immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
Captivating Expectations
I was captivated by winning my parents approval; ensuring I had their undivided attention. They would have a crowd over; I would fake throwing up to ensure everyone knew I was their center of attention. The word Hate does not adequately describe how I trained my sister to think of me; from ensuring that 90% of my punishment was framed on her. I so desperately wanted to know that I was enough in my parents’ eyes. I set such high expectations of myself because I inadvertently created expectations that I was sure my parents had of me; but never voiced.
By Elizabeth Cripe5 years ago in Families
Preventative Steps to Take That Will Keep Your Family Safe
The image source is Pexels. Keeping your family safe can seem like an overwhelming challenge these days with so many things to worry about, but it’s something every parent has to consider. Whether you’re raising kids in the city or in the country, the right protective measures will help keep your family safe no matter where you live or what kind of lifestyle you lead. From installing security systems to teaching your kids about stranger danger, being proactive will help you keep your loved ones safe.
By Rayanne Morriss5 years ago in Families
Through Fresh Eyes
The moment when a parent becomes unmistakably fallible marks the end of childhood. For the girl I taught with scars on her face it ended quite young. She would break into the school gym for a safe place to sleep. She was tired, always tired. Always worried about getting poked by the used needles. A two-liter bottle held most of them. But she found strays. The strays kept her up at night. I would guess her childhood ended about the time she got those scars.
By Jay Robbins5 years ago in Families
My Mother and The Monster
My mother has traumatized me so much its very hard for me to find my self worth and to form meaningful healthy relationships. From a very young age I knew my mother was two people, whom I term " The Mother" and : "The Monster." From a very young age I knew my mom was a highly anxious person that was quick to anger. I remember as young as 6 years old I would rather sleep in my wet bed then admit to mom that I had a normal childhood accident. I feared her reaction. She would yell endlessly, and belittle me. Strangely as a mother to young children she was very loving and protective. But as soon as she divorced my biological father, she was determined to keep us to herself. She engaged in parental alienation syndrome. This is when one parent convinces the children that the other parent is essentially bad and does everything in their power to harm the relationship with the other parent or keeps the children away from them completely. My mom said from a young age that woman should never depend on a man and that they were inferior to woman. She told us our dad was an alcoholic loser who had the inability to care for us. We were told not to say things around him about what was going on at home. My mom was very abusive and several times he tried to conceive us to live with him, but mom would cry and say she was sorry and say she was the only one that had the ability to care for us. When I tell you of the abuse that has occurred, it may be a trigger warning for some. It really is that bad. Please know I am now safe and as happy as one can be given the circumstances. The important thing is I survived. I often would pray to God " why is this happening to me I can't take anymore." I would hear a silent voice say " so you can tell others your story."
By Julia Stellings5 years ago in Families
On Figuring
My dog keeps looking at me like I have all the answers, like I am about to do something incredible, and she’s going to be there for it. I’m eating apple slices. There’s no caramel, no peanut butter. I don’t even think I have salt. It’s just an apple, dog. Go lay down.
By Christopher Field5 years ago in Families
Excommunication of the Self...
Originally written by Olivia Petrus. Oct. 7th, 2007. I stared out the car window at the green open fields enveloped in the early Sunday morning light. The car moved slowly up and down the hilly road that led us past the Illinois countryside. I noticed the birds soaring freely in the blue skies and watched the cows graze, while the horses galloped in and out of the stereotypical barns littered across that Middle-of-Nowhere Town.
By Unlisted&Twisted!5 years ago in Families
I Got It from My Mama
“I do believe in love at first sight because I’ve loved my mother since the day, I opened my eyes.” Florence Etta June was born in 1916. She was the second eldest child born to a sharecropper farmer and a housewife in South Carolina. There were eight other siblings, and granddaddy made sure they all finished high school. She once said that she loved finding a secret place to read and memorize poetry with so many children in the home. Another time, she told us, her family was so poor that they didn’t know there was a depression for the first two years because they always had smoked meat, fresh eggs, and vegetables from the garden.
By Carolyn June-Jackson5 years ago in Families
Christmas morning
I am around eight years old; it's Christmas morning. I woke up to my little brother, six, jumping up and down on my bed yelling "it's Christmas wake up! Santa was here!". I look out my window; of course, it's still dark out. I comply, crawling out of bed. Hell, I'm eight. Why do I care that he woke me up early? Who does care? Mom and Dad. My brother races down the hallway to wake up my parents and baby sister, only a couple of years old. As expected, the parents kick us out of their room until the sun rises. We three kids sneak downstairs to see what Santa Claus has brought us. We approach the sunroom, a wicker-filled, window-walled paradise that is only ever used for the Christmas tree. The room is roughly 3 by 4 metres with a door at either end. It is filled to the brim with gifts. We can't believe our eyes. The room sparkled from the lights on the tree, emphasized by the shiny, sparkly wrapping on the boxes. My brother, the investigator, starts counting. He reaches into the pile to see who's presents are more abundant in quantity and size: A true detective at work. He says, "I can't even walk through to the tree!" The room is full. Unable to fully evaluate his Christmas, he grabs his stocking, overflowing with sugar-filled treats and tooth-care products (oh, the irony) and sits on the couch in the next room. His little legs bounce up and down, trying so hard to wait patiently for Mom and Dad. A few hours pass, baby sister is asleep on my little lap. We hear coffee grinding and fridge opening. Mom is making coffee. We don't exist until Mom's made her coffee. Dad is in his study, digging around for his camcorder. He sets up the camera on a tripod to capture the joy on his children's faces as they open their gifts because he knows he's too tired to enjoy it in the moment. Mom sits down, handing a '#1 Dad' mug to Dad. She sinks into the couch, crosses her legs, and gives a hand wave signalling to the kids 'go ahead'. I bounce up, grab more stockings, hand one to baby sister and get to work. I grab the sock by the toes and dump the goodies onto the carpet. I rip a toothbrush out of its wrapping and toss the garbage to the side. Next, a tube of toothpaste. An oversized lollipop, a container of floss, a bag of jellybeans. Wrapping paper already fills the room. Dad makes a sound of frustration and stands up. I notice, but brother and baby sister are too in the zone. Dad comes back with a garbage bag. “Put the garbage in here please”. We unwrap everything in the stockings and place all our new things back into the socks for easier transportation. Brother trots back towards the sunroom and looks for the largest gift with his name on it that he can find. Dragging it back to his seat, he tears open the wrapping. “Who’s it from?” Mom asks. Brother pauses because he didn’t check before opening. “That one’s from your aunt”. Brother nods and refocuses on the task at hand. Wrapping paper onto the floor, Dad makes a noise, wrapping paper into the garbage bag. I grab a present, baby sister gets help from Mom. There is no method to this madness. The room is chaos. Within twenty minutes, the sunroom is empty, and two garbage bags are full of shredded wrapping paper. Brother sits in glory as he stares at his pile of new toys that overtakes the couch and some of the floor. One by one, we each start carrying our toys up to our rooms. Handfuls and handfuls later, brother’s door closes. Mom starts making breakfast. Dad’s study door closes. Baby sister is on her bedroom floor, unable to fathom all her new things. I sit on my bed for a moment, listening to the new silence that is Christmas day. I turn around and observe my mountain of new things. I pick up a snow globe and think 'I don't remember opening this one'. I turn it on, it plays a classic piano tune. I go to the edge of my room and I close the door.
By Cameron Palmer5 years ago in Families
