Families Aren't All Perfect

On June 26, 1989, I prematurely made my way into the world. I wasn’t due for another 2 months. My family quickly helped my parents move into the tiny house they had just bought. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, but it would do. It needed a lot of work done, but it was what they could afford at the time. Besides, my dad was really handy when it came to repairs. For the next 3 years, my mom and dad figured out their new life with a child. On January 10, 1993, my sister Rachael was born. She was a little red-head with shirley temple curls. I now had a partner in crime as she got older. Someone I could play with...and fight with. Once she outgrew the crib, we got bunk beds for our room. And then on July 14, 1996, we had yet another adjustment to make. My sister Amanda was born. And then there were 5...and a dog...all in our tiny house. A crib and bunk beds all in the same room. On the outside, everyone thought we were doing so well. Little did they know, our family was far from ok.

Postpartum Depression

My mom went through severe postpartum depression after she had my youngest sister, Amanda. She couldn’t even pull herself out of bed to take care of her. There I was at 7 years old, needing to take over the “mom” role. During the week, I would make sure Rachael was up and ready for preschool, and would make sure she had breakfast. Then I would get Amanda, who was just a baby, up and changed. I’d get her dressed, make and feed her a bottle, and lay her in the bassinet. I’d wake my mom up and then walk up to the bus stop to go to school. As we got older, it didn’t change. I became a mother figure for both of my sisters.I would do their hair before school. I learned how to cook simple meals. I grew up a lot faster than any child should have to.

Anger At It's Finest

My dad became extremely stressed with my mom. We started seeing the change in him as well. He no longer wanted to play with us or talk to us when he came home from work. He just wanted to eat dinner, and relax in front of the tv. He was suddenly filled with anger all the time. It would get to a point where his face would turn red and the veins in his neck would bulge.I can still picture it. Almost every night would turn into an argument between him and my mom, over anything and everything. And by argument I mean screaming match. One would try to yell louder than the other, calling eachother names, with each one being more derogatory than the last. My mom would push my dad. My dad would find something to throw against the wall. I remember seeing tv remotes break into pieces as they hit the wall. We went through quite a bit of those. And I’ll never forget the day he picked up the kitchen chair. I just sat wide-eyed, watching the leg snap as it slammed against the basement door. Whenever my parents would start fighting, I took responsibility over my sisters. After all, I was the oldest...wasn’t that my job? I would grab them both and hurry into our bedroom. The 3 of us would huddle together on the bottom bunk. I’d typically pull the blankets over us to try to drown out the yelling, and then put an arm over each one of my sisters, pulling them close as I tried to fight back tears. Somehow that brought us comfort during that moment of chaos. Some nights we would fall asleep like that. Later my parents would come in and apologize for “scaring us”. But I was old enough where I didn’t even care anymore because I knew the next night would be exactly the same. They were just empty words to me.

Financial Hardship

As I got older, I understood the reason for my dad’s stress better. My mom had mental health issues. On top of it, we started struggling financially. There was a point in time where we almost lost our home. We were almost at the poverty level in our state. Our clothes were all hand me downs. It was rare for us to go shopping and get new things. For a short while, when things were really bad, my mom would search for clothing people were getting rid of. She would drive through different streets in the evening, looking for the houses that had the most bags set out for garbage. We barely had enough money for bills and groceries. I remember being in junior high, and family friends would drop off boxes of food and canned goods. We lived on spam, hot dogs, chicken nuggets and spaghettios (probably why I despise them all now). When I was in 5th grade, I reached the point where I really understood how money worked. I had been in ballet for years, and excelled in it. But there came a time where my parents gave me a decision to make: you can either stay in ballet and keep going to your friend’s house to use the computer for schoolwork, or you can quit ballet so we can buy our own. I understood that now that the internet was a thing, we desperately needed a computer for school work. I decided to quit ballet so that we would have money to purchase one. Then when I was 14, I got working papers and started my first job as a busgirl in a busy restaurant that my cousin owned. Every week I would get a paycheck. Sometimes I would deposit it into my bank account, but many times I would give it to my parents to put towards food and bills.

Death Within the Family

In 2005 my maternal grandmother, whom we all called Nanny, passed away after a long, hard fight with breast cancer. It was a very traumatic experience for all of us. We were all extremely close to her. I was in vo-tech training to become a CNA, so my mom and I were her caregivers alongside hospice, right up until she passed. She lived with us for a short while, and then we moved her in with one of my aunts, who had more space. Both my mom and I were with her when she died. I still miss her terribly. But after she passed, things went berserk in my family. Nanny was the glue that held the family together...and now she was gone. My mom and her siblings were fighting over money and belongings. Eventually they stopped speaking to each other completely. Me and my sisters never got to see my cousins again, until we had our own cars. On top of it, my mom took her mother’s death especially hard. Within just a few years, she changed completely. My mom stopped cooking and cleaning. She started online gambling and getting involved with the wrong people in chat rooms. It was as though these complete strangers could somehow fill the empty void she had. Her entire behavior changed. Myself, as well as both of my sisters, began to resent her for it.

Take-Away

Don’t just assume that a family is “doing well” by how they appear on the outside. Sure, me and my sisters were never “bad” kids. We had our moments of course, but we were relatively well behaved. So I can easily see how someone on the outside could think we’re doing well. There’s the 5 of us going to the playground and eating lunch at the picnic table. Or riding the carousel together on the boardwalk. Having a meal out together. We probably did look like a pretty happy and content family. But there’s so much more to it than that. Don’t get me wrong...my sisters and I love our parents deeply. We’ve all developed a really strong relationship with my dad as we’ve gotten older. I can proudly say I’m “daddy’s little girl” out of the 3 of us. Getting older has pushed all of us to try to have a better relationship with our mom. It’s a work in progress because everyone involved needs to want the same thing, and it doesn’t always work that way. I fully believe that the way we grew up shaped who my sisters and I are today. In good ways and in bad. But we’re still a family and we make things work the best we can, even though we’re not perfect.