Unloved

I grew up sensing other people’s emotions. With no words spoken, I could feel whether they wanted me around or not. I’d had lots of practice sensing the moods and emotions of my parents. I was good at observing and reading my surroundings. The atmosphere in our home changed like the weather. I had to be able to read the room well if I wanted to stay safe. I felt like I was on constant high alert.
I felt unloved, but I didn’t have words to describe my feelings. I didn’t like myself for being different. I lacked confidence, and I idolized people that seemed so much better. I blamed myself for everything. From the age of eleven, when I was in the fifth grade on into adulthood, I’d considered everyone to be better than me. Now the thought of this makes me cringe. I didn’t look at my circle of peers or myself as equals, each of us having our own good qualities yet different from one another. I couldn’t see that we were all beautifully unique or that our individuality is what compliments all of us as a whole. I only saw that everyone else was good, I was bad.
I was shy, naïve, and a people pleaser. In my mind, I was beneath everyone. I was “bad and no good,” a phrase I often used to describe myself while growing up. My parent’s words and actions told me who and what I was. When you’re told things over and over again, you come to believe them. It is a form of mind control. (Brainwashing.)
I felt people would like me more if I did what I thought they wanted me to do or if I acted how I thought they wanted me to behave. But it was all a lie because I was not being true to myself. It seems I was always trying to be like the person I was with at the time. If they liked a particular book, I liked that book. If they didn’t like a style of clothing, I said I didn’t like that style either, even if I did like it, because I wanted them to accept me. I wanted to feel like I was a part of something. I just wanted in. I wanted to be loved.
I was also perceptive of other people’s feelings because I was sensitive to my own. I didn’t want anyone to hurt.

Therapy

We all experience some degree of pain and suffering in this life. Believe me; I understand this as much as anyone. Some people have more tragedy to conquer in their lives than others. Some have less, but cruelty is wrong on every level so how can it be compared? The horrific stories of abuse that have happened to children and is still happening is at times unimaginable for me to comprehend.
My parents were my parents. They were supposed to be my nurturers; they were my first loves. They were responsible for taking care of me and attending to my needs. While growing up in our home, to me, they were the most intelligent people in the entire world. I know different now. I had an unhealthy attachment to my parents known as Trauma Bonding. My bond with them started with my basic human needs. Needs we all have, especially as children. Only my attachment to my parents became a means of survival for me long after it needed to be. I made excuses for them, I lied about my abuse, I had self-esteem issues, and I blamed myself for everything.
After childhood I continued to meet personalities that in many ways reminded me of my parents, and my unrelenting behavior hadn’t changed.
Through the years I’d become increasingly angrier at myself for building people up and in a sense putting others on a pedestal. I’d made them idols. I just wanted to please so that I would be accepted; however, some acted mean and arrogant toward me as if they knew how I felt about myself and, in some strange way, got off on making me feel worse. This was difficult for me to comprehend. Sadly, my mother was good at building me up then tearing me down with her words and actions as well.
My husband and I had just moved into our first home. A small three-bedroom brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood. I was proud of my new home and the money we’d saved to buy it. We’d both worked really hard. My mother didn’t say anything, but she acted out of sorts.
“Jennifer and her husband just bought a new house in Bloomfield Hills with four fireplaces,” she said. Bloomfield Hills, Michigan is considered one of the wealthiest cities in the United States.
“And Lisa just bought a baby grand piano.” Jennifer and Lisa were my age, and at the time, it had been years since I’d seen them. We were all busy with our own lives, working on our careers, buying houses, getting married, and having babies.
Instead of being happy for me my mother turned her focus in on my friends and their good fortune. While I was happy for my friends, my mom’s snub hurt my feelings. As usual, I didn’t know how to stop being who I was, so I didn’t say anything. Not standing up for myself was what I did.
Healing the inner child was my therapy session today. I asked, “Why am I angrier at myself than I am with my abusers?”
My counselor suggested I go back to the first time I remember being mistreated. During my childhood years, I didn’t know I was being physically and emotionally harmed. The things that happened were just the way life was for me. This was the world I was born into and knew.

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