I feel stuck and guilty with my feelings towards my parents. I have two parents, they’re alive, still married, and they have never physically harmed me. I’m not sure they have emotionally harmed me either, at least not on purpose. Regardless, I have very intense anger towards them. We barely have a relationship and they are strangers in my life.
My dad has a threatening nature about him. Since I was a little girl, I have feared him. He has never hurt me, I’m not sure where the fear comes from, but it’s clear my sisters felt it too. My dad loves control. He sees people as good or bad. He judges people harshly. Tattoo? Trashy. You like alcohol? Loser. You struggle with depression? Get over it. He never shows emotion. Regardless, I think my dad would do anything for my sisters or I. He has six daughters and no sons, as a child he used to take us shopping almost every weekend. He has always carried our bags, opened doors for us.
As a child my mom stayed at home and my dad worked, he’s always been a mail carrier. We weren’t well off by any means, but we never went without. In the recent years my dad has clearly lost control of their debt. I think he has a gambling problem, but it’s only speculation. He’s constantly borrowing money from my sister’s and I. Not just $20, but $500, $3000 at a time. Sometimes he repays us, but not usually. He seems to live a secret life that I can’t figure out.
I had a happy childhood, but as adolescence approached things changed. My sister who is about a year and a half older than me began acting out. All six of us had always been incredibly obedient. In the course of a few years my entire life changed. As my sister acted out, I watched my parents lose complete control. I saw for the first time that their love was conditional. The way they treated my sister was cold and mean. I admit she deserved it at times, but as the years went on it damaged me as well. I heard my mom admit she was done, she just completely gave up on her child. I heard my parents fight constantly. I felt invisible, alone, and unloved. She was eventually kicked out, a decision my dad made me make. I was fifteen and lived with guilt for years over this decision. Once she was gone, I heard my dad say she would die on the streets. I thought it was all my fault.
I began struggling with mental illness shortly after this. I didn’t mean to get sick. I had always tried so hard to be good for my parents. I was good, always. I decided to lose some weight and it quickly got out of hand. Within months I was starving, purging, and cutting. The weight loss was painfully noticeable. I remember my dad commenting on how small I had become. He didn’t seem concerned, he just mentioned it casually. A little while later my mom noticed a cut on my leg and asked where it came from. I struggled to answer and it was clear I had done it myself, but no further questions were asked.
I wasn’t doing it for attention, but when I knew my parents knew what I was doing and did absolutely nothing to stop me, I was confused. I knew what I was doing was bad. I knew I was hurting myself. I could not understand why my parents wouldn’t even ask me if I was okay. I needed a hug. I needed someone to tell me they loved me, I was going to be okay. My parents never approached me and I think that’s when I was adamant I didn’t need them. I stopped speaking to them and shut them out of my life as best I could while I was still under their roof. Around my parents, I had no personality. I barely spoke, I never laughed, and I never smiled. I showed no emotion.
Eventually the school became involved in my wellbeing. There’s a law that says the school has to call and alert parents if a child is harming themself. I hate that law passionately. My parents knew already. Months had passed since they knew, yet my mother had the audacity to sit on the other end of the phone line and gasp at what the counselor was saying. The fakeness she exuded made me want to vomit. She told the counselor to tell me she loved me, I wasn’t in trouble, and we would get through it together. Bullshit. I was irate. Later that night my mom tried talking to me. She was awkward and fake. I wanted to slap her. I hated her. For so many months I had NEEDED my mom. I had needed her to love me and comfort me but she hadn’t been there. Now the school was involved and she was trying to cover her tracks, but I was over it. I didn’t need her anymore and I wanted her to know it.
My school was persistent while my parents were not. My parents were happy ignoring my behaviors, but the school was having none of it. They continued contacting my parents and ruining my life. Eventually, it was decided I needed counseling, there was no other option. The counselor sent my mom a booklet of counselors in the area. I couldn’t help to notice she chose the first one on the list. I was sent to a counselor that specializes in children who act out because they need attention. We drove there in silence. I wanted to vomit. The appointment didn’t go well and on the way home my mom tried talking to me. I was furious with her. Again, I needed her to understand I didn’t need her. I decided silence was more powerful than words, I refused to speak.
My dad took me to the next appointment. I was a minor so he came back with me. The counselor asked why we were there and my dad quickly answered. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when he spoke. He looked at me as if he had just stepped in a fresh pile of dog shit. I felt so ashamed, I knew I was a disappointment. He told the lady I was making it up, I wanted attention. Tears stung my eyes as I agreed to what he was saying. My dad knew what I was doing, he knew I could kill myself, and he didn’t care. After this I convinced myself my dad hated me and I hated him equally.
My parents never tried bringing up the subject again. We went on living, ignoring the fact that I was sick. I tried to convince myself mental illness wasn’t real. I continued to ignore my parents. As the days went on, my anger grew. I hated them. The hardest part for me was explaining to people why we didn’t get along. My parents appeared to be good people, upstanding citizens, I didn’t have the words to explain how they hurt me. At times I would make up stories of things my parents, especially my dad, did or said to me. I couldn’t explain how they actually hurt me, so I made up stories instead, in hope someone might understand. I hate myself for it.
When I was 18 my sister, the troubled one, found herself pregnant. She was still estranged from my family and I still blamed myself for it. I was a senior in high school and had plans to go to college, but I vowed I would help my sister raise her baby. I had to sneak behind my parents back to help my sister. They eventually found out and were disgusted. My dad referred to his grandson as a brat before he was even born. Once my nephew was born I helped raise him, I am the only reason my parents even saw him. Their relationship with my sister improved as they bonded with their grandson.
As time went on my mental illness got worse. Turns out, ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. Once I turned 18 things were easier because I didn’t need my parents’ permission. As soon as I turned 18 I took matters into my own hands. I went to dozens of counselors trying to find the right one. I was constantly at doctor appointments, desperately trying to put my mind back together. My parents knew, they certainly got the insurance statements, but they never brought it up.
When I was 20 I was admitted to the psych ward for a week. I had cut myself to the point of needing stitches and I was trying to fuel myself solely on energy drinks. I sent my parents a group text on my way to the ER. I hated that I even had to tell them, but I was still living with them at the moment. At the hospital they took my phone. A few days into my stay my dad showed up at visiting hours. I was mad. He came to my room and asked me what was going on. I was in no mood to talk and told him nothing, I was fine. He told me I had upset my mother, then he left. He drove an hour to say those two sentences to me. When I got out and had my phone returned to me, my mom had texted me almost daily. She said she loved me and was rooting for me. I hated her for it. I didn’t need her love, especially love that was only shared through text and social media. After I returned home not a word was spoken of my hospital stay.
About a year later I found myself once again struggling and made the heart wrenching decision to enter a six week treatment center out of state. I texted my mom about a week before leaving and assumed she would tell my dad. I can’t remember her response, but she made no effort to visit me before I left. Once again they took my phone and once again my mom texted me repeatedly saying she loved me and was rooting for me. I was frustrated. Part of the program included family therapy, but I was not having it. I refused to involve my parents and instead brought my roommates. My dad never texted me the entire stay. I tried reaching out to him once, only to get short and annoyed responses. Again, once returning home they didn’t mention I’d been gone.
I truly feel like my parents abandoned me at an imperative time in my life. When I needed love, affection, and reassurance, I was ignored. My parents hurt me in ways they will never understand. I am terrible at communication, as are my parents, and I know we will never talk about what all went wrong. Sometimes I cry because I want a mom and a dad. I need them to hug me and love me. I am jealous of my friends with parents. The hardest part is, I do have parents, but I know I’ll never actually have a normal relationship with them. I know my parents love me, but it’s hard to admit.
Am I a horrible person for shutting them out the way I have?
Last edited by Aardbei : 18-06-2018 at 08:19 PM.
Reason: Removed weight numbers
No, you're not a horrible person at all. It sounds like they've really really hurt you and it's contributed a lot to your struggles with your mental health. Your feelings are valid and even if they do love you and mean well, this has hurt you a lot and it's OK to feel the way that you feel towards them.
How do things stand at the moment with regards to your living arrangement/contact with them? What sort of mental health support do you have at the moment?
I reject the idea that children must always respect their parents; respect should be earned. If cutting yourself off from your family works for you, and makes your life better, then there's nothing morally wrong with it. No one should be forced to stay in touch with an abusive family.
Thank you for sharing all of that. It's clear how much pain they have (no matter how unintentionally/indirectly) caused you and you are ENTITLED to those feelings. You don't have to answer for them. You are NOT a bad person for feeling this way and for shutting them out, which is a very reasonable response to what you've identified as the source of your stress. I can't emphasize this enough. Unfortunately, we are our own harshest critic, but it doesn't do any good to put yourself down for the way you feel.
I haven't commented or posted on this site for years but I just had to when I came across your post. Your situation is eerily similar to mine. I am also a 23yo girl (turning 23 v soon!) with a very turbulent relationship with parents, with no real discernible reason. No physical or sexual abuse, provided for and financially taken care of my whole life, received a great education. They ticked all the boxes. All the boxes that they thought made them good parents. But I, too, have nothing but intense hatred and resentment for them. Like you, I was raised in an authoritative and fear-based environment. And, when they became aware of my depression/cutting/mental illness, it was a very harsh and invalidating environment. No emotion, no love. Just judgement, threats and emotional manipulation: "you were spoiled" "you have no reason to be upset" "don't talk back to your parents". Their love is overtly conditional. They are very religious people and live in the stone ages. We are from different worlds. They are delusional, and they were not fit to be parents. They robbed me of my childhood. I was "parentified" to the extent where I gave no value to my own mental health, prioritizing everyone else -- until I left for uni, and started living alone, and it caught up to me, and my life went down the fucking toilet. I didn't know how to deal with myself, with my feelings. I didn't have to pretend to be okay anymore, so I let it engulf me. I was diagnosed with BPD as soon as I hit 18. And, no shit. The environment I grew up was the perfect precursor for a BPD diagnosis. I also feel guilty about hating my parents, but I realize that I have a right to those feelings. They were/are not good parents. It's not just about the food, shelter and clothing. Why do we have such low standards for them? Those are their legal obligations, and while some parents also neglect to fulfill those, you shouldn't have to give your parents a standing ovation for fulfilling their legal obligations. In fact, you can look at them as having done the bare minimum. Your emotional health, your mental well being is just as, if not more important.
Parents are your first relationships. Your first exposure to other people. They shape and influence us in ways that no other person can. Our mental and social development is heavily dependent, or majorly impacted by, the ways in which our parents show us love or lack thereof. You didn't get something very important growing up. You weren't loved the way you needed to be. It's okay to grieve that. It's okay to recognize the ways that has shaped your life. And it's more than okay for you to feel intense anger/hatred/resentment towards your parents. They did you wrong. I'm sorry. But the good part about all this is that you can move on from them. You are not bound to or obligated to stay in an abusive environment, ruminating in these feelings. You can maintain contact so as not to feel too guilty, but you can live your own life now. It will be hard to dissociate from them when we're taught that parents are to be respected and that you have to be filial/take care of them when they get older but you don't.
I was abused. It may not have been physical or sexual, forms that we are most familiar with, but it's still fucking abuse. No amount of material provision is going to change that. I can hate them. I'd like to choose not to, as to relieve myself of the burden and expended energy that comes along with that feeling. But I often feel that if I no longer hated them, then they're "off the hook". That they would have "gotten away with it" or better yet, they'd think "see? she got over it. it must have not been a big deal/she was being a baby" but I'm starting to realize that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how they think or feel. It doesn't concern me. They're already off the hook. I'm the one on the hook. Because my hatred doesn't hurt them, because they don't care. It doesn't torture them like it does me. They don't see themselves as abusive. But they do see me as heartless and a bad daughter. They're okay. Which makes me mad. But it's a reminder that you can't control other people's feelings. You can't control their responses to your actions. But what you can control is your feelings, and your responses to their actions. You can choose to let the hate and guilt eat at you, or you could love yourself enough to outweigh the negativity. You can choose to take care of yourself, and you can start by mentally and physically dissociating from the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally, but weren't able to step up to the plate. You can take over for them now, and you're going to do a better job. Because growing up, instead of dealing with the general shittiness of puberty and the normal teenage garbage with love and support, you went through a lot...in your head, and in your heart. No one deserves that kind of mental anguish. I can feel your pain. I can. I'm sorry you went through it. I promise you, you deserve better, and you always have. You are worth it, you are so worth it and I wish I could wave a magic wand and have you realize it too.
I realize this is a very long and very incoherent message (it's late and over the course of typing this up, I got super emotional) but it's so rare to find someone I can connect with on such a personal level. Your circumstances really mirror mine. I think we're both fucking warriors.
If you ever want to talk about it more, please feel free to PM me. I'm more than happy to listen.
Last edited by sunshinegardens : 27-11-2018 at 03:58 AM.
Reason: spelling errors
I totally get what ur feeling. ur not wrong or a bad person for feeling the way u do. i also feel a lot of guilt towards my parents because of my tense relationship with them, when they've never been abusive or bad people. but the thing is parents can be manipulative and can show their love in weird ways and maybe not always the ways we need. it's ok to feel angry and guilty at the same time. just try to find some peace in knowing that you're you and they're them. you control what you can do and even though it's ok to make mistakes, it sounds like you did your best when it came to being there for ur family and trying to take care of yourself. and i do get that feeling of realizing maybe love or certain treatment from parents is conditional--i've experienced that feeling recently myself. it's such a shitty feeling. but just know that even if it feels like your parents are loving you only in a certain way, or are only proud of you sometimes for certain things, or only approve of certain ways of doing things, or don't know how to handle their feelings or emotions, they do still love you. but sometimes knowing that isn't enough or it doesn't change the fact that they aren't there in the right ways. but there is other love around you that will come in the right forms and in the ways u need it, whether it be from friends or other family or nurses or art or music. it's so hurtful and disappointing when you feel that they aren't there for you but also remember you are there for yourself even when no one else is and you will be ok!
