this is. And it turned out to be shame.” (Brown 2010)

Now, I don’t know about you, but I can think of a whole number of other reasons that people experience deep wells of fear, alienation, and disconnection from one another: racism, ableism, homoantagonism, transantagonism, fatphobia, classism, ethnocentrism, poverty, white supremacy, the tyranny of normalcy, unequal distribution of wealth, violence, warfare, the prison-industrial complex, the disability gulag, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, sexism, and binarism. Just to name a few.

Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Shame at Home

Almost all the parenting books, blogs, experts teach shame.

We’re supposed to punish, cajole, bribe, humiliate, ridicule, coerce, abuse our kids into “proper” behavior.

I feel this idea of being shamed into obedience is even worse in Christian circles. There is this idea of a sin/shame cycle that must be beaten (literally or verbally) out of children.

At home, I was hit, belittled, told I was stupid and worthless. My parents thought negative conditioning would create in me a desire to improve. But, actually, it creates dissonance and a feeling of helplessness. Eventually, I began to believe I was stupid and worthless.

My interests weren’t important. I was ridiculed for loving art, music, literature – mere hobbies that wouldn’t offer a well-paying career.

I stopped trying in school about 11th grade. I almost failed algebra II and chemistry. I skipped classes. I didn’t see any point to any of it.

Shame in School

Schools rely on a shame model to produce compliant students.

I lived most of my school days in fear.

Fear of punishment, fear of humiliation, fear of being called on, fear of hearing my name, fear of stepping out of line.

My first grade teacher put a BIG RED X beside my name because I knew how to write it in cursive and we weren’t supposed to know that yet and she didn’t want me to show off.

But the BIG RED X seemed to symbolize a negation of my whole identity.

Teachers often seem to single out students who are different, bullying them just like kids. I’ve witnessed minority kids ridiculed. I’ve witnessed girls shamed. Schools are racist and sexist.

I saw these things as a student and as a teacher.

Of course, there’s the whole body shaming of girls.

I changed in a bathroom stall for PE in middle school and high school. I was skinny, but never had the desirable flat or toned abs. Someone once told me that my tummy wouldn’t be so noticeable if I had boobs. That didn’t help.

I also didn’t want to be singled out for having the highest grade in science when I was in 9th grade. I quietly asked the teacher to stop praising me in front of the class since I was getting teased by classmates. I was dumbing myself down to be popular. I didn’t do well in science after that year, perhaps on purpose or more likely, subconsciously.

Girls are silenced and shamed by boys, teachers, administrators, parents…and other girls.

Far from production as an ideal, it was consumption that had to be encouraged. School had to train in consumption habits: listening to others, moving on a bell or horn signal without questioning, becoming impressionable—more accurately, gullible—in order to do well on tests. Kids who insisted on producing their own lives had to be humiliated publicly as a warning to others.

 Weapons of Mass Instruction by John Taylor Gatto

Shame in Church

The Christian church relies on shaming to keep members submissive.

Children are taught the sin model from parents, leaders, teachers, pastors.

There’s nowhere positive to go from there. What’s the point if you’re destined for a life of sin and eternal damnation? Different denominations teach different methods of salvation: say a little prayer, confess, flagellation, communion, accountability partners, fasting. Some preach that certain people are predestined, so it doesn’t matter what you do anyway.

It’s all outward appearance and makes us feel more ashamed for our failures, real or imagined.

At a Lent planning meeting at the church we used to attend, a deacon crossed my name off the children’s learning time and said she didn’t need me to do that. She acted like she was doing me a favor, releasing me from duty, but I know she just likes control and doing it all.

I felt like I was back in first grade, even if she didn’t use a red pen.

I’ve never gone back to a planning meeting nor am I really involved at all at church anymore.

We stopped going to church. 

And they are both of them naked, the man and woman, and they are not ashamed of themselves. Genesis 2:25

Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves. Genesis 3:7

Why did Adam and Eve become aware of their nakedness only after they sinned?

Chabad

Shame Online

I’m glad we didn’t have social media until I was an adult. I don’t think I could’ve handled the cyber bullying and humiliation I see every day online.

We monitor the apps our daughters use closely. I really limit my social media time because it depresses me.

I’m glad we homeschool, so I don’t think we experience it as much, but my eldest was bullied a few years ago within our homeschool community and online and it was ugly.

Some people are just always itching for a fight and I don’t want to engage.

People hide behind their avatars, screens, keyboards…anonymous. It’s easier for them to spew their hatred at people who don’t share their views.

We like to be noticed, named, not forgotten or dismissed.

I try to be very careful how I speak to my children and spouse. Of course, I fail miserably very often, but I try to make amends.

I don’t want to humiliate, shame, or ridicule anyone. I know too well how that feels. Words can hurt.

When have you felt ashamed?

Helpful: Hamilton Anxiety Rating Scale for ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences)

Words have the power to normalize or devastate children.

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Personal Growth

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I wasn’t a healthy youth, teen, or young adult.

My parents had narcissistic tendencies. They were also suffocatingly overprotective. I’m an only child. Naturally, I grew up with some unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I eloped in 1998, when I was 21. He was 28. My parents disowned me. They mailed me a copy of their legal will, torn into shreds. My father didn’t attend my master’s degree graduation ceremony.

It was a special time.

I was too young, inexperienced, naïve, the works. We were inexperienced in so many ways. He wasn’t right for me. I wasn’t right for him. We weren’t right for each other.

He was a drug dealer and addicted to porn.

And I really didn’t know.

Four years of abuse, including verbal/emotional, sexual, and physical, and the emotional and spiritual abuse from the churches his family attended led me on a serious journey of self-discovery.

If you lose someone, but find yourself, you won.

{Get the journal.}

I left him in 2001. We’ve been divorced since 2002.

You cannot heal in the same environment where you were hurt.

The church really attacked me over the divorce. I felt so alone.

There have been some interesting developments with his niece over the years. I can’t even begin to understand his family and their choices and decisions.

His family were my first exposure to Christianity and it damaged me. It continues to affect my faith walk.

I am not the same as when I was in my teens, twenties, or thirties.

Personal Growth

My ex posted this in August 2018.

So that’s his perception and we’re all entitled to our own perception.

The narrative he has lived by these twenty years is very different from mine.

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

~Anne Lamott

Once a person reaches age 50+, maybe learn to move on and show some personal growth?

Is social media the place to work out your emotional baggage, seek personal affirmation, and discuss people behind their back?

I minored in psychology at university. I was *this close* to a double major.

I’ve read a lot about narcissism and other mental disorders and illnesses. It’s kind of a hobby, and I have a very personal interest.

Did I and do I have narcissistic tendencies?

Probably.

But I diligently try to learn and grow and heal, so that’s different than living in denial and continually hurting my loved ones.

I’m more an empath and I find this article absolutely fascinating comparing empaths and narcissists.

And this other article about empaths and narcissists.

How narcissists manipulate.

A pretty accurate list of narcissist traits.

“An empath will always put themselves into other people’s shoes and experience the feelings, thoughts, and emotions of others while forgetting that other people may have an agenda very different to their own and that not everyone is sincere.”

As a child of narcissists, I recognize these destructive tendencies and I actively steer my attitudes and actions away from repeating the cycle of abuse. There’s even a Post-Narcissist Stress Disorder, PNSD.

I was wounded.

On my journey of self-discovery, I have learned the hard lesson of how to forgive. I no longer blame my ex for the problems we faced while we were in a relationship. I used to be very angry and bitter. Negativity ate me up inside. Now, when I remember, they are just facts. The events happened. I am unemotional about it. I am no longer ashamed or afraid.

He had his issues and I had mine. But I feel that I have mostly overcome my issues. I feel much more comfortable with who I am now than I did then.

I have grown up.

I have moved on.

The best thing I ever did was leave the state where I grew up and where my ex and his family still reside. I took my daughter and we literally and figuratively escaped.

I had to be independent of my parents.

I had to learn to be self-reliant.

I had to develop my own identity.

Most kids do this gradually as teens and young adults, but I wasn’t allowed to do this in a natural or healthy way.

I’m not going to rehash the failures in our relationship or the issues during and after the divorce. Perhaps another time.

After many years of no contact from my ex, and no child support payments of the $20k+ back payments he owed, my current husband adopted my daughter. We also have three kids together. We realize that we are not perfect people. We have had our struggles and we had to grow up and learn what duty and commitment and healthy relationships look like. We have no role models. It’s been almost 14 years now.

For years, my parents accused me of so many horrible things, of being an ungrateful daughter. They have written me hate mail – via paper letter and email – about how poorly I am raising my children, what a terrible mother I am, that I should physically discipline my kids. They even found a therapist to agree with them, to blame me for their unhappiness with themselves and the world, or so they said. They are bitter, angry people.

And I no longer blame my parents for who they are and how mean they sometimes were. I forgive them. It still hurts and their words and actions affect me deep inside my core because they are my parents.

I’ve done everything I can to break the cycle of abuse. I am constantly seeking ways of self-improvement.

My daughter, who is now 18, struggles with abandonment issues even though she hasn’t physically seen her biological father since she was four years old. She contacted him via social media last year – with my knowledge and blessing – and has experienced nothing but disappointment and heartbreak as he accuses her of being brainwashed with my lies. He recently blocked her on Facebook and bragged about that to his family and friends – so any conversation between him and our daughter is over for the time being. He says I brainwashed her.

I have so much paperwork to back up my story. I ache for her to heal the wounds of her past. I long for her to be healthy and whole. I pray for her relationships and mental health.

And as for my parents…Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?

Living in Texas, Hawaii, Utah, Germany, and now Ohio, and only having very limited contact with my parents has forced them to grow too. They’re 76 now.

My father just sent me an email apologizing for his poor behavior and emotional distance the past twenty years – since I left home. Then he ignored me for months. I know he has his issues.

We’re still making progress.

Sometimes it does help to talk to mental health professional. 

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