Growing Up With a Bad Mother

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Growing up, my mother always made us feel sorry for her. We were to blame for her varicose veins. It was our fault that she couldn’t get a job and go to work. Poor mom never had money while we were kids because of us. Once we were old enough to get out and get jobs ourselves, we were required to give up our money to help support the household.

Before this, however, only Mom was able to have the good clothes. She told us that she was the one who had to look good for the family. She would then pass them on down to us, whether they fit us well or not. Come to think of it, she had plenty of money for alcohol and drugs, too.

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When we got driver’s licenses, Mom suddenly needed to be taken places. I’m not sure how she managed so well before, but now she had places she had to go. Funny – I literally hitchhiked to work at the age of 15, because I was forced to find a job and figure out myself how to get there. Mom wasn’t concerned about who it was that might pick me up. She needed money. I ended up being quite fortunate, because I was propositioned many times. Luckily, nothing happened.

My mom’s pity party that we endured as children carried on into our adulthood. My younger siblings still make themselves available for her every beck and call. They are the “Good Kids”.  I, for one, am not playing into it. She doesn’t deserve it from me.

Funny thing, when you’re young and you’re raised that way, you just don’t know any better. You are taught to respect your parents and you don’t even realize how wrong they are. It’s not until you’re older that you start to wonder how you ever thought any of that was right. I can’t make my siblings see it, though. They are all against me. I’m okay with that.

 

 

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