I’ve written a few posts about what it was like growing up with my parents.
[My Dysfunctional Family Kicks Ass, The Bully in My House, Born Into Chaos]
In learning about the experiences of others, there are a few things that I’ve noticed. Commonly, a child’s abuse or neglect comes from a place of selfishness, as in the parents or caregivers were too busy taking care of themselves and their own needs, or were wrapped up in some type of addictions, hobby, or work. My parents had no hobbies when I was growing up, no addictions, other than television and religion. They had a couple of friends when I was young. Literally one couple, with three kids, that we spent time with for a couple of years, and then they stopped coming around. My parents couldn’t really relate to people on any level other than church and religion. They converted to Baptist when I was about 9 years old, and that was the closest they had to a hobby or community.
What I’ve noticed about people who came from abusive or neglectful parenting, is that they usually picked up some level of self-respect from seeing what the parents did for themselves. Even though they may have been most definitely damaged to some extent by not receiving the appropriate amount of attention or affection, they still had the opportunity to observe the parent living whatever lifestyle was fulfilling to them. My parents not only lacked the capacity to provide the appropriate level of attention that I needed, but they also set constant examples of not taking care of themselves. Chronic self-loathing is probably the best description I can think of. Working jobs that they usually hated, struggling to get through the most basic components of life, like meals or getting ready to leave the house, avoiding clean up, fighting, and watching television was pretty much the cycle of life for them. When kids have neglectful parents, they still learn the example that is set by the parents taking care of themselves. The act of actually having an interest, skill or talent provides an example that I did not have.
Another aspect of growing up with my parents was the lack of affection. I have no recollection whatsoever of being told, “I love you”, or ever being held or cuddled. I have very vivid memories of many times that I would pretend to have fallen asleep in the car at night so that my dad would have to carry me in. I can almost remember the feeling of being in his arms and how comforting I found it, even though my overall feelings toward him were not all that warm and fuzzy most of the time.
When I was fifteen, I was caught attempting to shoplift at a department store with friends. Two of us were in trouble and our parents were called to come pick us up. The other girls parents got there first and the mother immediately hugged my friend even though she was in so much trouble. I found it completely shocking. It really floored me, and I wondered what might happen if I tried to hug my mother when she got there. I stepped toward her and lifted my arms, and she pushed me away saying, “Don’t even try it.” I didn’t care so much that she was mad at me, that wasn’t really anything new, I just thought it might be a good time to get a hug.