"It's not cool. It's scary."

I had a problem with self harm a few years ago. When I finally decided to reveal it to my mom (because I was sick of hiding), one of the things she said about it really bothered me. 

"It's not cool. It's scary." 

I just can't figure out where she got the idea that I was doing this to myself because I thought it was cool. Her reaction made me feel like she was dismissing the problem by ignoring the underlying issues and simplifying it to some weird hobby or something.
 

"I guess I did screw up minorly."

Ever since I can remember, I had difficulties in school, and I was always really socially awkward. Starting in second grade, I was severely teased for being different. 

My second grade teacher was so supportive and kind, and he advocated that I get tested to find out why I was different from everyone else. But after I was tested, my mother, who I refer to as "Birthgiver" made sure I never found out the results. 

I used to come home in tears, begging to know why I was so different, and she would say things like, "What did you do to them first to make them tease you?" "You're lazy and don't apply yourself." "The only way I can get through to you is by hitting you." "You need to stop being such a baby." 

By high school, I finally just stopped asking why I was different. Stopped telling her in detail about how cruel kids were to me. I just started saying "I'm fine," and, "School was fine."

I started dating someone at age 19, got married and divorced, and didn't speak to my birthgiver for eight years. 

When I finally reached out to her, I hoped that she had realized her faults in our relationship.  Instead of taking accountability for what she did, she just said. "Oh, yeah, I guess I did screw up minorly by not telling you that you have autism."

That has always stuck with me. If I had known I had autism sooner, and she had gotten me some additional help from outside school, maybe I wouldn't have struggled for so long.
 

"If she were smaller, then sure."

As a kid I was always taller and more shapely than everyone else my age.  In 7th grade when all of my little petite friends were getting "boyfriends," one of my friends asked my crush if he liked me. 

His response was, "Oh, she's pretty, but she's just way too big for me to be with. If she were smaller, then sure." 

I have never forgotten that. And now, ten years later, I still have anxiety every time I look into the mirror.

"Why don't you start buying your own damn food?"

In 2012, my daughter's father and I broke up after he cheated on me. This man had been my whole world, and when we broke up, I was not in a good place. I was barely eating, and was lucky if I was able to keep down a small snack. I lost 25 pounds in a month and was crying all the time. 

I was living with my family, in a house with two hungry teenage boys. My dad came home from work one day, looked at me, and said, "I'm sick of you eating all the fucking food. Why don't you start buying your own damn food?" 

That one sentence, revealing that he didn't care enough to notice that I was clearly not the one eating all the food (or any food), and that I was currently very broken, destroyed our relationship. 

It took me four years after that to finally manage to let go of the toxic man I call my father. I may have cut him off, but his words have still stuck with me. They will always be a reminder that family is not always there. 

"Why did she get in the car with him?!"

I had a summer internship in college at a summer camp. The boss was terrible to work for and always felt off, and a news story eventually revealed him to be a pervert who had groomed, molested, and raped one of the campers, a 14-year-old girl. He had given her a ride home one day, but instead of taking her home, brought her back to his place where he sexually assaulted her. 

I told my mom about it and her immediate reaction was, "Why did she get in the car with him?!"

This reaction irreversibly changed the way I saw my mother: as the kind of woman who would blame a 14-year-old girl for being raped. 

To this day she still does not understand why I don't want to put that internship on my resume.
 

"Suck your stomach in."

When I was in 5th grade, we took a class trip to Canada. 

While we all walked around a beautiful mansion/ castle, my best friend's mom looked at me and said, "Suck your stomach in. In a year you will lose some inches off, and you won't look as fat."

"Sometimes I think he did too good a job."

At some point early in our marriage, I happened to mention to my ex-husband that my dad had made a point to raise independent daughters, and something in regards to the benefits of this. My husband replied, "Yeah, I know. But sometimes I think he did too good a job." 

At the time I brushed this comment off, but looking back now (and after a great deal of therapy), I can see this as a portent of things to come. 

Throughout our marriage, my independence increasingly became an issue for him. It meant that he and his wants couldn't always come first in our relationship, or that sometimes he might have to take someone else into consideration when making decisions about something.  When we got into arguments, my ability to stand up for myself became a tool he used against me. When I would bring up something he'd said in the past, he would either deny having said it, or accuse me of twisting his words. Throughout all of this, he cast himself as the innocent bystander, or even the victim, making me feel guiltier and guiltier. 

I eventually started to doubt myself, all the time, about everything. Rather than reaching a mutually satisfying compromise over an issue, I found myself just giving in to his demands, or letting him talk me around to his point of view. I began to view my independence as a negative trait and a selfish behavior. I remember telling my therapist I felt like I was going crazy because I was never sure about anything anymore and didn't feel like myself. 

Thank goodness my independence never fully left me, because I never stopped fighting, and finally asked for a divorce after about 3 years. I have a wonderful new partner in life who loves me as I am, and sincerely appreciates my independence and self sufficiency. He never questions my desire or need to do something on my own, but gently lets me know he's there if I need him. I revel in the life I have built for myself. 

But there are times, in my most anxiety ridden moments, when I hear my ex-husband's voice in the back of my head and start to doubt myself again, and just for a second I wonder if my independence won't also be my downfall. Then I remember how f*cking amazing I am, and that he is just a selfish narcissist who doesn't believe that white, male privilege exists.
 

Do Over

My dad and I never really had that great a relationship. He always thought I was weird, and not what he imagined when he found out he was having a girl. 

At one point in my twenties, I was working three jobs, about to buy a house, owned my car, and was working on a nursing degree. I guess subconsciously I didn't want to be a disappointment anymore. 

One night I came home after a long night shift and was in the bathroom taking off my makeup. I overheard him telling my mom that he wanted to have another baby, because he "wanted a do over."

I don't think he ever knew I heard him or that I was even home, but those words always messed with me, because I never could understand what it was about me that was so bad in his eyes.

"She's YOUR problem now!"

My mother and I have never been close. The older I get, the further apart we grow. She's very ugly towards anybody who is different from her, degrading anyone who is black, homosexual, has tattoos, mental disorders, is poor, addicted, atheist, agnostic, drives the wrong car - the list goes on. I fit into most of those categories, but I live a fully successful and happy life. 

At my wedding three years ago, my husband made a funny remark during our toast about my parents raising a "wild" girl. I laughed because it was cute. Then my mother, in front of everybody, replied, "She's YOUR problem now!" 

That was the only thing she said to either of us during our entire wedding. My husband's remark was teasing in a cute way. My mother's response, dripping with hatred, left the room a dead, awkward silence. 

I wish I could say that her frequent stabbing remarks don't affect me, but I would be lying. I can hardly do anything without hearing her voice inside my head, putting me down and reminding me that I'm just a "problem." 
 

Smart

When I was in school, teachers didn't know about dyslexia, ADHD, or PTSD. They didn't understand my stutter, so I stopped talking, and just did the best I could to keep up and not get noticed by my teachers anymore. 

They did notice. All through my youth I was told I was "stupid," "deliberately acting dumb," and "failing tests on purpose." I was told I would never graduate. I got lumped in with the bad crowd, and wore my "dumbness" with pride. Until I met my 8th grade math teacher. 

Math was always my worst subject. Dyslexia turns timed multiplication tests into an instant panic attack. My former math teachers told me that they let me pass their classes just so they wouldn't have to deal with me again.
 
But this one teacher. He kept me after class and helped me with homework. He walked me through tests so I would slow down enough to finish them. And then one day, out of the blue, he told me I was smart, and that my brain just worked too fast for anyone else to keep up.

In all of my 15 years, nobody had ever called me smart. 

With that one little comment, I started passing classes. I ended up graduating not only high school, but college, too. My stutter slowed, and now, years later, I still truly believe that I'm smart.  

That one math teacher that took time out of his overworked days to tell the dumb kid she was smart. That's what stuck with me.