I have been hesitant to do this write up, so while I’m feeling brave, here is the glimpse….
I’m a survivor. Growing up, I was an only child (to a single parent) with RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder). I was held responsible for everything that anyone has done or didn’t do. I felt her every ache and every upset (physically and mentally). I was also responsible for her because it’s what she wanted and conditioned me to do so. I believe the term for that is “parentified”. In essence, I was the “parent” to her also. Today, I wear the physical marks she rewarded me with.
At age 13, I immigrated to Canada. New language, new place, no friends, and an angry parent were my challenges. I am bright and picked up English fairly quickly, but was the odd kid that did all I could to be invisible, especially in a gym class where bruises can be easily seen. One time I wasn’t so lucky and a teacher reported me to Children’s Aid. Mom played along, but I paid the price for my carelessness. No one followed up because when asked, I assured them that everything was wonderful with a big smile on my face.
When I was 16, I was kicked out of home and lived on the streets, but not for long (2-3 months). Out of desperation and circumstances I drew the line; take my own life or take charge of my own life. As a last resort, I asked for help from the least likely source and got it. With that, I was able to stand on my own two feet, even though they were a bit wobbly.
Although I was out of her home, the abuse didn’t stop. In fact, the emotional and mental part of it escalated, became more vicious, especially when I got my own place (size of a closet but all my own). But it subsided after about a year or so. A year after that, I went back home, thinking we were getting along well, and went to college. But soon enough the abuse came back, albeit less frequently. Either that or I was really good at managing the stress.
At age of 23, I fought back and shortly after left home. As expected, the emotional and mental abuse followed, more severe then before.
It took me many years (in my mid 30’s), and much pleading from my family doctor, to see someone and then learn what has happened and how it was affecting me. I don’t remember my childhood. Aside from some incidents, many years are a complete blank. Through therapy, I learned and admitted the abuse (because up to that point it never occurred to me that that’s what has happened…I thought it was normal and happened to everyone), the RAD, the depression, and managed to recall some things, instantly wishing I didn’t. It was a rough trip, with other issues on board for the ride but I came out the other side stronger, healthier, and traded surviving for living and learning.
I did a lot of work on myself in the last few years with tons of research, reading, and studying. I’ve also been able to sever ties with my tormentor who insisted that I got all that I deserved. Looking at my life today, I'd say she's right...I have all that I deserve now. It was the hardest work I’ve ever done and I’m still work in progress. But through it all I found a passion for psychology, desire to learn more (my friend calls me a psych-junkie because of books I read LOL), and a deep desire to help others.
I’m a survivor. Growing up, I was an only child (to a single parent) with RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder). I was held responsible for everything that anyone has done or didn’t do. I felt her every ache and every upset (physically and mentally). I was also responsible for her because it’s what she wanted and conditioned me to do so. I believe the term for that is “parentified”. In essence, I was the “parent” to her also. Today, I wear the physical marks she rewarded me with.
At age 13, I immigrated to Canada. New language, new place, no friends, and an angry parent were my challenges. I am bright and picked up English fairly quickly, but was the odd kid that did all I could to be invisible, especially in a gym class where bruises can be easily seen. One time I wasn’t so lucky and a teacher reported me to Children’s Aid. Mom played along, but I paid the price for my carelessness. No one followed up because when asked, I assured them that everything was wonderful with a big smile on my face.
When I was 16, I was kicked out of home and lived on the streets, but not for long (2-3 months). Out of desperation and circumstances I drew the line; take my own life or take charge of my own life. As a last resort, I asked for help from the least likely source and got it. With that, I was able to stand on my own two feet, even though they were a bit wobbly.
Although I was out of her home, the abuse didn’t stop. In fact, the emotional and mental part of it escalated, became more vicious, especially when I got my own place (size of a closet but all my own). But it subsided after about a year or so. A year after that, I went back home, thinking we were getting along well, and went to college. But soon enough the abuse came back, albeit less frequently. Either that or I was really good at managing the stress.
At age of 23, I fought back and shortly after left home. As expected, the emotional and mental abuse followed, more severe then before. It took me many years (in my mid 30’s), and much pleading from my family doctor, to see someone and then learn what has happened and how it was affecting me. I don’t remember my childhood. Aside from some incidents, many years are a complete blank. Through therapy, I learned and admitted the abuse (because up to that point it never occurred to me that that’s what has happened…I thought it was normal and happened to everyone), the RAD, the depression, and managed to recall some things, instantly wishing I didn’t. It was a rough trip, with other issues on board for the ride but I came out the other side stronger, healthier, and traded surviving for living and learning.
I did a lot of work on myself in the last few years with tons of research, reading, and studying. I’ve also been able to sever ties with my tormentor who insisted that I got all that I deserved. Looking at my life today, I'd say she's right...I have all that I deserve now. It was the hardest work I’ve ever done and I’m still work in progress. But through it all I found a passion for psychology, desire to learn more (my friend calls me a psych-junkie because of books I read LOL), and a deep desire to help others.
