My youngest DD has been having a tough time, and it's resulted in some ongoing stomach issues due to stress. She has a life-long auto-immune disease that is controlled through her diet and excludes a major food group, so that makes her different from her peers. She's sensitive enough physically that she cannot eat out - anywhere- safely, which is a tough nut for a teen girl. So many social events revolve around fast food and/or coffee-like drinks, and when it comes to those mighty bastions of American grubbery, she's -quite simply- shit out of luck. She sometimes ends up feeling unique (a dirty word for girls between the ages of about 11 and 17ish, if they're lucky.)
DD is a tough, scrappy, take-no-crapola kind of young lady. She was abused in much the same way that I was, though thankfully to a lesser extent, by members of the Crazymaker Clan, which is something that I didn't know until years after NC. We've worked through a lot of it, and we still work through it every day. I've been super proud of her for being so willing to tackle the abuse and the residual effects head-on, and she's made great progress, not least of which is that she is absolutely willing to defend herself.
Part of her significant progress has been that she is a relative rarity for a 15 year old girl: she knows exactly who she is and exactly what that means and she is steadfast in her determination to remain herself regardless of external pressures. This is an absolute joy to me as a mother, that she is so fiercely aware and independent. It's amazing to see your children develop their own character. I'm constantly amazed by the depth that both the DD's possess, and I'm fascinated by their choices, their physical and emotional autonomy. If they weren't my daughters, I'd meet them as strangers and want to know more about them. They're just that cool. Unfortunately, high school is a whole mess of crabs in a pot of boiling water, and that mob of crabs doesn't like to let any of the more independent ones escape unscathed.
And... youngest DD started high school last fall. Oy. I'm sorry if you're one of them, I mean no offense, but I can't imagine what kind of experience anyone could have in high school that would make them reminisce fondly for those 'glory days.' I've yet to meet any well-adjusted and balanced adult who actually enjoyed the hell that is high school. High school sucks ass, especially when you're a bottom of the barrel first year freshman swimming in a sea of more seasoned than you sharks.
She's had some trouble adjusting and it's begun to manifest physically in her stomach aches, so we trooped off to the family doctor today to get it checked out. I'm a master of controlling my control-ables, so though I had a suspicion that the tummy problems were stress-induced and that stress was largely related to the not-so-happyfuntimes experience of high school, I needed to check off the list of physical concerns in order to exclude them. So, that done, we got down to brass tacks and had a frank conversation about the causes and results of the issues.
Poor kids: a recovered ACoN and alkie for a mom means that we always get it down to a conversation about the causes and results at some point. Sometimes I'm sure they'd like it if I just blew a problem off or yelled about it and grounded them for a week. Alas, that's not how I'm built.
It was a good convo, though, especially after DD got real and started talking about some of the bullying that she's been subject to and how it's weighing on her.
It's funny, we hear talk about bullying all the time. It's a bad word in our society. Bullying is bad. Bullying will not be tolerated. We have a zero tolerance for bullying. But what I've noticed is that it's a very narrow scope of definition that we're willing to accept when we talk about bullying.
We have no problem pointing to the oversized 10 year old boy who's pulling cute little Janie's blonde ponytail on the playground and saying, "Yes! He's a BULLY!" And then we send him to the principal's office to pay for that. Maybe sign him up for a sensitivity course or have him wash some walls.
We watch The Breakfast Club and just can't believe that anyone didn't stand up and say "Stop it!" when those butt-cheeks met the duct tape. "He's a bully!" we say.
We read about Queen Bees and everyone immediately knows who the bullies are, and we want to point at them and scream, "Bully!" Maybe do a little capital letter B embroidering on somebody's new Hollister shirt.
We want to point out that No means No and that our private places are private and that strangers are dangerous and that yelling "fire!" will get you faster action than screaming "rape!" and we want so desperately to believe that these coloring-book safety tips will protect our children from the world.
But their peers? How does one protect a child from the asshole sitting next to her in Math who makes snide comments to the rest of the teens in the class about her breast size? He didn't touch her, after all, he didn't call her a racial epithet and he wasn't even directly speaking to her . What's punishable there?
How does one protect a child from the little twit who makes it a point to invite an entire established circle of friends to a party but excludes her? And then talks about said shindig at length and within intentional earshot? It's not as if a police report can be filed for Willful Exclusion from a Private Social Function with Aggravated Flaunting.
I think (hope) that schools for younger kids have a little bit more control and say. It seems to be addressed more and more at younger ages. (Even then, though, I have doubts about the way it's handled - I can't tell you how many times I've heard a parent/teacher/counselor of a child say, "Bullies are hurting inside and that's why they're acting this way toward you." As if that matters? I mean, seriously, who gives a fuck? Serial killers are traumatized too, am I supposed to accept that they have a low self esteem and it's really not about me if I run into one of those? Maybe ask them if they want to talk about it before they sharpen the knife?)
In high school, though, which is an overcrowded and understaffed sinking cruise ship with a bad case of e. coli and no radar signal if I've ever seen one, this type of verbal/emotional bullying is de rigeur and so low on the list of administrative priorities as to not exist. Somebody's getting knocked up in the parking lot, breaking into a locker, smuggling in a joint. Those are the things the alleged people in charge at the alleged institute of learning are allegedly dealing with. That and attendance as it directly relates to funding. So, no help there. The attitude is generally, "Let us know when blood gets drawn."
It's all so familiar; all the triangulating, rank forming, gaslighting, passive-aggressiveness, crazymaking. Every time I hear about this shite, I just can't help but compare it to the NFOO. What is the NFOO really? A gang of adolescent hoodlums. A bunch of limp-dicked power grubbing bullies getting off on their little game of Who Can Be the Meanest.
So, DD and I talked about it. And we came back around to what we always come back around to when dealing with idiots and assholes. You Browncoats out there, this is for you, "Are we caring about this?"
I mean, seriously, let's just lay this out. A bully is a POS. A bully is someone not smart enough to find their own happiness. A bully is a person who can't process well enough to connect with the world around them. A bully is someone who's too stupid to know how to entertain themselves. A bully is a person who's not likable enough to have people like them for anything other than the vicarious jerk-off high of making someone else look bad. A bully is too ineffectual to do anything of value on their own, so they choose to tear down the accomplishments of others instead.
Basically, a bully has the attractiveness of turd on a sidewalk.
So, again, regarding what a bully has to say, "Are we caring about this?" Honestly, caring is too strong a word. Are we even listening to a word that comes out of a turd's mouth? Even if it can talk, it's still just a turd. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You know what I do when I see a turd on a sidewalk? Nothing. I don't touch it, I don't talk to it, I don't ask it how it feels or if it's lashing out at me because it's hurting inside, I don't wonder why it's a turd or who caused it to be a turd on the sidewalk. I get away from it, glad I didn't step in it. It's a turd. It's beneath me.
So, we have a new phrase in the Casa de Vanci. Bullies are talking turds. DD tells me that she's going to be picturing a very large, very stinky (and hopefully soon to be left behind to lie for eternity on their sidewalk) talking turd if she has one of these encounters again.
Kind of takes away their power, now, doesn't it?
We laughed and laughed and talked for hours about how she can get herself re-centered and all of the good things/people/activities/love she has in her life, and she's going to be fine. Eventually, once she's herself again, I might even have to have a little pity for the bullies, cause DD's a firecracker; her powder just got wet for a minute. Eventually, somebody's going to lose a finger.
Nah, I'll never feel sorry for bullies. I know who they grow up to be.
Love,
Vanci
Showing posts with label bullshit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bullshit. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
On Forgiveness
Ah, the F word.
I've noticed that it's one of those words that gets bandied about like a hot potato, especially among groups of victims, survivors, ACoNs, Narcs, users, abusers, the abused, the scorned, the hurt, the hurters. Basically, in any group of people who've perpetrated a crime against another human being or who've been victimized by other human beings, you can count on the F word coming up at some point on either or both sides of the conversation.
The Bad Uns want your forgiveness. More on this a little further in.
The Good People who are trying to help you heal want you to give forgiveness, and this just bothers the ever loving hell out of me.
The kinder amongst that last group say things like this:
Forgiveness is the gift you give yourself.
Forgiveness is just the tool you use to move on.
The more self-righteous amongst them might say:
You holding on to your anger is keeping you from healing.
You won't be able to get better until you forgive them (it/him/her.)
And my personal favorite:
By not forgiving, you're letting them (it/him/her) live rent free in your head.
I'm certain that they mean well, really, and it's been my experience that for non-ACoNs, those who haven't had to survive the types of intentionally inflicted horrific abuse that most of us have had to live through, it's just a pop-culture fall back position. Like something that they heard on Dr. Phil that seemed to make a lot of sense at the time, and it's the only thing that they can think of. When faced with the fact of only a fraction of the pure evil that my NFOO has hit me with, I'm convinced that most normies go into shock.
I was once in a car wreck in the middle of nowhere - I was by myself and ended up driving off the road, rolling the car I was in twice and landing several yards down a very steep embankment in the middle of the woods. I wasn't wearing a seat belt, like a freaking idiot, so I got the full effect of the spin cycle. It was dark and I had a concussion and several scrapes, so I was bloodied up a bit and seriously confused. After I finally figured out how to get out of the car, I got tangled up in a barbed wire fence while climbing - crawling really - back up toward the road. I fell - in shorts - on my knees on the asphalt when I finally got back to the road, scraping the hell out of them, too. After a few more minutes of bumbling around in the dark, screaming to the empty woods and fields around me, I saw headlights coming. I couldn't think what to do, but I was terrified that they'd drive right past me. I sat down in the middle of the road, determined that they were going to stop and help me or just run me the fuck over. (As I re-read this, I can't help but notice that this true story - which happened when I was 16, by the way - is a fairly apt metaphor for what my childhood in the NFOO felt like.)
At any rate, they did stop and helped by getting me back to my friend's house, who then called the NParents after I convinced them not to call 911, and somehow I ended up cleaned up and in serious trouble. I don't remember the exact course of events after I gave up and planted my ass in the middle of the country road, but I do remember this.
The nice couple who stopped to pick me up saw me bloody and bruised and crying and knocked for a loop in the middle of nowhere took one look at me and said,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
The friend's parent who answered the door screamed at the sight of me and then said through her fingers covering her mouth,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
The people who saw me with my bandages and bruises over the next week all looked at me and said,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
Honestly, did I look very fucking okay?
But I think it's a reflex, a thing we say when we don't know what else to say, like, "I'm sorry for your loss," when we talk to someone who's recently had a person close to them die. It's a place holder, really, because we don't know what else to say, but we know we should say something.
I'm sorry for your loss? Is the dead person really lost? Cause that could be a serious public health hazard if all those bodies are missing.
Are you okay? What, you mean apart from the blood and the fact that my brain might be swelling right up to the edge of my skull right now? No, not really.
And all those canned sayings about forgiveness... well, I think they're just the same type of thing. What those phrases are meant to imply is the idea that we, as the wronged party, will feel better is we can let the wrong, the slight against us, go. If we can give it up to the great higher power of the universe, we won't have to carry that burden around with us anymore. Is there truth to this? Sure, I think so. Drop the rock, so to speak, ha ha. But I don't think that letting something go, choosing not to dwell on it, moving on - I don't think that any of those things require forgiveness, at least they don't for me.
So I think that the Good People trying to help are basically misinformed as to what forgiveness is to an ACoN and what is required in order for forgiveness to be given and it is this, for me:
A person has to stop repeating their hurtful actions toward me in order for me to consider forgiveness of them for those actions.
A person has to take responsibility - complete and total responsibility with no excuses - for their actions in order for me to consider forgiveness of those actions or of them.
A person has to show me, through repeated actions that are the exact opposite of their hurtful action that they are walking the talk of their alleged character change in order for me to consider forgiveness of them or their actions.
Essentially, it goes like this: Admittance, Accountability, Repentance, Atonement.
Then we talk can talk about the F word.
*And, honestly, I'd just love to hear from anyone with a Narc in their life who's followed through on all four of those criteria long term, so let's say... oh, five years, without reverting back to the old ways. In the words of one of my favorite movies (bonus points if you know it,) "I would pay a million pesos to see the look on those guys' faces when they see this baby coming through..." Seriously, anyone have a Narc follow through on this? Anyone? Anyone?
Considering forgiveness of an abuser or their abusive actions at any point prior to those actions of change being fully played out, well that's just insanity as the definition of doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. How do I know? Read on.
I want to tell you a story about forgiveness and action. My father sexually abused me. I believed the lies that he was sorry, that my mother who knew about it and manipulated me into recanting my statement to the police was sorry and would protect me from further abuse. I forgave him, and I forgave her because they asked me to and because I wanted to believe that they were deserving of forgiveness and that I was deserving of giving myself that 'gift of forgiveness.' Weren't we all just evolved creatures? Wouldn't the Good People who want to help have been proud?
And guess what? He didn't sexually abuse me again. Hooray for the healing power of forgiveness! Oh, wait, that's right, he just waited until one of my DD's was old enough to hit his pedo-radar and abused her instead! And guess what? NM knew about that too and manipulated my DD into not telling me!
Fuck forgiveness.
As to what the Bad Uns want forgiveness for? Well, that's simple, don't you think?
They just want your permission to hurt you again, and to sweeten the sadistic pot by being able to remind you later on that you can't bring up how they hurt you because didn't you, after all, say that you forgave them? With no take-backs!
Hurting a person like my NFOO hurt me is a conscientious, planned action - series of actions, really, and we call that a pattern. Mr. Newton taught us that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Forgiveness is an action, too, and I think we sometimes get confused in thinking that it's the only action we can take when we're LC or NC or still trying to get away. We think it will help us heal. But I think it's often the wrong action where Narcs are concerned. I think that the appropriate action to facilitate healing is to push the abusers out and deny them access, to make is so that they can't hurt us anymore. Then we can heal. They're just scab-pickers, and they had to go before my wounds could close.
Trust is now earned with me.
Forgiveness is earned with me too. You want free forgiveness? Get religion.
I'm not going to feel bad for protecting myself, and I don't need to forgive my oppressors in order to feel free. Staying No Contact with them is really all I need for that.
So, that's the gift I'm giving myself: safety.
I use the tools of growth (honoring my self, detachment from those who hurt me, honesty, introspection, cognitive therapy) to get over the six different ways from Sunday that they screwed me up,and so far forgiveness hasn't been necessary for that growth (if anything, approaching it has been detrimental to me.)
I let go of my anger by feeling safe enough to let it go, not by absolving those who caused it.
I am better, because they're not able to reach me to hurt me anymore, not because I've forgiven them.
And that rent-free thing? Hoo boy, Narcs are tape worms. They crawled in when I was just a baby and set up shop in my head. They built condos there and lived in style. I cut as much out as I could by booting them out of my life, not by forgiving them. Do they still live in my head? Of course they do, they're my Family Of Origin. But I've got 'em locked down in SuperMax with all the rest of the creeps and criminals, and I'm quite certain that I won't be commuting their life sentences.
Forgiveness or not, that's where they're staying, and I could give a shit what Dr. Phil or anyone else has to say about it.
Love,
Vanci
I've noticed that it's one of those words that gets bandied about like a hot potato, especially among groups of victims, survivors, ACoNs, Narcs, users, abusers, the abused, the scorned, the hurt, the hurters. Basically, in any group of people who've perpetrated a crime against another human being or who've been victimized by other human beings, you can count on the F word coming up at some point on either or both sides of the conversation.
The Bad Uns want your forgiveness. More on this a little further in.
The Good People who are trying to help you heal want you to give forgiveness, and this just bothers the ever loving hell out of me.
The kinder amongst that last group say things like this:
Forgiveness is the gift you give yourself.
Forgiveness is just the tool you use to move on.
The more self-righteous amongst them might say:
You holding on to your anger is keeping you from healing.
You won't be able to get better until you forgive them (it/him/her.)
And my personal favorite:
By not forgiving, you're letting them (it/him/her) live rent free in your head.
I'm certain that they mean well, really, and it's been my experience that for non-ACoNs, those who haven't had to survive the types of intentionally inflicted horrific abuse that most of us have had to live through, it's just a pop-culture fall back position. Like something that they heard on Dr. Phil that seemed to make a lot of sense at the time, and it's the only thing that they can think of. When faced with the fact of only a fraction of the pure evil that my NFOO has hit me with, I'm convinced that most normies go into shock.
I was once in a car wreck in the middle of nowhere - I was by myself and ended up driving off the road, rolling the car I was in twice and landing several yards down a very steep embankment in the middle of the woods. I wasn't wearing a seat belt, like a freaking idiot, so I got the full effect of the spin cycle. It was dark and I had a concussion and several scrapes, so I was bloodied up a bit and seriously confused. After I finally figured out how to get out of the car, I got tangled up in a barbed wire fence while climbing - crawling really - back up toward the road. I fell - in shorts - on my knees on the asphalt when I finally got back to the road, scraping the hell out of them, too. After a few more minutes of bumbling around in the dark, screaming to the empty woods and fields around me, I saw headlights coming. I couldn't think what to do, but I was terrified that they'd drive right past me. I sat down in the middle of the road, determined that they were going to stop and help me or just run me the fuck over. (As I re-read this, I can't help but notice that this true story - which happened when I was 16, by the way - is a fairly apt metaphor for what my childhood in the NFOO felt like.)
At any rate, they did stop and helped by getting me back to my friend's house, who then called the NParents after I convinced them not to call 911, and somehow I ended up cleaned up and in serious trouble. I don't remember the exact course of events after I gave up and planted my ass in the middle of the country road, but I do remember this.
The nice couple who stopped to pick me up saw me bloody and bruised and crying and knocked for a loop in the middle of nowhere took one look at me and said,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
The friend's parent who answered the door screamed at the sight of me and then said through her fingers covering her mouth,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
The people who saw me with my bandages and bruises over the next week all looked at me and said,
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
Honestly, did I look very fucking okay?
But I think it's a reflex, a thing we say when we don't know what else to say, like, "I'm sorry for your loss," when we talk to someone who's recently had a person close to them die. It's a place holder, really, because we don't know what else to say, but we know we should say something.
I'm sorry for your loss? Is the dead person really lost? Cause that could be a serious public health hazard if all those bodies are missing.
Are you okay? What, you mean apart from the blood and the fact that my brain might be swelling right up to the edge of my skull right now? No, not really.
And all those canned sayings about forgiveness... well, I think they're just the same type of thing. What those phrases are meant to imply is the idea that we, as the wronged party, will feel better is we can let the wrong, the slight against us, go. If we can give it up to the great higher power of the universe, we won't have to carry that burden around with us anymore. Is there truth to this? Sure, I think so. Drop the rock, so to speak, ha ha. But I don't think that letting something go, choosing not to dwell on it, moving on - I don't think that any of those things require forgiveness, at least they don't for me.
So I think that the Good People trying to help are basically misinformed as to what forgiveness is to an ACoN and what is required in order for forgiveness to be given and it is this, for me:
A person has to stop repeating their hurtful actions toward me in order for me to consider forgiveness of them for those actions.
A person has to take responsibility - complete and total responsibility with no excuses - for their actions in order for me to consider forgiveness of those actions or of them.
A person has to show me, through repeated actions that are the exact opposite of their hurtful action that they are walking the talk of their alleged character change in order for me to consider forgiveness of them or their actions.
Essentially, it goes like this: Admittance, Accountability, Repentance, Atonement.
Then we talk can talk about the F word.
*And, honestly, I'd just love to hear from anyone with a Narc in their life who's followed through on all four of those criteria long term, so let's say... oh, five years, without reverting back to the old ways. In the words of one of my favorite movies (bonus points if you know it,) "I would pay a million pesos to see the look on those guys' faces when they see this baby coming through..." Seriously, anyone have a Narc follow through on this? Anyone? Anyone?
Considering forgiveness of an abuser or their abusive actions at any point prior to those actions of change being fully played out, well that's just insanity as the definition of doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. How do I know? Read on.
I want to tell you a story about forgiveness and action. My father sexually abused me. I believed the lies that he was sorry, that my mother who knew about it and manipulated me into recanting my statement to the police was sorry and would protect me from further abuse. I forgave him, and I forgave her because they asked me to and because I wanted to believe that they were deserving of forgiveness and that I was deserving of giving myself that 'gift of forgiveness.' Weren't we all just evolved creatures? Wouldn't the Good People who want to help have been proud?
And guess what? He didn't sexually abuse me again. Hooray for the healing power of forgiveness! Oh, wait, that's right, he just waited until one of my DD's was old enough to hit his pedo-radar and abused her instead! And guess what? NM knew about that too and manipulated my DD into not telling me!
Fuck forgiveness.
As to what the Bad Uns want forgiveness for? Well, that's simple, don't you think?
They just want your permission to hurt you again, and to sweeten the sadistic pot by being able to remind you later on that you can't bring up how they hurt you because didn't you, after all, say that you forgave them? With no take-backs!
Hurting a person like my NFOO hurt me is a conscientious, planned action - series of actions, really, and we call that a pattern. Mr. Newton taught us that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Forgiveness is an action, too, and I think we sometimes get confused in thinking that it's the only action we can take when we're LC or NC or still trying to get away. We think it will help us heal. But I think it's often the wrong action where Narcs are concerned. I think that the appropriate action to facilitate healing is to push the abusers out and deny them access, to make is so that they can't hurt us anymore. Then we can heal. They're just scab-pickers, and they had to go before my wounds could close.
Trust is now earned with me.
Forgiveness is earned with me too. You want free forgiveness? Get religion.
I'm not going to feel bad for protecting myself, and I don't need to forgive my oppressors in order to feel free. Staying No Contact with them is really all I need for that.
So, that's the gift I'm giving myself: safety.
I use the tools of growth (honoring my self, detachment from those who hurt me, honesty, introspection, cognitive therapy) to get over the six different ways from Sunday that they screwed me up,and so far forgiveness hasn't been necessary for that growth (if anything, approaching it has been detrimental to me.)
I let go of my anger by feeling safe enough to let it go, not by absolving those who caused it.
I am better, because they're not able to reach me to hurt me anymore, not because I've forgiven them.
And that rent-free thing? Hoo boy, Narcs are tape worms. They crawled in when I was just a baby and set up shop in my head. They built condos there and lived in style. I cut as much out as I could by booting them out of my life, not by forgiving them. Do they still live in my head? Of course they do, they're my Family Of Origin. But I've got 'em locked down in SuperMax with all the rest of the creeps and criminals, and I'm quite certain that I won't be commuting their life sentences.
Forgiveness or not, that's where they're staying, and I could give a shit what Dr. Phil or anyone else has to say about it.
Love,
Vanci
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Gift of Life
There's a recurring theme among NParents, one that rallies them around the war cry of, "I GAVE YOU LIFE and you therefore OWE ME!" They bring this up most often when all other avenues have been exhausted - sort of an against the ropes haymaker punch thrown wildly when all the jabs of gaslighting and the hooks of guilting and the one-two throws of fear and obligation haven't worked to their favor.
Often it's implied that this gift of life is all that is required of the parent in order to ensure lifelong obedience and compliance by the child, followed by ultimate loyalty by the child who's grown into an adolescent and coming full circle in the adult child who will sacrifice their own needs, wants, desires, lifestyles, security and souls in order to remain subservient to the NParent.
In my experience, this last-ditch effort to call to attention the one act of the narc that none of us can deny (they did, after all bring us into the world,) is nothing so much as a sign of desperation. It's pathetic and gross.
First off, my parents didn't give me life. My parents provided an egg and a sperm, and I happened to grow from that. Read up on your biology, people. It's typically self-aggrandizing of the Narcs to take credit for that infinitesimal magic that takes two biologic donations and creates a living, breathing human being from the fertilization of an egg. As if the Narcs had any control over the particular happenstance that made that little swimmer spark with that particular ova. It's one of the great mysteries of our world how conception actually happens - why that egg, why that sperm, why at that time and not the millions of other encounters? As if the Narcs had a special say in creating the exact match that would form Vanci.
Second, this statement usually comes from NMothers, just before they begin to explain to you why their pregnancy with you, ACoN, was the most difficult pregnancy ever to be chronicled on the face of the planet, possibly even in the Universe. The want so badly to be recognized with an award and a ribbon and a triumvirate choir of angelic verse for enduring the ordeal of pregnancy (and you!) for nine whole months. I'm not dissing the difficulty of carrying a child to term; I've done it twice and frankly that was plenty for me as I know it's not an easy task. But really? Really really what is it? Pregnancy is what a mother's body is designed to do. Is it easy? No. Is it hard? Yes. Is it Mother Nature's natural expectation of us in order to continue to propagate our race? Yes. Is it special? Only in the context of the miracle of birth being special for every woman who's ever had the privilege of carrying a child.
What's really special about pregnancy, I think, is that we are honored with the gift of the ability to nourish another human being in the most intimate of ways. It's a give-give proposition, and it's called the Gift of Motherhood for a reason; having a child is a privilege, not a right. I have plenty of friends who've been unable to conceive and have worked their patooties off in order to be blessed with the privilege of raising children that did not biologically begin with them, so I feel confident in saying it again: having a child is a privilege.
Then there's the mathematical angle to consider. Assuming that my NParents worked for a standard amount of time in order to introduce Mr. Sperm to Ms. Egg, then NMother endured 40 weeks of pregnancy, then she was in labor for approximately five hours, we can calculate that her selfless contribution to my coming into this world was... adding up... 40 weeks, 5 hours and about five minutes. Let's round up to ten months and one day, shall we? So, I owe my mother less than a year in exchange for her GIFT OF LIFE to me.
As with all court sentences, I'm going to allow credit for time served. I did seventeen years of daily hell. For seventeen years, I was abused on a regular basis; mentally, emotionally, verbally, physically, sexually and spiritually. I left after that, and that stopped the physical and sexual abuse. I stopped the spiritual abuse by proclaiming that I was 180 degrees different from my NParents on this front - oh, and, amazingly, when your NFather is a minister actively leading a church at the same time that you're outing him for sexually molesting you, well, they stopped talking about Jeebus around the same time that he resigned from the church to make sure that no one else found out about his perversions. But I digress.
So, from the time I was seventeen until I was thirty years old, I was only mentally, emotionally, verbally (and financially) abused by my NParents. 17 years X 6 different types of abuse = 96 years I've paid, plus 13 years X 4 different types of abuse = 52 years I've paid. That's 148 years I've paid against their 10 months and 1 day. I'm feeling generous, so I'll assume that on certain holidays and vacations there was no abuse for short periods of time - I'll knock five years off my time served.
So they can take their "Gift of Life" and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, for the next 143 years, please. Then we might talk about being even. They were lucky to have me, and they blew it, so they lost the privilege of knowing me and created their own private hell where they will never get what they want from me. If there's any justice, that'll last for eternity for them. Or at least for the next 143 years.
Love,
Vanci
Often it's implied that this gift of life is all that is required of the parent in order to ensure lifelong obedience and compliance by the child, followed by ultimate loyalty by the child who's grown into an adolescent and coming full circle in the adult child who will sacrifice their own needs, wants, desires, lifestyles, security and souls in order to remain subservient to the NParent.
In my experience, this last-ditch effort to call to attention the one act of the narc that none of us can deny (they did, after all bring us into the world,) is nothing so much as a sign of desperation. It's pathetic and gross.
First off, my parents didn't give me life. My parents provided an egg and a sperm, and I happened to grow from that. Read up on your biology, people. It's typically self-aggrandizing of the Narcs to take credit for that infinitesimal magic that takes two biologic donations and creates a living, breathing human being from the fertilization of an egg. As if the Narcs had any control over the particular happenstance that made that little swimmer spark with that particular ova. It's one of the great mysteries of our world how conception actually happens - why that egg, why that sperm, why at that time and not the millions of other encounters? As if the Narcs had a special say in creating the exact match that would form Vanci.
Second, this statement usually comes from NMothers, just before they begin to explain to you why their pregnancy with you, ACoN, was the most difficult pregnancy ever to be chronicled on the face of the planet, possibly even in the Universe. The want so badly to be recognized with an award and a ribbon and a triumvirate choir of angelic verse for enduring the ordeal of pregnancy (and you!) for nine whole months. I'm not dissing the difficulty of carrying a child to term; I've done it twice and frankly that was plenty for me as I know it's not an easy task. But really? Really really what is it? Pregnancy is what a mother's body is designed to do. Is it easy? No. Is it hard? Yes. Is it Mother Nature's natural expectation of us in order to continue to propagate our race? Yes. Is it special? Only in the context of the miracle of birth being special for every woman who's ever had the privilege of carrying a child.
What's really special about pregnancy, I think, is that we are honored with the gift of the ability to nourish another human being in the most intimate of ways. It's a give-give proposition, and it's called the Gift of Motherhood for a reason; having a child is a privilege, not a right. I have plenty of friends who've been unable to conceive and have worked their patooties off in order to be blessed with the privilege of raising children that did not biologically begin with them, so I feel confident in saying it again: having a child is a privilege.
Then there's the mathematical angle to consider. Assuming that my NParents worked for a standard amount of time in order to introduce Mr. Sperm to Ms. Egg, then NMother endured 40 weeks of pregnancy, then she was in labor for approximately five hours, we can calculate that her selfless contribution to my coming into this world was... adding up... 40 weeks, 5 hours and about five minutes. Let's round up to ten months and one day, shall we? So, I owe my mother less than a year in exchange for her GIFT OF LIFE to me.
As with all court sentences, I'm going to allow credit for time served. I did seventeen years of daily hell. For seventeen years, I was abused on a regular basis; mentally, emotionally, verbally, physically, sexually and spiritually. I left after that, and that stopped the physical and sexual abuse. I stopped the spiritual abuse by proclaiming that I was 180 degrees different from my NParents on this front - oh, and, amazingly, when your NFather is a minister actively leading a church at the same time that you're outing him for sexually molesting you, well, they stopped talking about Jeebus around the same time that he resigned from the church to make sure that no one else found out about his perversions. But I digress.
So, from the time I was seventeen until I was thirty years old, I was only mentally, emotionally, verbally (and financially) abused by my NParents. 17 years X 6 different types of abuse = 96 years I've paid, plus 13 years X 4 different types of abuse = 52 years I've paid. That's 148 years I've paid against their 10 months and 1 day. I'm feeling generous, so I'll assume that on certain holidays and vacations there was no abuse for short periods of time - I'll knock five years off my time served.
So they can take their "Gift of Life" and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, for the next 143 years, please. Then we might talk about being even. They were lucky to have me, and they blew it, so they lost the privilege of knowing me and created their own private hell where they will never get what they want from me. If there's any justice, that'll last for eternity for them. Or at least for the next 143 years.
Love,
Vanci
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