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lies my mother told me
June 04, 2015

I was not particularly clumsy or careless. That was my mom's excuse to blame me for injuries inflicted by her or my brothers, and her reason for blaming ME whenever ANYONE broke anything.


I was not a scatterbrain. I have a highly logical, methodical mind. And up until the last few years--a bulletproof memory. But it suited her to project those traits onto me, because it allowed her to gaslight me. And it allowed her to still consider me stupid, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Like teachers, ministers, standardized testing, school administrators, guidance counselors, and employers telling her, ALL THE TIME, exactly how bright I was.
I was not a slob. Even at its messiest, my room was nearly always neater than those of my friends or even my brothers. It had to be, because she would whip the tar out of me if it wasn't. Of course, when she came home from work all wound up, at one in the morning, and started imitating Joan Crawford--rampaging through my stuff, screaming and yelling and pulling stuff out of drawers and closets--well, then it was a f**king mess.
I was not a lazy child. I never liked spending a lot of time outdoors, and preferred reading to a lot of stupid games and sports. But I still rode my bike all over town, played in the woods, swam for hours every day in the summertime, went fishing, belonged to the Girl Scouts, was active in Sunday school, church, vacation bible school, and Youth Fellowship. I took roller skating, piano, and flute lessons.

I worked hard from an early age--making beds, vacuuming and dusting, doing laundry, scrubbing the bathroom, cooking meals, and cleaning up the kitchen. And being responsible for my little brother. Not to mention the outdoor work: tending to the dog, mowing lawns, raking leaves, shoveling snow, and washing cars.

I started delivering papers at age SEVEN, and earning an income from it at EIGHT. (the first year, the route was still in my oldest brother's name, so even though I was the one who actually delivered the papers, he collected--and kept--the money. (Again, it is pretty clear that even my time was not to be considered my own.)
I was not a hypochondriac. I had (and still have) horrible tonsils, resulting in chronic tonsillitis all winter, every winter. I had allergies that made it almost impossible for me to breathe during certain times of the year. I also had frequent bouts of bronchitis, and seasonal eczema.

I had bad teeth that were not entirely my own fault (as she should have known, given the state of her own). My periods were horrible from the very first one, and actually got worse over time. I've suffered from depression at least as far back as my early teens, if not earlier. It is very likely that my thyroid problems date back to adolescence.

I had a chronic iron-deficiency. Chronic stress gave me severe gastric issues. And subsequent x-rays have shown up at least two instances of old, untreated bone fractures.
I DID have rights. Despite her repeatedly assuring me that I had no rights, I know I did. I was never afforded the chance to act on them, but I did.

recede - proceed

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