R
RCCDefender
Guest
This is a long story…
I am 30 years old and my mother is 60. Ever since I can remember I have felt degraded by her on how I look and dress and more. I can remember how even when I was in high school how she wouldn’t let me leave the house without making sure I was dressed how she wanted. Mind you, I wasn’t dressed like a “bad girl” or anything like that. I can remember what she made me wear to school on 2/14/92: White tights with red “grandma ticking” striped shorts and a homemade valentine sweatshirt with puff paint and ribbons hot glued and streaming down and sneakers with puff painted hearts on them. I was mortified and change clothes with a girl who for some reason thought the outfit was cute. Of course, my mom ends up showing up at school and berates me for not wearing the clothes and not appreciating her.
Senior year, the day before the prom “Senior Layout Day.” My best friend came over to go shopping for prom shoes with my mom and me. This was back in the day when the “poet’s” blouse was in style. I was wearing black leggings with my white poet’s blouse and a crimson velvet vest. My mother refused to let me leave like that. She humiliates me in front of my best friend by dressing me in what she deems appropriate (mind you, I’m 17 yo at this point) and drive me (in tears) and my bf to the mall. It still hurts for me to even think about this today; I’m holding back tears as I type this…
The next year (1996) my mom comes into my work on a day after my boyfriend and I had a big fight. I was still depressed and didn’t feel like dressing up or putting on makeup that day; it was just K-mart, not like I was working anyplace wonderful. She berates me for my looks and informs me that she will not let my uncle (who was in her car and was from out of state and I hadn’t seen in a long time) come in to even see me since I looked that way.
After this I went out of town to a University, but when ever she happened to come she me she always spoke about how horrible I looked – like I was going to dress up for classes, especially when I would run a big risk of ruining them with ink or graphite (I was in the architecture school). I hated my major and dropped out for a couple of semesters and came back to study early childhood ed. – another think that mortified her since I would never make a six figure salary caring for children.
I ended up meeting a wonderful man who had a past. He was going through a divorce and had a small child. He also had juvenile diabetes. We ended up falling in love. Some time after his divorce we decided to move in together (I know, I know). Well, when I told my parents (oh, I forgot to mention that my parents are divorced), well, you know what hit the fan. My mother took me back home that weekend and screamed and cried all weekend long saying she blamed God for putting her through this. She took me to her Baptist church that Sunday where she and her preacher cornered me in his office and told me how this guy was only using me, that I’d be sorry, and on and on. OH, and he (this guy) was five years older than me.
Before we had moved in together, my uncle (the one I mentioned earlier) had gotten sick. My grandparents came and stayed with me for a few days while my uncle was in the University hospital. One evening when we were at my apartment (my grandparents, my boyfriend, and I) we got the phone call from the hospital saying to get there quick. My boyfriend drove all of us and stayed with my grandparents, but by the time we got there it was too late. We lost my uncle that night. My boyfriend was there for all of us during that time.
there is more…
I am 30 years old and my mother is 60. Ever since I can remember I have felt degraded by her on how I look and dress and more. I can remember how even when I was in high school how she wouldn’t let me leave the house without making sure I was dressed how she wanted. Mind you, I wasn’t dressed like a “bad girl” or anything like that. I can remember what she made me wear to school on 2/14/92: White tights with red “grandma ticking” striped shorts and a homemade valentine sweatshirt with puff paint and ribbons hot glued and streaming down and sneakers with puff painted hearts on them. I was mortified and change clothes with a girl who for some reason thought the outfit was cute. Of course, my mom ends up showing up at school and berates me for not wearing the clothes and not appreciating her.
Senior year, the day before the prom “Senior Layout Day.” My best friend came over to go shopping for prom shoes with my mom and me. This was back in the day when the “poet’s” blouse was in style. I was wearing black leggings with my white poet’s blouse and a crimson velvet vest. My mother refused to let me leave like that. She humiliates me in front of my best friend by dressing me in what she deems appropriate (mind you, I’m 17 yo at this point) and drive me (in tears) and my bf to the mall. It still hurts for me to even think about this today; I’m holding back tears as I type this…
The next year (1996) my mom comes into my work on a day after my boyfriend and I had a big fight. I was still depressed and didn’t feel like dressing up or putting on makeup that day; it was just K-mart, not like I was working anyplace wonderful. She berates me for my looks and informs me that she will not let my uncle (who was in her car and was from out of state and I hadn’t seen in a long time) come in to even see me since I looked that way.
After this I went out of town to a University, but when ever she happened to come she me she always spoke about how horrible I looked – like I was going to dress up for classes, especially when I would run a big risk of ruining them with ink or graphite (I was in the architecture school). I hated my major and dropped out for a couple of semesters and came back to study early childhood ed. – another think that mortified her since I would never make a six figure salary caring for children.
I ended up meeting a wonderful man who had a past. He was going through a divorce and had a small child. He also had juvenile diabetes. We ended up falling in love. Some time after his divorce we decided to move in together (I know, I know). Well, when I told my parents (oh, I forgot to mention that my parents are divorced), well, you know what hit the fan. My mother took me back home that weekend and screamed and cried all weekend long saying she blamed God for putting her through this. She took me to her Baptist church that Sunday where she and her preacher cornered me in his office and told me how this guy was only using me, that I’d be sorry, and on and on. OH, and he (this guy) was five years older than me.
Before we had moved in together, my uncle (the one I mentioned earlier) had gotten sick. My grandparents came and stayed with me for a few days while my uncle was in the University hospital. One evening when we were at my apartment (my grandparents, my boyfriend, and I) we got the phone call from the hospital saying to get there quick. My boyfriend drove all of us and stayed with my grandparents, but by the time we got there it was too late. We lost my uncle that night. My boyfriend was there for all of us during that time.
there is more…