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.
Childhood Trauma
”why didn’t you report them” is the question I always got but when you were abused by the woman who raised you the woman you saw as a mother and sadly love you just can’t go though with it. This is called Stockholm syndrome not many are familiar with the word but means that the victim formed a bond with the abuser. I am now 18 and free from my abuser I am telling my story so that people are more aware of abuse going on in children’s lives and for the people who are still going through it.
By Breanna Zuniga5 years ago in Psyche
Soldier Ants of Correction
The story I'm about to share is a complex one that started a turning point in my life and before I start, bear in mind that I was brought up in the deep villages of Enugu, Nigeria in West Africa and soups were generally spicier there. I will also invite you to have an open mind about the activities that occurred in the story and to know that I was an exceptionally stubborn child that often required drastic measures to affect correction. On that note, I will like to take you back to the beginning of 2004, the year I was all of 11 years and also the year I got it into my head to graduate from stealing pieces of meat from the pot of soup to stealing from my mother’s purse to buy things I couldn't remember today even if it could save a dying baby.
By Nneka Anieze5 years ago in Psyche
Mental Illness Signs in Your Children That You Are Ignoring
In today's world life has begun to resemble a treadmill. Being engaged in our own problems and mishaps, there can be times we overlook the clear signs of help our loved ones are asking for. Children too, go through a lot in their growing stages. There are times when they might try to talk to you or share how they are feeling, but, you may treat their issues as being relatively less important to what’s going on with you in life. You might think that they are small and ignore them, but this creates a wall between you and them which gets thicker over time.
By Niyati Jain5 years ago in Psyche
Be The Boss Mom
I was not the favorite child. I was born the last of eight children, nearly all of which were adults by the time of my birth, with children of their own, save one—a sister, five years my elder. By the time my parents got to me, I was an afterthought. My sister, being their miracle child after the loss of two infant sons back-to-back. She was the miracle child and it was a miracle I even existed.
By Kayla Crowell5 years ago in Psyche
Fury at Last
God, this coffee’s rank. I feel like a bit of a shit for walking out of the wake but you know what? I don’t fucking care. For years she ruined everything for me - playdates cancelled ‘because I said so’, school discos missed ‘because I said so’, hot dates denied ‘because I said so’ and why? Because she fucking said so. That was her ‘go to’ when she had no other reason for making my life miserable. When I was a kid I believed her when she’d say she was only looking out for me but I soon saw the truth. You know you get to that age, that bloody frustrating age when you’re old enough to rationalise and argue your point but ultimately you’re still a child and have to do as you’re told? I’ll tell you, if being a bitch was an Olympic sport my mother would win gold. And, lucky me, I was an only child. Dad fucked off when I was ten. Can’t blame him. He’d had enough and the local barmaid, Liz, was warm and caring and fun and normal. I loved spending time with her and dad. But mostly it was just me and mum for about a decade. Me, mum and ‘because I said so’.
By Julie Murrow5 years ago in Psyche
Shaped By Adversity
March 18, 2021...a date still fresh in my mind, because it was just over a month ago. It is the day my mother died, two days after being vaccinated for COVID-19. I was in the middle of getting my CPR and First-Aid certification when I got the text. "Momma died...", my baby sister had typed. At first I didn't know how to feel.....I drew a blank in the beginning, felt nothing. Then, the nothingness turned to sadness, the sadness to anger, but not for the typical reasons you might expect.
By Lynnette Walker5 years ago in Psyche
Mother to a
There are few people I would wish my relationship with my mother on. She is a strong, courageous, loud, wild, toxic, addictive, impulsive, beautiful, harmful woman. For as long as I can remember, my mom’s heart was hidden behind spirits.Not “Spirits”. A bottle. As she slipped into the dark mental conscious of drunk, she would tell her woeful stories of her life. I would hear her cry at night through the wall. She would scream all the venom of her life into night’s air. My childhood, what I have not blocked out, was a heartstricken one. My mother was often in two minds. She would glow in the day with laugher and prosperous smile. When she had a job, it was often factory work. Boot straps and sweat were nothing to this woman. By night, my mom faded to a tortured soul. My father, before he was absent, was an addict of his own that abused her in unspeakable ways. My mother was a strong woman who fought back. I was taught what not to do in so many ways from her. I learned the signs of toxicity. She lived them so I didn’t have to. Yet, so many toxic injections into my heart were out there through her own needle. I also learned to work at a young age because life wasn’t going to be given to me. Needs were not given freely, and my next meal was earned since I could pick up a broom. By witness, I saw what it meant when you didn’t learn to walk away from a situation that didn’t serve you well. The mental, emotional, and spiritual breakage that occur day by day in negative and harmful environments or people is unparalleled. Worst of all, the most unforgivable violence is that in which we do to ourselves. I was given the freedom to become my own person because there were no bounds in my life. To call myself a rebellious free spirit is an understatement. My mother, above all, taught me that those who are suppose to nurture and love you are sometimes the ones who sink you down the farthest. One moment, she would be the most open ear and softest shoulder, but when I experienced the other side of her, she would use all the words, feelings, and thoughts I had confided in her against me. You cannot truly be wounded by someone you do not love. So, I love, nurture, and honor myself. Truly, forgiveness will always be a personal journey that you have to recognize you deserve, even if the person you are forgiving has done nothing to deserve it. If I were to let all of the painful experiences with my mother weigh on my heart, I would have broken a long time ago. Waiting for someone else to validate your beautiful soul is futile and empty because there is no higher love than the one you have for yourself. For this, I get to be the parent for my daughter that I needed my mother to be. When she speaks of her feelings, I will confront them with validation. When she needs an ear, those thoughts will remain with me alone. I was taught to be a mother, not only because I raised myself and healed my inner child, but because I saw everything I didn’t want to be. All that could possibly be left is what I needed to be for my child. My mother taught me many lessons, though not in the traditional sense. She put me through trials when no crime was committed. My mom taught me how to be a mom.
By Logan Gillaspie5 years ago in Psyche
Fighting for my kids
It started 17 years ago. Around July, when my first baby was about 6 months old, I had enough of my abusive fiance. I planned a trip to go to my family's home for my sister's graduation and birthday party, and to stay there with my baby while he left. It may not have been the most up front way of getting away from him, but I was stuck where I had no family near me and only 1 friend who couldn't take me in. So I did what I had to do to get away.
By Wynette Richardson5 years ago in Psyche
