It's difficult for me to reconcile her grief at the loss of her mother with the horrific abuse her parents inflicted on her. (Mostly her father, to be fair, but with the full knowledge and consent of her mother.)
Thanks for the link. Yes, that does give pause for thought:
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For example: once, when I was eight years old, I’d done something wrong that warranted a spanking. My dad commanded me ‘come here.’ I hesitated, building up my willpower, before complying. He spanked me and let me go as I sobbed. He then said “You hesitated. That’s disobedience - come here to get another one.”
At this point I was in a lot of pain, and the effort it took to voluntarily subject myself to another one was now way more. It took me a few moments before I could force myself to approach again. He spanked me again, let me go, and as I sobbed, he told me again that I had hesitated, that this was disobedience, and that it warranted another.
By this point I was in even more pain, and it took even greater effort to overcome my body’s desire to flee or fight. And so again, there was a few second delay. And so he did it again.
He did again eleven times. And when he told me the twelfth time to approach, something in me completely broke. It didn’t matter that my body was now in overwhelming agony - possibly the greatest pain I’ve experienced in my life - the only way to make it stop was to abandon my will entirely, to become a mindless obedience creature that would walk straight into the fire instantly when commanded. So I did, he spanked me one last time, and then he stopped.
That was horrifying to read, but I guess this part explains it:
> I ultimately came to terms with my childhood by viewing it as correct. Not in the sense that I would do it to my children, or that it’s ethical by my lights, but rather that it makes sense, it belongs here. My dad was abused when he was a child and probably has NPD; my mom loved us and tried very hard but was misguided in how to show it.
"[Human beings] were mysterious congeries of twisted will and error, misapprehension and misrepresentation, and the expected could not be expected of them." -- Paul Fussell, Jr.
Halfway through I realized where this is going. Could not hold the tears. These are tough choices. My parents are alive, getting older. My dad has fairly serious mental health issues. Life has never been easy in a very dysfunctional family. I stayed away from family for many years. Now, I am 41 and these last few years, I have started to realize that I may not have much time with them.
We are busy people but no matter how we try, we cannot bring people back. We cannot make some things different. I think about that a lot. Even coming from a family of abuse and trauma that needed a decade of counseling and healing, I still feel sad they may not be there much longer.
Thank you for a reminder. Thank you for sharing your personal story.
Same age and while coming not from abuse but from difficult extreme-christian education I am torn between letting my parents have too much say in my life today.
However as you say: I realise that my time with them is going to end and I don’t want them gone.
Wondering how you found a way to spend time with them and if you openly speaking about the limited time left and the past with them?
I’m about the same age as you. I was raised in a strict christian home. For a long time, I thought that was normal. It wasn’t. I didn’t see it clearly until my late thirties, sitting in therapy for depression. That’s when I learned it was abuse.
The best thing my therapist told me was to cut off contact. I did. And I’ve never been happier. I’ve got my own family now. We live with love, not fear. We tell the truth. We don’t play mind games.
If my parents ever want to make peace, they’ll have to admit they were dishonest and tried to control me. But they won’t. They still say they did what they thought was best.
For me, I just look forward to the day I stop thinking about them, or the day I hear they’ve passed.
That's my age. If I read the rest of that blog maybe it would tell me what brought her to this brink.
My mother was in her late 60s when we were called down to Niceville, Florida when her end was near. This was 1995. Her pancreatic cancer had been confirmed by biopsy only days before, but she was already deeply in liver failure. She didn't want to die in a hospital, but hurricane Opal was bearing down as we arrived, so we all had to bundle ourselves in the cars and crawl up to Crestview to weather the storm at the hospital there. The condo survived with only minor damage so this may have been a mistake. We did get her back to watch the dolphins on Boggy Bayou before the end; I hope she was able to see them.
Thanks for writing and sharing this beautifully written, tear-inducing account of a last good-bye.
There's one element that is missing from the story, namely what the consequences of the mother's religious belief system means for how the story continues from the mother's own view (a new beginning) versus the daughter's atheist view (the end of the person, full stop).
Indeed. I only recognize the name from some pretty bad armchair psychology takes and hobby sociology on trans people a few years back. Nothing compared to what happens on X these days of course.
First time I saw a post here of her I found it odd, and made me think, now I know it's one of the things that makes HN, HN and I appreciate. To make me think.
Why do you think it's odd? These types of articles - the "human" ones - are some of the best on HN, IMO. Jake Seliger's posts as he was dying were incredible, for example.
https://aella.substack.com/p/the-joy-is-not-optional
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