"Johnsons don't cry."

I grew up without much physical affection, so I was unusually attached to my first boyfriend. When I was 16 and we broke up, I couldn't accept the fact that this breakup would be our last of many. To me, the daily sex, hugs, and kisses were an addiction. I needed them to feel loved.

When I finally processed that this was final, I was sobbing in my room. My father - drunk, as was typical of him - might have thought he was comforting me when he saw me and said, "Forget him! Johnsons* don't cry."

After that moment, I was ashamed to cry. I was ashamed to show any emotion other than hostility. 

I'm 21 now. And I'm still not able to let myself cry. I fight the tears until I have mental breakdowns. My sadness now automatically converts to rage.

I have some joy and love, thanks to my fiancé, but I fear I'll never be normal again. I'll never be able to cry openly and easily.

Because Johnsons don't cry.

*Names have been changed. 
 

"You need this."

Growing up, I was never really big, but compared to my 5'4 120 pound mother, I was enormous. 

For Christmas in 5th grade, I received a beautiful box wrapped in red paper from my parents. I excitedly opened it in front of my entire family. It was the Richard Simmons Deal-a-Meal diet program. I was absolutely humiliated. My mother's only explanation was, "You need this." 

I look back on my childhood and I can remember the comments from them about how big my arms were and how fat I looked in my clothes. I remember my mom saying once that she didn't understand why I was so fat because I didn't eat any more than she did. These things stuck with me. I don't think my parents intentionally tried to hurt me, but their words are burned into my soul. 

I'm now 33 years old with a 10 year old daughter of my own. I go out of my way to build up my daughter and to let her know that she is perfect just the way she is.

"I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore."

My parents both came from pretty rough backgrounds and were raised by Depression Era parents. They were both the oldest of large families, so they had a lot of responsibilities. 

When I was 11, my mom said to me, "I raised my own siblings, and then your brother. I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore." 

My parents still don't understand why I stopped telling them about awards nights and other school events, or why I dropped out of doing things. It was because I didn't think anyone cared. 

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

My mother said this to my sister and me at the ripe old ages of nine and ten, during a "heartfelt" conversation. Those words have stuck with me for over 30 years. 

From that moment on, I never believed it when anyone told me I was cute, pretty, beautiful or gorgeous. I believed that all those people were obviously lying, because my mother said differently. 

My mom apologizes to this day, and she insists that her words came out wrong. And I believe her, because she is often removing her foot from her mouth after unintentionally saying something harmful. I've tried to let it go, but those words are so deeply engrained in me that I fear they can't be erased. 

I've purposely tried to tell my children how handsome and beautiful they are, but I think that my negative outlook of myself has rubbed off on them. Neither one of them see their beauty. I HATE that.

"You really looked like whale before."

I have been overweight my whole life. In my early twenties, I lost 60 pounds and felt great. One day, my father, who is solely concerned with appearance, paid me what he thought was a compliment.

He said, "I'm so glad you lost that weight. You really looked like whale before."

Needless to say, when I gained the weight back, I was embarrassed and ashamed to see my father.

"Just a phase."

Sophomore year of high school, I was well into my depression and struggling to find a reason to keep going. The first person I confided in was my dad, and he assured me that he'd help me find a therapist. 

Fast forward to a few months later, and my mom and stepdad were the ones who were helping me to find the help I so desperately needed. 

My dad finally attended a session with me, and afterwards he admitted to me in the car that he thought that my depression was "just a phase," and that he had never actually looked for help for me. 

It's been nearly 6 years, and I still don't think he takes me seriously.
 

"You're raising a pussy."

I went camping with my family a few years ago. My sister brought her new boyfriend, who kept picking on my four-year-old son. When my sister went for a walk with her boyfriend, my parents asked us what we all thought of him. I said that I didn't like him because he was mean to my kid. 

My father looked me square in the face and said, "Well that's not a reason to not like him! You can't protect your son all his life. You're raising a pussy." 

My son was FOUR! I will never forget that. 

"You'll never have a boyfriend."

My mom would often show my sister how to put on makeup and dress nicely. I would sit on the bed, outside the closed door, and listen. One day, I finally got up the nerve to ask them, "Hey, could you guys show me how to do that sometime?" My mom looked at me like I was crazy, and my sister asked, "Why should we? You'll never have a boyfriend." 

This was just another moment in a long list of times they had diminished me. But somehow, I didn't believe them. I mean, I thought it was possible that I might not be very attractive, but I thought that there was somebody for everybody, right?

I met my husband when I was 29. We married when I was 32. I'm 60 now. Our life together has been like a romance novel. He's a wonderful, amazing, lovely man with a Scottish accent and a kind heart. We've had our share of hard times, but somehow we have laughed through it and hung on to each other. 

Everyone in my family acts amazed that I was the one that ended up with the wonderful, stable and happy marriage. They are all jealous of the daily love letters and the way he takes special care of me. 

What stuck with me was that even though those unkind words were spoken to me, I simply chose not to believe them. I did struggle with low self esteem a bit, but it didn't stop me from enjoying life! 

Harsh words lose their power when you just decide, "I'm not going to get angry. I'm just not going to believe that."
 

"Why did you let yourself be alone with him?!"

When I finally got up the courage to confess to my mother that my former stepbrother (from her second marriage) had molested me, she looked me dead in the face and asked, "Why did you let yourself be alone with him?!" 

I cannot forgive her. I've tried, but I just can't. I hate her. I hate everything about her. 

When she met my one-year-old son for the first time and he cried every time she tried to hold him, I couldn't help but smile. 

"I told you that I would be the pretty one."

My cousin and I were inseparable our whole lives. She was always beautifully curvaceous, and I was always stick thin. Her dad use to fat shame her, telling her that she had to look like me to ever be loved. 

Fast forward to this year when I was pregnant (but hadn't told anyone yet) and she was starving herself for her new beau. She called me and said, "I told you that one day you would be the fat one and I would be the pretty, skinny one." 

She even encouraged her boyfriend to make fun of my weight.