Realwomen.co.nz

At about the age of three or four I had a revelation.....now I know you say what kind of revelation could a child that young possibly have that is that life changing? Well I realized that I didnt have an imagination like my other friends did. No daydreams of being a ballerina, no pretending my dolls were having tea parties, heck I didn't even play with dolls. My world was about keeping things in order and ensuring that I did not step out of line enough to cause "problems".

Mom was rail thin and beautiful, not in a traditional way but a very exotic ethnic way. Her combination of Spanish, Basque and Navajo gave her a look that could mesmerize and hypnotize. Her jet black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and curvacious body were a combination of everything feminine and good. I knew I would never achieve her level of feminity or perfection even if I tried my whole life to get there.......even at four years old I knew this.

She was hard to please and even when content did not outwardly show it.

My mother had migraines. I learned that come Friday evening as soon as she would come home I was to be non-existent. She would lock herself in her room all weekend while Dad and I tried to tip toe around and lead a "normal" life.

Of course there were the occasional weekends where she did feel good enough to be up and about but those days were even worse because that meant a marathon cleaning of every square inch of our house. Up at 5 or 6 am and going until 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

I can only call this period in my life manic. My mother was a force to contend with and my father was my only shelter from that force. She demanded perfection in everything. If I did not achieve that perfection my punishments were severe. I was verbally assaulted, physically punished and in general was made to pay for my mistake whether imagined or real. Dad tried to interfere during the really bad episodes, but that only directed her wrath at him and made me feel even worse because he was being punished for whatever I had done. That was my life until age six when my sister was born.

When my sister was only months old the migraines had gotten so bad that my mother locked herself in her room every weekend. It finally got to the point where my father demanded that she go to her doctor and find out what was going on. She went and was diagnosed with severe hyperthyroidism. This, they said, was the explaination for the mood swings, manic behavior, and her physical appearence (being so thin).

Back in those days there was little they could do except radiation or surgery, my mother opted for the surgery.

They removed 99% of the tumor and we believed things would get better.

They did not.

She remaind cruel, thin and beautiful.

I seemed to bring out the worst in my mother no matter what I did or didnt do.
The beatings continued as well as the physical abuse. My younger sister seemed immune to her wrath and therefore led a very pleasent childhood.

My grandmother (dad's mom) had suffered a stroke and was now living two hours from our home. We would drive every weekend to visit her and my aunt with whom she lived. These trips were sheer hell. My mother's favorite phrase for anything I did was "Everything you do turns to shit." Every trip resulted in me doing or not doing something that would anger my mother right before we left and for the entire two hour drive I was berated and told how worthless I was.

By the time middle school came around I had started to get that plumpness many girls get around that age. We had gone school shopping for my eigth grade school clothes and my mother's comment upon arriving at the mall was, "Look for black, black is slimming and girls your size should always wear black."

This was the begginning of my life long obsession with my weight and looks.

From this day forward I knew that my value would always be determined by my physical appearance. It didnt matter that I was smart or funny or kind or compassionate just that I was fat.
I was 13, 5 feet tall, 120 lbs and wore a juniors size 9. Compared to my mother's 5ft 104 size 4 frame I was a cow and she never missed the opportunity to tell me so.

Every morsel that went into my mouth in her presence was met with a sarcastic laugh, snide remark or puffed out cheeks reminding me that I was her personal faliure.

High school was pure hell. I grew up in the era of the polo shirt and 501 jean where the tag promently displayed your waist and length size. Therefore when all of my 95 lb. friend were wearing 28 w 32 L tags i was wearing 31 w 34 L tags. There was of course the "group" that terrroized me daily with comments like "ooo do you smell pork" " you can hear her thighs rubbing together from here" and "here piggy piggy". I was 5'3" 130 lbs. and I was the FAT girl.

Boys wouldnt date me because we were buddies and I was wearing mostly black by this time, because of its "slimming" effects.

I married at 19 to get away, and get away I did. My mother's comment about my marriage, was "You better hang on to this one because you will never get this kind of offer again."

He was a military man and we got stationed on the west coast. Shortly after we arrived the beatings began along with the verbal insults. I had traded one abuser for another. I gained over 40 pounds mostly because it was an attempt to keep myself safe from the beatings. He was a big man and the bigger I was the better I could take the abuse. The MP's were called countless times only to advise me that the Corps "took care of its own". There were nights I slept in my car, and once I ran away back home only to be told by my mother that I could not stay because they had no room for me. She called my then husband and had him fly home for me.

We stayed married for 8 1/2 years. I knew I had to get out or one of us would die. I joined the Army, convincing him to sign the spousal waiver. I lost weight to conform to military standards and for the first time in my life looked "normal". I was 5'4", 120 lbs, but according to my mother I just looked "sick". Shortly before I left to boot camp he broke my wrist saying "Let's see how you do push ups now."

I divorced him when I got to my first duty station, he and his "girlfriend" had had a baby about three months before, but in my mother's eyes that wasn't happening. He remaind in our home town, began living at my parents house and I was required to pay alimony for a year. He and his new girlfriend became "family" to my parents and they referred to him as their son.

My mother did not talk to me for almost a year because i had 1. gotten divorced and 2. left a good man.

I met someone in the Army and got married, my mother's comment to this was "God is giving you a second chance, don't screw this one up too." Within a few months I got pregnant. She never asked me about my pregnancy until about my 7th month.

We lived oversees and she and my dad and sister flew out to see my new baby.
This seemed to appease my mother for a while. I was almost 30 and in her mind had finally done something worthwhile.

Life proceeded, my time was up, we moved back to the states, settling in my home town (my husband's choice not mine), I went back to college, got my degree, graduated with honors and a 4.0 from college. Got my husband through school with his degree as well.

I began working in my career of choice, while my husband went through part-time go-no-where jobs. Things were hard financially and our marriage was not a simbiotic relationship. I wanted another child my first was 5 already. We had our second child, bought a house (with my parents help) because my mother felt raising children in an apartment wasn't an appropriate home.

It was at this point in time that i realized that i was raising 3 kids instead of two. My husband would come home from his part-time job, sit on the recliner, grab the remote and would not move until it was time for bed. I would come home from a full day at work, and would continue working at home until late. During these years my weight fluctuated from 145 to 185 lbs. I couldn't seem to reach a happy middle ground but continued to faithfully wear black. My family had never really liked my new husband and became more verbal as the years progressed about what a loser he was.

Needless to say I had traded in one abuser for yet another. This one was a psychologically and emotionally abusive one, and therefore I did not really notice it was happening until i was knee deep in it. I went into a deep suicidal depression for about three years.

When my baby was 3 I sat my husband down and told him things needed to change. He agreed and promised to try. The promise was short lived. I gave him another year and then filed for divorce. This made me a two time loser in my mother's eyes. She called me over to her house one afternoon, dead bolt locked all the doors and she and my sister yelled at me for two hours about being a loser and a whore, because I was "ruining my children's lives".

Its been years since then, and I continued to struggle with my weight and body image issues. I am told by many that my weight has dropped significantly but I dont see it. My mother continues to belittle me on a mostly daily basis continually telling me what a worthless parent I am and that I am still a worthless "piece of shit".

I met someone a while back and he is a pretty good guy (needless to say my family doesnt like him either) but because of my own issues I continually resist getting really involved with this man. He tells me kind things but deep inside I know they are not true and therefore I keep the relationship at arms length.......and continue to wear black everyday.

Comments (9)