"When I was 15 and had always suspected, but never wanted to really believe, that my parents favored my younger brother, my dad told me that he was ashamed of me.
He said that he was embarrassed to go back to his hometown because someone there might find out I was his. I was devastated. I had worked so hard to please my parents, for nothing.
I was an above average student, excellent athlete, I was respected by teachers and coaches, stayed out of trouble, etc. By no means should I have been an embarrassment to anyone.
Thinking my father had been drinking, I asked him the next morning if he had meant what he said. He looked me in the eyes and said, 'Yes, I meant it.' At that point, I stopped loving him, I just turned it off, and I also stopped caring about myself for a very long time.
It was truly devastating.
It has stayed with me all my life and I'm now 45."
"I was 18 and in my senior year of high school. I was very sick and had to take serious steroids for 8 months. I had been overweight to obese since around 5-years-old, but the steroid threw me into a tailspin. My top weight on the steroids was 360 pounds, and I looked painfully swollen. I grew facial hair (I'm female) and generally felt terrible all the time.
In an unthinking, vulnerable moment, when I needed validation, I asked my mother if I was beautiful. My mother looked off into the distance and said, 'Lisa, you'll always be pretty but you'll never be beautiful.'
That statement still follows me. It's part of why I can't understand why my husband thinks I'm beautiful and sexually attractive. It follows me when I feel I'm less than attractive women and shut up and try to blend in with the wall in a group. It follows me when I read about an open audition for anything, even amateur theatre and I step away from the idea of doing it, even though I'm a college educated vocalist and musician.
She did more damage with that statement than 8 months of steroids. All she had to do was be a real mother and say, 'You are beautiful, and this sickness won't last forever.' What an amazing cow that woman is."
"I was 17 and when my brother's 33 year-old-best friend wanted to date me, my mom was thrilled her awkward daughter finally had a boyfriend that would make her popular with the other girls (my mom values social standing above all else).
Long story short, he took advantage of me numerous times even though I told him I wasn't ready to be intimate. This frightened me but I didn't know how to leave him, because my mother made it seem like I'd be more popular if I stayed with him and he told me I'd never find any better if I left him.
I finally couldn't take it anymore and broke down and told my mother. I was sitting on the couch and she was sitting in the plush chair next to it. She scooted away from me as if I was diseased or dirty and made a face like she'd smelled something disgusting and asked, 'Does he take you out to the movies?' I was confused, so just answered that yes he did. She then asked if he paid for dinners. I said he did. She asked if he bought me gifts. I said he did.
After making clear that he spent money on me in many different ways, she then asked: 'What's wrong with you? Are you a prude?'
It was said with extreme coldness and disgust. She made it clear that for all he did for me, I owed him and could not understand why I didn't understand my duty, my repayment to him.
This man was a university police officer. He had tried to assault me in his squad car while on duty. He had tried to assault me on a large group camping trip. He had tried to assault me in his apartment. It was pure accident that he got interrupted those times, or he would've completely penetration-assaulted me, I'm sure, instead of the many other things he forced on me.
She sneered at me and asked if my father knew yet. I was sick to my stomach at that point and had pulled away from consciousness, just sort of floating flatly in my seat. I whispered that I hadn't told him yet. She snarled that I should go tell him. I said it was ok, I didn't need to, but she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up, demanding we go tell him. He was outside on the back porch, reading the paper in the fine weather we were having. She said, 'Liz has something she wants to tell you,' then growled at me to tell him. He didn't put the paper down. She forced me, so I told him a very simplified version of what I told my mother. He turned a page in the paper and asked me if I wanted to call the cops on the guy. I swallowed my own soul and whispered no, I didn't need to. I mean, the guy had told me that since he was campus police, he was friends with the city police, so there was no point complaining to them because why would they listen to me over him? I didn't bother telling my parents the guy had said that, I just let that guide my reply to my dad.
I was then told by my mother to go away as I disgusted her and she didn't want anything to do with me right now. The only reason I didn't commit suicide is she made it clear awhile back that if I do it, I'd better completely die because what she would do to me if I survived would be much worse. I didn't tell anyone about this for years.
It's the reason being intimate frightens me in some situations and why it took me 20 years of effort to really become comfortable with it in any capacity. I'm still pretty messed up about it and my relationship with my parents is still quite messed up. I'd love to go after the jerk but I'm pretty sure Statute of Limitations has run out on this and I have no evidence, anyway.
When your mother scolds you for not willingly repaying a man by letting him have you as he pleases, it does things to your soul. Therapy can't repair this kind of fundamental damage."
"My brother and sisters and I were always told we were overreacting, being dramatic, 'drama queens' or melodramatic whenever we tried to express ourselves. When we were sick we were told we were okay, making it up, or other such things. We were sent to school when we were quite sick because they wouldn't believe us.
Because of this, I still never trust when I'm unwell or hurt. I got hit by a car some years ago. There was a point I couldn't even use my arm due to the pain. Still, I kept thinking that I must be making it up for attention. I went through physical therapy, and the physical therapist said I had to have an MRI because there wasn't anymore he could do. Still, I thought nothing was wrong and I was just being a drama queen. When I finally got my MRI results I found out I had dislocated my shoulder and had been living with it from 2006-2011 when I finally got it fixed. My doctor told me it was a huge mess. She even had to shorten my ligaments quite a bit and shave down the bone because I had all but destroyed my shoulder.
My sister died in November from a blood clot. She had been suffering the entire week with pain in her chest. I would not be the least bit surprised to learn that she ignored the pain because she didn't trust herself. I would guess she didn't want to be a 'drama queen,' a 'crybaby,' melodramatic, or any other such thing. Because she didn't listen to her body, she died before she got herself to the doctor."
"My mom and I have an extremely rocky relationship; both my parents suffer from mental illnesses, and my mother was brutally abused as a child. Me? I was abused, though very rarely ever hit; the only person who abused me as a child was my mother. I have been clinically depressed since I was 3-year-old, and my first suicide attempt was when I was 4-years-old.
My mother never wanted to have children. She liked being able to hand my cousins back to her sister, she didn't want to be stuck with her own baby forever. My parents had already basically broken up when my mom got pregnant, and like many couples do, they got back together for unborn me's sake.
When I was four, I asked my mom why she wanted a kid. As a little girl, I knew already I wanted nothing more than to be a parent someday, and I loved my mommy and was hoping for some inspiring answer like 'because children are the future.' What I got, instead, was that she had never wanted children.
My entire existence was invalidated in that moment. She had never wanted me, she didn't want me, and suddenly I had a reason to pin her awful behavior on. That afternoon, I tried to throw myself off our balcony. Fortunately for her, and unfortunately for me, I landed on a tall mailbox and ended up with just a few bruises before traipsing back upstairs to my unknowing parents.
I was already depressed and suicidal by that time, but being told by my mother, who had a child -me-, that she didn't want kids, was devastating.
She also always mentions how much she could have done in her life if she hadn't had me, which only made my self-esteem issues even worse than they already were; she could have traveled the world, lived in a nice house, bought expensive things and continued living the lifestyle she had before me and my father, she could have had a better career. I have been hearing about that since I was four-years-old. It's what I think about when I can't sleep at night, that she -and everyone else in my life- don't want me and never have. She loves me, in her own jacked up way, but knowing she didn't want a child destroyed me.
I'm twenty now, I 'm married, I'm an intelligent and well-rounded human being, I have a couple of good friends, my relationship with my mom is better than it's ever been, but I'm still completely messed up over that simple answer to a simple question I asked sixteen years ago."
"My mother is an obsessed 'dog breeder' of purebred dogs. Having dozens and dozens of animals in the house (at one point I had 5 large dog crates in my bedroom), I grew up watching dogs and cats having babies. A few times in my life, my mother made reference to something that happens sometimes:
'You know how when the animals have babies and they'll kill one of them because they weren't meant to be? I don't have that luxury or I'd go to prison. You're definitely not meant to be, there's always been something not right about you. This world is going to chew you up and spit you out.'
In that same furious bout of verbal diarrhea, she also included:
'Can you do me a favor? Go kill yourself.'
Followed by her laughing at me crying and singing knocking on heavens door. I had tried to a few times and was hospitalized. This as well as many things have haunted me through the years."
"Age 5. Grandmother yelled and chased me round the house screaming that I was a horrible nasty child. Said that neither my mom or dad loved me, that nobody loved me - said over and over again (brainwashed).
Cried myself to sleep at her front door hoping for someone to come and get me.
Father collected me at 3 am and drove me the 150 miles home. Upon being at home my father was on the phone when I woke up on the sofa and I remember him saying 'Well I'm not telling him, you can.'
It was my mom and she told me she wasn't coming back. I don't remember my response apart from crying - for weeks - and slowly I managed to find or create evidence that my father didn't love me either proving my wicked grandmother's theory true.
I spent the next 20 years coming to terms with the fact that this human being would never be loved and never find love.
Stripping a child of this love from parents is a lonely and traumatizing prison of punishment and torture. Without love, we are merely empty carcasses on a journey towards death. It's an extremely scary place to live when you accept it as a given truth and fact. It makes you question every turn and choice in life - makes you realize that you only have yourself to rely on, and can easily ruin romantic relationships as an adult because you're always hyper alert to tiny acts which set off the alarm which screams 'Here's another person that doesn't love you - that old witch is still right."
"Something pretty psychologically damaging I heard as a 12-year-old girl from my mother was: 'How many guy's privates have you sucked? ZERO! I OUTRANK YOU!' Yeah. That's what my own mother said to me. A couple years later I told her her exact words and she flat out denied saying it, either she forgot or was just covering up one of the most disturbing things she has said to her own kid. But either way, I remember the whole sentence perfectly, I'm 20 years old now."
Marcos Mesa Sam Wordley/Shutterstock
"I'm not sure how old I was, 17-18 maybe, when my father said to me, 'I ordered your mother to abort you and she disobeyed me! Even broke things off with me for a while.' Then he laughed as if that was hilarious.
He was a married man, my mom his mistress.
After she passed away (I was 33) he told me not to try and contact him because it would 'upset his daughter.'
Knowing you were not wanted/loved has a way to break your psyche if not your heart/soul/spirit."
"My mother remarried when I was thirteen to a man with children from his previous marriage. From the time he moved in to the time his eldest daughter moved out more than ten years later, it was like living with two nasty junior high students who loved to bully me. Mom went along with everything because he was the new most important thing in her life. I was the mistake from her first marriage. Literally, everything I liked and was interested in was 'stupid' and 'weird.' In public, they were embarrassed to be seen with me. I was a geek and they made it crystal clear they were too good for me. 'I don't owe you any respect' she once screamed at me.
His eldest daughter would steal food from his cabinet and change from his bedroom. I always got the blame. I have never stolen anything but was told I was a thief and couldn't be trusted. When he got in my face and screamed at me, mom said I deserved it. It was more important to keep him happy than have any kind of positive relationship with me. And so, time and time again, she threw me under the bus to keep him satisfied.
Things came to a head when his daughter finally ran away. Her years of stealing came to light, yet no one ever apologized to me for the false accusations.
I am nearly thirty and still a geek. I like being a geek. The other day while driving in the car, mom confided in me that she wished that we were closer and she doesn't know why we aren't; Really?!"
"I grew up in a big family; I have 8 siblings and 1 half-sister from my dad's earlier marriage. I'm the third child. I was about 9-10 years old. I was a quiet girl who loved books and have always struggled in expressing my feelings/sharing them with my family (or mom).
The good thing is I found it relatively easier to do so (expressing myself) through writing.
So one day while me and mom were having one of our fights, I decided to write to her.
I explained in full page about what I feel and validations behind my seemingly rude actions. I slid the letter under her bedroom door that night.
The next day, she came to my room, in her hand was my letter. She didn't appear mad so I was relieved. Seconds later, without saying a thing, she crumpled the letter while I watched, threw it straight into my face and sneered at me, saying 'You should just shut up.'
All the hatred one can harbor, my 10-year-old self saw that in her eyes. She might not have meant it that way, but the damage was done.
SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
It affected me so badly that I grew up doing what she wanted me to, what she asked of me (as tolerated), but never once shared my problems/feelings with her anymore."
"My mother and I were abused by her husband. One day in a car (probably driving to school) my mother, who is very religious, commented that we must've done something bad in a past life to deserve what he did to us. I was about twelve and also quite religious, but I convinced myself that our deity must've had a different reason for making us suffer, or the system screwed up and we weren't supposed to be here, and not to think too much about it.
Now that I'm an atheist and a bit older, I wonder what could've happened to my emotional well-being if I had actually internalized that. I probably would've ended up in another abusive relationship as an adult if I thought that being abused was something that should happen to me."
"I have a brother called Matt who is 7 years older than me and quite successful. He has always been naturally quite good at most things.
I'm not jealous of him, in fact, I'd say the relationship I have with my brother is amazing. Matt and I have always discussed the fact that somehow our mother favors him and it's always been like that. Our mother is quite oblivious to her actions on occasion and can be known to be rude or cross the line.
I was on the phone with my mother who I don't see often because I am at university in the UK. I am talking to my mother about potential job interviews after university.
My mother responds by informing me that Matt has received multiple job offers despite being already employed at a lovely job. She also tells me that he is always amazing in job interviews and usually gets the job.
I then proceed to tell her that I think I would be quite good at interviews. What my mother said as a response to that has gone down as history in our family: 'Well let's be honest Scott, you're not Matt.' And there we have it, the most psychologically damaging thing you can say to your child.
Still hurts to this day."
"'You're the reason I exist.' Other variations include, 'You're the reason I'm alive,' 'You're my sole purpose,' 'Life has no meaning without you,' and so on.
My mother always told me that as a child, and still continues to do so. That panders to a child's enormous ego. It gives children an inflated sense of worth. 'Okay, so if I'm my parents' reason for living, I'm everyone else's reason for living, too. I'm just the bomb diggity!'
Then you grow up and not only do you find out that the rest of the world doesn't care, that statement also becomes a burden. The guilt and the enormity of obligation is incredible, oppressive. No one wants to be another's one and only purpose. Moreover, that implies reciprocity, which I cannot give.
My dad, on the other hand, made it clear that even though he was glad to be my dad, his life would have been just as good had he taken another path. I respected that man so much. I loved him far more. He never made me his reason for being."
"When I was very young, maybe six-years-old, my father read me a Bible story. In the story, God commands Abraham to take his son Isaac to Moriah. There he found the mountain on which he was to make a burnt offering. On the way, Isaac notices the firewood, the fire and the knife and asks,'Father, where is the lamb?' Abraham responded, 'God will provide it.'
Once at the top of the mountain, Abraham builds an altar and placed the firewood on it. He binds Isaac and places him on top of the wood. When he points his knife to the boy's throat, God calls to him, 'Do not harm the boy. I now know that you love me, because you were willing to sacrifice your son.' Over in a thicket, Abraham finds a ram to use as the offering.
I thought to myself, 'My dad loves God so much, he would kill me for God.'
What kind of father would read this story to his son before he is old enough to process it? Based on my understanding of Piaget's theory of cognitive development states, I wouldn't read this to a child younger than 11-years-old."
The Suggest team works tirelessly to provide the most interesting stories, behind-the-scenes details, and fun facts from the Entertainment world in a fun and easy-to-read format. Our articles are guaranteed to entertain you and your friends, no matter your interests.