Hi all. Today is my birthday! 
Now as I may have mentioned in previous posts, I didnt exactly have a stellar upbringing. My mother suffers from undiagnosed mental illness (the ruin that got me into Scientology). That meant my childhood was a rather stressed, violent, miserable time.
Now before I tell this story I want to make it clear that Im not looking for sympathy or a shoulder to cry on - Im hoping to get some advice. ok?
Birthdays were never a big deal. But they bring back memories.... I can only remember one where there was a party - my thirteenth. It was cancelled because we found out I had Chicken Pox on the day. I was quite used to things being cancelled at the last minute, that was common with Mum's paranoia. If a white car went past, we couldnt go out - the government were watching us. If we got a cough, we werent allowed to stay over at friends because they would report her to the government, that sort of thing. We got used to it.
Mum was very careful to make sure that we never had visible bruises. She would just slap until your nose bled instead. She was clever in that way. Getting sick was a personal insult to her, and she punished you for it. I only found out in my 20s that it didnt cost anything to go to a doctor - she would scream at me for hours that I was making her broke if I needed to go to a doctor. When I was 14 I got injured playing sport - badly. She was so mad, she (amongst other things) dumped me on the school grounds in the morning. I couldnt walk, I was in so much pain I could barely talk. Someone found me and got the school to organise for me to go to a doctor. I tried hard not to get hysterical when they said they called my mother to take me to the city for xrays, because it looked like I had dislocated my ankle. Noone realised my distress was because I knew Id be beaten and screamed at for the next few weeks non-stop, because Mum would consider Id embarressed and inconvenienced herr and cost her fuel money. I wasnt allowed to do the physio I needed (which I found out later was free), and my ankle is still damaged today.
OK, the main memory that popped into my head this morning, that kinda brought up everything, was my Year 12 Ball (Formal, for you Yankees). Our school was small, and we were a very close bunch of students. Our teachers had gone to a lot of effort and unknown to us, contacted our various primary schools and asked them to put together a folder for each student containing copies of all our school reports from pre-primary up to age 12, plus comments and notes from old teachers, photos, any little nostalgic things that would remind us of our time at school and cause lots of "aaawww!s" at the dinner.
Whoever had done mine, had decided it would be a good idea to stuff my folder with a copy of every single nasty, psychotic note, letter and phone call my mother had ever sent or given to the school. There were 12 years worth of them - everything from accusing staff of spying, assault (physical, verbal, sexual even), bad teaching, incompetence, making us kids sick, all of it very illogical, to ringing and verbally abusing admin staff.
I remember sitting there, in the only nice dress Id ever liked, having a wonderful time with my friends. I opened the folder and flicked through the reports (I always got great grades). I noticed at the back of the reports are a stack of photcopied pages over a few centimeters thick, and as soon as I saw my mothers handwriting, my stomach dropped. Oh no. I read the first sentance of the first one. Oh god no.... Flicked through... they are all the same, all angry letters and phone memos with "that crazy woman called again"... I snapped the folder shut and stared at the cover, not sure whether to throw up, or cry. How I managed to do neither and keep it out of everyone elses hands for the rest of the evening was a miracle. I knew those letters, Id been forced to deliver them, often crying with silent "Im sorry", to teachers, bus drivers and headmasters all through my school years.
I wondered if the lady who put this folder of hate together laughed when she was reading through it. Did she think it was funny? Did she call her workmates in to read it with her and have a giggle? Did it not occur to her that someone who was willing to put such verbal and written abuse on strangers would be happy doing worse to their kids?? Maybe she had worked at the school during those years and was angry and thought this was a way to get back at Mum somehow. I dont know. I dont understand.
Anyway. It ruined my night. Later, when I felt up to it, I read through the folder, all of it, then I burned it. From the reports it seems in first 2 years of school I was only there 1/3 of the time. I can only imagine why - watching my mother with littlies (neices and nephews), she is a hell of a lot more violent with them than with older kids - and that isnt even with her OWN kids. Imagine away.
So - now that you have a bit of background my query for advice is with this:
LRH says that you become what you resist.
But when it comes to parenting, you will automatically do what Mum did - that bit of data comes from a video of a lady who runs a Scientology school in the US, cant remember her name but she has black hair with a shock of white through it. She was LRHs kids nanny or something?? She said in this interview that unless you get educated on how to do things differently, you will just do what Mum did automatically. I kinda agree with this.
What I do have a problem with is the idea that you become what you resist. Ive never actually seen an example of this. Ive tried hard to NOT be similar to my mother and Ive been quite successful so far. My sister on the other hand, hasnt given a rats, and has turned out exactly like her. I would fight tooth and nail to NOT be like my mother, to the point where I would prefer to be dead than like her.
So - if and when I have kids, I do have the fear in the back of my mind that when I am tired, stressed, and they are misbehaving, that I will just "do what Mum did". It is a known fact that those who have been abused will often grow up to abuse their kids. Does simply being aware of this and being a well educated, well rounded, mentally stable, happy, otherwise normal person ENOUGH to ensure that this will not happen? I dont have her mental illness, but Im still afraid that growing up around it will have trained me to use the same behaviour.
Can anyone else give me thier insights on not becoming like their parents? Particularly when it comes to treatment of your kids?
Now as I may have mentioned in previous posts, I didnt exactly have a stellar upbringing. My mother suffers from undiagnosed mental illness (the ruin that got me into Scientology). That meant my childhood was a rather stressed, violent, miserable time.Now before I tell this story I want to make it clear that Im not looking for sympathy or a shoulder to cry on - Im hoping to get some advice. ok?
Birthdays were never a big deal. But they bring back memories.... I can only remember one where there was a party - my thirteenth. It was cancelled because we found out I had Chicken Pox on the day. I was quite used to things being cancelled at the last minute, that was common with Mum's paranoia. If a white car went past, we couldnt go out - the government were watching us. If we got a cough, we werent allowed to stay over at friends because they would report her to the government, that sort of thing. We got used to it.
Mum was very careful to make sure that we never had visible bruises. She would just slap until your nose bled instead. She was clever in that way. Getting sick was a personal insult to her, and she punished you for it. I only found out in my 20s that it didnt cost anything to go to a doctor - she would scream at me for hours that I was making her broke if I needed to go to a doctor. When I was 14 I got injured playing sport - badly. She was so mad, she (amongst other things) dumped me on the school grounds in the morning. I couldnt walk, I was in so much pain I could barely talk. Someone found me and got the school to organise for me to go to a doctor. I tried hard not to get hysterical when they said they called my mother to take me to the city for xrays, because it looked like I had dislocated my ankle. Noone realised my distress was because I knew Id be beaten and screamed at for the next few weeks non-stop, because Mum would consider Id embarressed and inconvenienced herr and cost her fuel money. I wasnt allowed to do the physio I needed (which I found out later was free), and my ankle is still damaged today.
OK, the main memory that popped into my head this morning, that kinda brought up everything, was my Year 12 Ball (Formal, for you Yankees). Our school was small, and we were a very close bunch of students. Our teachers had gone to a lot of effort and unknown to us, contacted our various primary schools and asked them to put together a folder for each student containing copies of all our school reports from pre-primary up to age 12, plus comments and notes from old teachers, photos, any little nostalgic things that would remind us of our time at school and cause lots of "aaawww!s" at the dinner.
Whoever had done mine, had decided it would be a good idea to stuff my folder with a copy of every single nasty, psychotic note, letter and phone call my mother had ever sent or given to the school. There were 12 years worth of them - everything from accusing staff of spying, assault (physical, verbal, sexual even), bad teaching, incompetence, making us kids sick, all of it very illogical, to ringing and verbally abusing admin staff.
I remember sitting there, in the only nice dress Id ever liked, having a wonderful time with my friends. I opened the folder and flicked through the reports (I always got great grades). I noticed at the back of the reports are a stack of photcopied pages over a few centimeters thick, and as soon as I saw my mothers handwriting, my stomach dropped. Oh no. I read the first sentance of the first one. Oh god no.... Flicked through... they are all the same, all angry letters and phone memos with "that crazy woman called again"... I snapped the folder shut and stared at the cover, not sure whether to throw up, or cry. How I managed to do neither and keep it out of everyone elses hands for the rest of the evening was a miracle. I knew those letters, Id been forced to deliver them, often crying with silent "Im sorry", to teachers, bus drivers and headmasters all through my school years.
I wondered if the lady who put this folder of hate together laughed when she was reading through it. Did she think it was funny? Did she call her workmates in to read it with her and have a giggle? Did it not occur to her that someone who was willing to put such verbal and written abuse on strangers would be happy doing worse to their kids?? Maybe she had worked at the school during those years and was angry and thought this was a way to get back at Mum somehow. I dont know. I dont understand.
Anyway. It ruined my night. Later, when I felt up to it, I read through the folder, all of it, then I burned it. From the reports it seems in first 2 years of school I was only there 1/3 of the time. I can only imagine why - watching my mother with littlies (neices and nephews), she is a hell of a lot more violent with them than with older kids - and that isnt even with her OWN kids. Imagine away.
So - now that you have a bit of background my query for advice is with this:
LRH says that you become what you resist.
But when it comes to parenting, you will automatically do what Mum did - that bit of data comes from a video of a lady who runs a Scientology school in the US, cant remember her name but she has black hair with a shock of white through it. She was LRHs kids nanny or something?? She said in this interview that unless you get educated on how to do things differently, you will just do what Mum did automatically. I kinda agree with this.
What I do have a problem with is the idea that you become what you resist. Ive never actually seen an example of this. Ive tried hard to NOT be similar to my mother and Ive been quite successful so far. My sister on the other hand, hasnt given a rats, and has turned out exactly like her. I would fight tooth and nail to NOT be like my mother, to the point where I would prefer to be dead than like her.
So - if and when I have kids, I do have the fear in the back of my mind that when I am tired, stressed, and they are misbehaving, that I will just "do what Mum did". It is a known fact that those who have been abused will often grow up to abuse their kids. Does simply being aware of this and being a well educated, well rounded, mentally stable, happy, otherwise normal person ENOUGH to ensure that this will not happen? I dont have her mental illness, but Im still afraid that growing up around it will have trained me to use the same behaviour.
Can anyone else give me thier insights on not becoming like their parents? Particularly when it comes to treatment of your kids?
Happy birthday, darlin' girl! 
I am having a lovely day!
etc. -
