"You have too many problems."

When I was about 12, my mom and I were driving to a school event, and I told her I was scared and nervous.

I will never forget her turning around and saying, "You have too many problems. You're always complaining or crying. It would have been easier to have had another boy than you." 

At that time I had bad depression and anxiety that she did not know about, and that still makes me upset to this day.

Doomed to Hell

My mom once told me that before I was born, my paternal aunt wrote her a letter saying that because I was conceived out of wedlock, I was not loved by Jesus and "would ultimately be doomed to hell."

I don't actually believe in heaven or hell, but it's still not very comforting to find out that one of my close family members feels this way about me.

I wish my mom had kept this story to herself. 
 

"Why would you worry about your hair?"

My husband was driving us to the store one day, and I asked him to roll up the window because the wind was blowing my hair too much. 

He responded, "With a fat ass and fat stomach, why would you worry about your hair?"

I was pregnant with our first child at the time. 

I haven't felt comfortable naked around my husband since. It's been thirty years. 
 

"You'd fail."

"You could have at least worn wings." - My dad, after my performance as the fairy in Velveteen Rabbit in middle school. 

"You'd fail in the army. Your sister would excel and your brother would even do well, but you're too sensitive. You'd fail." - My dad, after I told him I planned join the army after high school.

"She's only going to college because she has nowhere else to live." - My dad, when I got accepted to my first choice college.

"All right, that's enough kids for now." - My dad, moments after I delivered my second child.

"Hey you, I haven't heard from you in a while." - My dad, recently. 

Wonder why.

"...revolting."

I have two daughters. They are my life and I love them to death. The fact remains, however, that having children changed my body. It has made me so insecure, but I've been trying to embrace body positivity for myself.

I was recently on the phone with a dear male friend, and he was talking about his ex-girlfriend who had a child. He referred to her stomach as "disgusting", "vile", "revolting" and "strange".

It was like all the confidence that I had been building suddenly fell. I can't stop thinking about it. 
 

"I'm going to make sure my grandbaby isn't going to hell."

I started dating my now-fiancé when I was 16, and his mother hated me from the start. She has said many hurtful things over the years, but one in particular sticks with me. We were barbecuing at my fiancé's house, and he went inside to help his dad, leaving me alone outside with his mom.

Ever since I told her that I'm agnostic, she's always gone on about how I'm going to hell. But that night she brought up children and baptism. I told her that I would not be baptizing my child because I believe it's a choice to be left up to them. 

She put her hand on mine and said, "You won't be there, but I'm going to make sure my grandbaby isn't going to hell, too." 

I never told my fiancé what his mother said, but it makes me scared to have children.

"You were such a difficult child."

When I was very young, my mother married a man who turned out to be sadistic and abusive in many ways. A few years later, my mother left me with my biological father because I told someone what was happening.

For years, I carried anger and resentment over all of this and hoped that one day I would get the apology I felt I deserved. 

One night when I was an adult, during a lengthy conversation with my mother over all the abuses I went through and how I felt abandoned and betrayed, she said, "I'm sorry that's how you felt. But you were such a difficult child." 

This was devastating to say the least. 

The realization that my own mother felt I deserved what I went through because I was "such a difficult child," and that the genuine apology I wanted so deeply was never going to come, broke my heart. 

Our relationship is much better these days, but I can't tell you how often those words play in the back of my mind. 

"You were such a difficult child."

"When did you become a kicked dog?"

It had gotten late, the family party becoming more rowdy, so I grabbed my sleeping toddler, and my nearly sleeping child. I packed up our stuff, then made my way over to my husband. 

"Kids and I are ready to go whenever you are, babe." 

"We'll go when I'm ready," my husband snapped. He must have seen my disappointment, and he grabbed me for a hug and kissed me, just a peck. 

I turned to see my father behind us, shaking his head. "When did you become a kicked dog?" He asked. "Struck, then crawling back for the smallest ounce of affection."

Since then, every argument, every time I give just to not fight anymore, I see her. The kicked dog standing in the corner, waiting for the kindness that follows.

"Maybe I'll just kill myself!"

My family got into a huge fight several weeks back. My mom screamed, "Maybe I'll just kill myself!"

Later that evening, she called me to apologize. She told me she got upset and didn't know how to express herself clearly.

A few nights ago, I lay awake at 2AM, holding my 9 month old daughter close while I cried, just hearing my mom's voice over and over in my head.