Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Learning to Walk
Developing the ability to walk and talk were two of the biggest milestones of my life. As I mentioned in a recent blog I recall practicing vocal sounds almost from the moment I left the womb. Yet the trickiest part was developing the cognitive ability to group vocal sounds together to form words.
Rebecca SharrockPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesMy Raging Father
I grew up with an abusive father. You could tell time by his rage, coming home and yelling at us the moment the door opened. I was the baby, and the daughter, so was mostly left alone. He saved his anger, his fists and berating language for my mother and brother. You see, my father was raised by a mother who hated boys, and she had only one. So, he was abused and treated like nothing. He, in turn, did the same to his first wife and son, and then to my mother and brother. I can remember waking up to my father dragging my mom up the stairs by her hair, and then beating her in front of my bedroom door while I screamed at him to stop. The voice of a five year old screaming is mostly filled with gulps of fear and sobbing, so it was easy to ignore, I suppose. I ran out that night and grabbed him, pulling on his shirt with my small hands and yelling at him to stop, which he did - long enough to kick me with his size 12 cowboy boots on. The kick sent me flying back into my room, and he lost his grip on my mother long enough for her to run to me, to cradle me, and everything went quiet for a moment. All I cold hear from my father's breathing, and my mother's heartbeat. When he walked into my room, I ran to him to try and block him from attacking her again and he did stop, but not from my force. Who knows why. He turned an stormed out and I told my mother, "any time he is mad I am going to run and hug him and it will stop him from getting you." She hugged me and I flinched. We peeled back the elastic waistband of my pajama pants to find a perfect heel mark on my hip, now missing skin, from where he kicked me. That was the only time my father hit me, but I remember it like it was yesterday... when he kicked me I lifted into the air and flew backwards, like some slow motion scene from a movie. I felt the air leave my body, and the moment I hit the ground I was gasping for it, trying to will it back into my body like some fleeing soul. Before I could breathe again, my mother was there, gently coaxing it back in for me, with her arms and her tears and her love. She is the air I breathe. She is my savior and the hero of my, my brother, and her own life. My memories of my father, now dead 12 years, are filled with pain and hurt and lies. Of being left in cars while he went into pubs to drink with strange women, of me going into the bar and dragging him out, t drive me back home, stonking of beer and cigarettes and cheap perfume. Of hiding under my bed when he would rage at me for wanting the light on in the hallway so I would be safe from the other monsters, even though he was he scariest of them all. Of being his alibi, when he would take me out of school to "spend the day with me", only to lock me in the car so he could go up to some woman's apartment in the city to cheat on my mom. I remember all those moments with crystal clarity.. the rain falling on the roof of the car while I scrunched down on the floorboard to make myself small so no one would try to steal me. Fearing every footstep outside, and of anyone noticing me in there all alone. It was the 70's so it was okay to leave a small child in the car for hours, apparently. And that moment when he returned, barking at me to get in the seat and off the floor. My ex-husband, so like my father in every way, once asked me about a good memory of my Dad and I could not find one. Every okay moment was tainted with his rage, or lies, or abuse. The only good memories of childhood are swirled in the comfort and love of my mother. Her warmth, her lover, and the smell of Jovan Musk, the only perfume she has even worn. She is why I am able to love and have trust. My life with my father lasted nine years, before we escaped, and ran from him. Before we were safe and I suddenly knew what life was like in a house with no noise, no screaming, no tears, no abuse. But, nine years is a long time, when it's all you know. It makes a dent in your soul that you can never buff out. So, I am going to talk about it, write about it, and tell the tale of my mother and me, and how we both survived these men, and how I am still now fighting mine, seven years after leaving him. ...to be continued...
Michelle CraigPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesThe 96 Hours that Changed My Life
The Day Before I nearly didn't go. I had a headache and really just wanted to lie down in a dark room. We bumped into Auntie Alison on the way in as she was just leaving. She had driven up from somewhere further down south, Manchester or Nottingham I think. She asked me and Danielle if now was a good time to be going on holiday, as we both had things booked for the upcoming week. We brushed it off as no big deal, from what we knew Mum was recovering and would be home soon.
Chloe McClementsPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesBeyond Five - The Realisation That She's Not A Baby Anymore
Becoming a parent is a weird and wonderful thing that is largely lived through 'stages' and 'phases'. As a new parent, you dread things like the 'teething stage', the 'terrible twos' and the 'threenager'. But nobody really talks about the stage that seems to kick in as your child heads beyond the age of five.
Stephanie WalkerPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesDoes the Government Help with Child Maintenance?
In 2016, there were 2.9 million single parent families in the UK, according to the Office of National Statistics. In 86% of these, the single parent was the mother. According to Gingerbread, only 52% of these mothers receive any money at all from the fathers of their children. In many cases, the amount of money these fathers pay is extremely low, an average of £35 a week.
Clare ScanlanPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesMemory Lane
Jenna had walked down this road many times, yet she had never noticed it before. The tiny alleyway, its entrance covered with hanging ivy. Fiddling with a strand of hair that had fallen over her face, as she had done for many years, she felt an urge to lift the ivy and go in. It was a strong pull and she didn't resist. She pulled back the ivy and gasped. It was a little country lane, peaceful and serene, with many different doors scattered down the length of the seemingly endless lane. The ivy across the entrance was now blocking out all the noise from the street; all she could hear were birds tweeting their many different songs, bees buzzing around in the sun, and what sounded like the trickle of water. It reminded her of the creek she used to play in when she was a child.
Michelle ShaftoePublished 7 years ago in FamiliesTheir First Screen-Free Day
I have been a nanny to three children for the past two years, I have watched these children grow, mature, and become addicted to technology, specifically, anything with a screen. Movies? They feel entitled to a constant stream of movies, no matter the time, nor their behavior. Phones? They see you with a phone in your hand and suddenly they want—no NEED—2,000 hugs and kisses as they peer at your screen and attempt to read over your shoulder (despite being 5, 3 and 2). The oldest demands Snapchat filters and pictures of herself as soon as she realizes that I am taking a photograph. As soon as their movie turns off, they are literally screaming at me to put another one on. It’s maddening!
Eadlyen GreenwoodPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesCaspian and the Loss of His Mother
With each passing day, I realise more how much I hate the press and the media. But I've never hated it quite so much as when I was younger and it annoys me to the point that I need to lash out with my thoughts. When I was kid, way before I met Caspian, I had felt sorry and upset for him and his brother; I would pray for him and his brother to be looked after in the trying years that faced them and for the years to come. They have turned out to be two handsome men, living life to the fullest, counting their blessings every day and knowing that their mother is watching over them making her proud.
Lizzy ArrowPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesMemories
You're going to remember car rides. Lots and lots of car rides; maybe at first you'll remember sun seeping through trees and blinking as we pass other cars, other buildings. Eventually, you'll remember dark, with a toasty car while music quietly plays as tiny snowflakes melt against the glass. Maybe you'll remember stopping for cool drinks, and then hot chocolates, on our way home. You'll remember the shades of autumn against the windows, the way the air smells before the first snow, whipping in the window. You'll remember words to my favourite songs, and I'll remember the ones to yours.
Amanda FishPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesNarcissistic Siblings and the Pain You Feel from Them
Growing up in a dysfunctional household puts you at a risk for not having a very close relationship with siblings. It is shown that many siblings that come from abusive and dysfunctional homes do not have good relationships as adults and continue the abuse they were subjected to as kids through adulthood. Sisters and brothers are often made to compete for love and attention in a dysfunctional house as well as many are turned against each other by the narcissistic or abusive parent. Some of these children actually take on the role of the abuser in their adult life. These siblings are not in any way what a bond between siblings should be. They do not want the best for you and will do such horrendous things to damage you, they can and will try to destroy every asset of your life.
Ash astridPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesFamily of Blankets
I was on Facebook a year ago and I came across this post from a lady that was starting a GoFundMe page and the post was saying that this family had lost their home from a fire. Well I clicked on the lady's profile and she had a video of her going through her home explaining each room. I wasn't into the video but for 10 seconds and I was in tears. What tugged at my heart was this family picture at the end of the hall. It was kind of scary. It was like the fire didn't touch that part of the house. The family was starting completely over from the ground up. I heard that they were living in a motel, and then they stayed with friends.
Crystal GreerPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesHow To Plan a Baby Shower
It can be time-consuming being tasked with planning a baby shower. But with these suggestions on how to plan a baby shower, you will be sure to have more free time on your hands and host a great party. A baby shower is a special time for an expectant mother because they get to bask in the glory of knowing that they will soon be a parent.
Jessica HerringPublished 7 years ago in Families