My mother’s rage
The following posts contains memories of verbal and emotional abuse. If you are triggered by reading about abuse, you might not want to continue on.
The roots of my disorders most likely come from my childhood, which might explain why I rarely think about it. My earliest memories seem to revolve around an intense need to be alone because it was the only time I felt safe. It was a time to dream and play, and I’d gather up my stuffed animals and enact strange scenarios for a child. There’d be a forest fire and I’d sacrifice my life to save them all. After all, people have to love and recognize you after you’re dead. Thats the lesson my childhood taught me.
My time alone would be interrupted often. It might be a distant sound of a neighbor’s car pulling into the driveway, or a slamming car door, or the sound of keys jingling and unlocking the front door. Make believe was over and it was time to deal with fear. I’d jolt from my room to the front window blinds and peek out to assess the situation. If I was lucky it was a neighbor or my brother or father coming home. I could continue to dream. My day was spent playing and checking the blinds after every sound, of which there were many. But eventually, every single day, I’d look out that window and see what I dreaded most. I’d see my mothers car parked outside.
I’d hide in the bathroom and lock the door, or I’d run to my room and pretend I was asleep. I’d do anything to delay the inevitable rage of my mother, but day after day I learned that eventually I would piss my mother off. I might have told a lie, or I might have made a mess with my toys. I’d even get in trouble for things she did herself. As an adult looking back, I think I can see that it didn’t matter what I did. There was no escape.
My mother would yell at me for hours on end every day. I remember her face would turn bright red and contort in anger and spit would fly out of her mouth as she leaned in and screamed in my face. She’d slam the cabinets and she’d slam the doors. She flung my toys around the room and at me. Eventually she’d calm down and go to her room. She might get on the phone, or she might go to sleep. Often though, she would come storming out five minutes later and do it all over again. I don’t even remember what it was she yelled about, or why. I just remember it made me wonder why nobody loved or cared about me. I remember going to bed every night in tears.
It usually ended when another family member came home, though she sometimes stopped on her own. She’d call me into her room and maybe apologize for yelling so much. She’d hug me and tell me she loved me, and explain to me why something I did caused her to act the way she did. Even as a child I recognized the fallacy in her logic. She was going to get angry and yell at me even if I followed the instructions that she laid out.
I imagine that like everybody else I thought it was a normal way of life. I didn’t know I was abused, but looking back on it with adult eyes I can now see the verbal and emotional abuse. My mother was out of control and there was something very disturbing about her behavior. Growing up to bigger and louder than her was the only thing to put an end to it. They say a temper runs through my family line, but I don’t buy it. As far as abuse goes, it ends with me.
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7 Responses to “My mother’s rage”
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You could have been writing about my mother and my life as a child. There was nothing I could have done to stop her craziness. It has taken me years and years of therapy to realize it was her problem and it had NOTHING to do with me.
It’s good to know I’m not the only one who went through it, but I’m sad that its things like this we have in common. You deserved better, and I really hope you’ve been able to heal from any damage that was done. I’m all for healing, so I’ll be sure to visit your blog often and see if I can’t pick up some pointers.
I wonder if your mom was Narcissistic too…certainly sounds like “nothing was ever her fault” (her POV) and that she had zero empathy for what she was putting you and your brother through with her rages.
Do you find you have trouble with rages too sometimes or have had at some point? Do you think your “schizoid” reaction is in part a way to try to protect yourself from raging?
@wecanmakeitthroughthis
I’ve wondered about my parents and what there disorders might be too, but its hard to figure it all out since everything I remember is through a child’s eyes. I’d have to agree that my mother might be high on the narcissistic scale and it does seem like it takes a lack of empathy to be so cruel to your children. There was a difference though between her and my ex, although. My mother often did apologize or show regret after the rages, which is never something I never witnessed in dealing with an NPD disorder.
And yes, I do think my schizoid reaction has a lot to do with raging. I think I became the way I am to deal with strong emotions in some way other than my mother and brother did, which I recognized was unhealthy. I probably get angry and rage less than most people, but when I do its hard to deal with. I think I’m better at not feeling anything at all.
it was at 5:45pm, when my mothers car would pull in the driveway, that the feeling of dread would wash over me..and it didnt matter what my sister and i did..we still got screamed at every day as soon as she walked in the door..it started with the shoes at the back door..if they werent lined up neatly and properly..that would set her off..then as soon as she stepped into the kitchen and dropped her bag on the counter when she would spot something else to scream about..and on and on and on it went..until 9 or so when she passed out…i always wondered how she went to work everyday with no hangover..??
That is sad, and I’m sorry you were treated that way. A lot of us deserved happier childhoods than we ended up with. I know the constant screaming made me a pretty sensitive kid, and it really wrecked my confidence and self esteem. It took me decades before I stopped worrying about doing things wrong and failing and realized I had some potential.
I thought for a while it was normal too. I cried so many times, after a while I started literally losing my mind and forgetting a lot of things. I went through a lot of depression and anger. Sometimes it felt good to cry and yell right back at her. I even felt she hated me, she didn’t want me, and she tells me dad’s more important. She’s thrown my clothes outside, threw my belongings at me, called me names like “devil” & “bitch”, “stupid”. I would forget too what we fought about because there is just so many arguments. She forced me to go to church and she wanted me to marry my own race, with a good job, and christian. She too would also turn red when she would yell. I am 23 and still living with her and I just realized not too long ago that this isn’t normal and I would listen to her but she still yells. I even thought of suiside but God kept me going. I did not have peace in my heart and Im beginning to have a better relationship with God and has been helping.