Emotionally damaged

[Guest guest]

I get asked the question sometimes, " How do you think you became the parent you

are when your mother and father were so awful at parenting? " And I always say,

" I don't know. I just do the opposite of what was done to me. " But I've been

thinking a lot about this lately since my kids are getting a little older and I

think it's more than just making a conscious choice to do things differently.

Maybe there is actually something hardwired wrong inside the BPD's brain that

they can't help (and maybe I am making excuses for my mother's behavior because

I don't want to think she would abuse me just for the fun of it). I parent on

instinct as well as making a conscious decision of what to do and not do, but it

seems like my mother never had that instinct. She was never able to separate me

from herself and comprehend that I might like a different color than she does or

a different food. On every basic level, even my opinions were made for me by

her.

Do you know that I never had a taco until I was 15 years old. And do you know

why? My mother told me I hated them because she hated them. And I believed

her. When I tried one and liked it, she started berating me and saying things

like " Who told you that they were good? Why do you want to eat that crap? " As

if I never had an opinion. Even if I had an opinion different from hers, she'd

want to know WHO put that opinion into my head...like I was not able to form

thoughts and opinions of my own. It wasn't just about tacos. It was

evvverything frorm what I ate to what I wore to what music I liked and on and

on.

When my kids accomplish something and say, get recognized at school, I beam from

ear to ear and feel so proud of THEM and I can acknowledge that THEY made the

effort and it was THEIR accomplishment. I can be proud of them and praise them

for their good work while separating myself from them and knowing it was about

THEM and their talent.

My mother would take credit for anything me or my sister did. Made

cheerleading? Oh, it's because the judges know who my mother is and they were

afraid not to put us on the team...as if she were so intimidating (she would say

that). Made good grades? Oh, it's because my mother was so smart and taught me

so well. These scenarios are endless in my childhood.

It scares me to think I came out of my childhood as well as I did. I mean, I

literally lived in hell as a child and thinking about it gives me cold chills

all over again. My therapist asked me to imagine my children in my childhood

and I can't...they would be emotionally scarred for life if they even spent 5

minutes in my childhood.

Well, I'm pretty sure I'm rambling at this point, but I wonder if anyone can

relate to these kinds of things.