Well 2009 is finally over and 2010 is just beginning. I spent my first day of the new year sick in bed. Had quite an icky stomach bug, but fortunately it was only the 24 type. January 2nd and I am 95% back to normal.
I received some new self-help books in the mail today that I am really looking forward to getting into. One is "Will I Ever Be Good Enough? Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers" by Karyl McBride. The other is "Mean Mothers, Overcoming the Legacy of Hurt" by Peg Streep (who has written several other books you may be familiar with, or interested in). I have included links to these books on Amazon. I am not an affiliate or receive any compensation for posting the links, I just like to make it as easy as possible for anyone else to find these books.
Both of these books seem to be speaking to me when I read the description and reviews on Amazon. I intend to jump into one or both of these books over this weekend. I can usually tell within a few chapters if a book is really what it is suppose to be. I will share my findings after the weekend, and of course along the way as I read them.
I feel very optimistic that 2010 is going to be a better year. I have done so much 'mental work' over the last several years and now I am feeling like things are really coming to a head for me.
Well, I am off to begin reading. I hope your New Year will be a positive one!
Pollyanna
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Forgiveness Is Not Easy
A new twitter friend, @forgiveforgetme, told me about a wonderful blog post on Jacee's Blog called "My Spiritual Studies and Such". The post is entitled "How to Forgive Others and Take Back Your Power" and I found it to be very informative. The post contained 10 Steps to Forgiving. I found it to be very inspiring and I plan to utilize many of the '10 Steps' one day, but I do not feel I am ready to forgive at this moment.
I am still struggling with the idea of forgiving my mother for the hurtful things that she did to me. I know on some level that I need to forgive her for my own sake. I also know that forgiving her does not mean I am saying that what she did was okay, because it was Not. I just feel that I need to work on getting in touch with that hurt little girl inside me and helping her before I dismiss the sins of the woman who created the hurt in that little girl.
I know that I feel a tremendous amount of anger that is only hurting me, but that little girl inside me needs someone to validate her pain. Since my mother is unable or unwilling to validate anything, then I (the adult me) am the only other person in the world who will be able to do that. When I reach that little girl, then I will be able to rescue her, and at that time, I may be able to forgive my mother for being the hateful, hurtful, malicious, person that she is. Forgiveness may be the best thing for me to do, but it also may be the hardest.
I am still struggling with the idea of forgiving my mother for the hurtful things that she did to me. I know on some level that I need to forgive her for my own sake. I also know that forgiving her does not mean I am saying that what she did was okay, because it was Not. I just feel that I need to work on getting in touch with that hurt little girl inside me and helping her before I dismiss the sins of the woman who created the hurt in that little girl.
I know that I feel a tremendous amount of anger that is only hurting me, but that little girl inside me needs someone to validate her pain. Since my mother is unable or unwilling to validate anything, then I (the adult me) am the only other person in the world who will be able to do that. When I reach that little girl, then I will be able to rescue her, and at that time, I may be able to forgive my mother for being the hateful, hurtful, malicious, person that she is. Forgiveness may be the best thing for me to do, but it also may be the hardest.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Beginning of My "Weight Problem"...
When I was about 9 years old my mother decided that I had a "weight problem". Looking back at my medical records in my adulthood I see that I weighed 55-60 lbs at this time. Using that as a reference along with the the few photos of myself at that age, I can see that I was not overweight. However, my mother thought I was and that was the beginning of my life-long struggle with weight.
In order to 'help' me lose weight, my mother began to restrict my food, sweets, and carbonated beverages. This was in the early 70's so Diet Rite Cola was a fairly new product on the market, and certainly not something that was normally given to children. My mother worked diligently at her mission to make me lose weight but apparently she felt she wasn't getting the progress she desired so when I was about 10-1/2 years old she took me to our family physician and insisted that the doctor put me on a 1200 calorie a day diet.
The doctor examined me and explained to my mother that I was of normal weight for a child of my age, height etc. She would not listen to reason and insisted that I was overweight and needed a diet plan. He gave in a bit and suggested that I eat less sweets, maybe drink diet soda, and eat more fruits, but I did not need a 1200 calorie diet, that was too restrictive for a child of my age, and was not necessary in my case as he did not feel that I was overweight. She told him that she had tried all of those things and I still would not lose weight so she needed the diet plan. Then she had a mini-tantrum there in his office examining room saying basically that she was not leaving until he provided her with a 1200 calorie diet plan for me.
I remember sitting there on the examining table watching this heated conversation between my mother and the doctor. They acted as if I were not even in the room, other than to gesture in my direction when referring to me or my weight. I felt embarrassed that I was unable to lose weight and now my mother had to insist that the doctor give me a diet plan. I felt that I must be grossly overweight for my mother to act like this. I secretly hoped the doctor would tell my mother that he was not providing her with a diet plan and to leave me alone, but that is not what happened.
The doctor told me to get dressed while my mother went into his office. When she came back in to get me she had several sheets of paper in her hand...the 1200 calorie diet. She looked quite pleased with herself but I knew this was not going to be good.
On our way home from the doctor's office, we stopped at the grocery store and purchased the foods that were on the diet plan. When we got home my mother announced to the family that she had taken me to the doctor about my weight and the doctor agreed with her that I was fat and needed to be on this new diet plan. This would mean that I would no longer be allowed to drink the sugary soda's that the rest of the family drank. I would no longer be allowed to have dessert after dinner when the family did, instead I would get sugar-free jello. I would no longer be allowed to have any candy, so no one was permitted to give me any. I felt like I had some kind of disease and I was being punished for it. I didn't think I looked any heavier than Greg or Peter but here was my mother telling the family that the doctor agreed with her that I was fat and needed to go on a 1200 calorie diet. I assumed that must have been what they discussed privately in his office. [Years later I read my medical records and saw that the doctor noted in my file that he gave my mother the diet plan that my mother insisted on having even though he did not feel I was overweight.]
My older brothers didn't understand the seriousness of this punishment. They thought it was quite funny and tormented me by showing off that they got ice cream for dessert while I ate Jello. I was not allowed seconds at dinner while they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted. My portions had to be weighed and measured and I was not allowed an ounce more of anything. The word 'fat' was now like my middle name. My
brothers soon figured out that 'fat' was the substance that was in the lard can that mom used to cook with. And that was the start of the real torture. When my brothers wanted to tease & be mean to me they would get the can of lard out of the cabinet and say, "You better get back in the lard can!"
As a young girl approaching puberty, being teased about my body was very humiliating for me. I would tell my mom that the boys were picking on me saying "Get back in the Lard Can" and at first she would say, "Boys quit teasing your sister." As time went on and this form of teasing continued and even got much worse, I would tell my mom that they were picking on me and she would say, "stop tattle tailing" or even worse, "If you lost weight they wouldn't have a reason to tease you."
By the time I was 12-1/2 and puberty hit, I was thoroughly ashamed of my 'fat' body. I didn't want to wear a two-piece bathing suit like my friends because I was embarrassed for anyone to see my stomach. I discovered boys but didn't want them touching my body, even when we were all horsing around because I was afraid they would feel my fat body. I felt I must be a total failure at losing weight because my mother never stopped with the dieting plan.
When it came time to buy school clothes for the 6th Grade my mother would not buy me the same fashionable clothes that my friends wore, although she bought them for herself and my little sister. She spent the least amount of money on my clothes compared to my siblings.
I was embarrassed to wear the clothes that she bought me but I had no choice. When I asked her about getting clothes like my friends she would say, "if you lose weight then you could wear prettier clothes like me and Cindy and your friends.
I look back on my pictures at this age and I do not see a fat child. If I didn't know the child in the picture I would NEVER think that child was fat, far from it. But at that time, she told me I was, my siblings reinforced it with their teasing and taunting, so I assumed that I must be fat. This constant monitoring of my weight by my mother went on for years. Then when I was 17 and got married so that I could move out of her home (another whole story in and of itself) I continued the dieting on my own. I would rarely lose more than a few pounds, then gain it right back.
Ten days before my wedding my mom convinced me that I should go on a fasting diet so I would be slim for my wedding day. This was totally new to me, but apparently you could lose a lot of weight by simply drinking liquids and not eating. So I did it. After 10 days of fasting I went from 120 lbs (at 5'4") down to 110 lbs for my wedding day. I still felt fat on my wedding day but now I also felt very weak and shaky too. I ate at my reception, not a lot, just enough to keep me from passing out. Needless to say the 10 lbs came right back as soon as I resumed eating again. Within 10 months I had even gained an additional 10 lbs, putting me at 130 lbs. [Boy what I would give to be 130 lbs now!]
My weight has been a constant issue for me since I was 9 years old and my mother decided I was fat. My highest weight has been 175 lbs and at that weight I felt grotesque. I lost down to 145 lbs and still felt so fat, but my husband insisted that I stop dieting because I was getting too thin (in his eyes). At this very moment I am about 158 lbs and feel as fat as I was at 175. My mood is governed by what the scale says. If I step on and I am up half a pound then my day will be bad. If I step on and I am down half a pound I assume the scale is wrong. If my pants feel fine, then I step on the scale and discover I weigh 1 lb more than I did the week before, then suddenly my pants feel like they are cutting me in two. I know logically this is all in my head, but I am not able to turn off the voice inside my head that constantly remind me that I am fat.
In order to 'help' me lose weight, my mother began to restrict my food, sweets, and carbonated beverages. This was in the early 70's so Diet Rite Cola was a fairly new product on the market, and certainly not something that was normally given to children. My mother worked diligently at her mission to make me lose weight but apparently she felt she wasn't getting the progress she desired so when I was about 10-1/2 years old she took me to our family physician and insisted that the doctor put me on a 1200 calorie a day diet.
The doctor examined me and explained to my mother that I was of normal weight for a child of my age, height etc. She would not listen to reason and insisted that I was overweight and needed a diet plan. He gave in a bit and suggested that I eat less sweets, maybe drink diet soda, and eat more fruits, but I did not need a 1200 calorie diet, that was too restrictive for a child of my age, and was not necessary in my case as he did not feel that I was overweight. She told him that she had tried all of those things and I still would not lose weight so she needed the diet plan. Then she had a mini-tantrum there in his office examining room saying basically that she was not leaving until he provided her with a 1200 calorie diet plan for me.
I remember sitting there on the examining table watching this heated conversation between my mother and the doctor. They acted as if I were not even in the room, other than to gesture in my direction when referring to me or my weight. I felt embarrassed that I was unable to lose weight and now my mother had to insist that the doctor give me a diet plan. I felt that I must be grossly overweight for my mother to act like this. I secretly hoped the doctor would tell my mother that he was not providing her with a diet plan and to leave me alone, but that is not what happened.The doctor told me to get dressed while my mother went into his office. When she came back in to get me she had several sheets of paper in her hand...the 1200 calorie diet. She looked quite pleased with herself but I knew this was not going to be good.
On our way home from the doctor's office, we stopped at the grocery store and purchased the foods that were on the diet plan. When we got home my mother announced to the family that she had taken me to the doctor about my weight and the doctor agreed with her that I was fat and needed to be on this new diet plan. This would mean that I would no longer be allowed to drink the sugary soda's that the rest of the family drank. I would no longer be allowed to have dessert after dinner when the family did, instead I would get sugar-free jello. I would no longer be allowed to have any candy, so no one was permitted to give me any. I felt like I had some kind of disease and I was being punished for it. I didn't think I looked any heavier than Greg or Peter but here was my mother telling the family that the doctor agreed with her that I was fat and needed to go on a 1200 calorie diet. I assumed that must have been what they discussed privately in his office. [Years later I read my medical records and saw that the doctor noted in my file that he gave my mother the diet plan that my mother insisted on having even though he did not feel I was overweight.]
My older brothers didn't understand the seriousness of this punishment. They thought it was quite funny and tormented me by showing off that they got ice cream for dessert while I ate Jello. I was not allowed seconds at dinner while they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted. My portions had to be weighed and measured and I was not allowed an ounce more of anything. The word 'fat' was now like my middle name. My
brothers soon figured out that 'fat' was the substance that was in the lard can that mom used to cook with. And that was the start of the real torture. When my brothers wanted to tease & be mean to me they would get the can of lard out of the cabinet and say, "You better get back in the lard can!"As a young girl approaching puberty, being teased about my body was very humiliating for me. I would tell my mom that the boys were picking on me saying "Get back in the Lard Can" and at first she would say, "Boys quit teasing your sister." As time went on and this form of teasing continued and even got much worse, I would tell my mom that they were picking on me and she would say, "stop tattle tailing" or even worse, "If you lost weight they wouldn't have a reason to tease you."
By the time I was 12-1/2 and puberty hit, I was thoroughly ashamed of my 'fat' body. I didn't want to wear a two-piece bathing suit like my friends because I was embarrassed for anyone to see my stomach. I discovered boys but didn't want them touching my body, even when we were all horsing around because I was afraid they would feel my fat body. I felt I must be a total failure at losing weight because my mother never stopped with the dieting plan.
When it came time to buy school clothes for the 6th Grade my mother would not buy me the same fashionable clothes that my friends wore, although she bought them for herself and my little sister. She spent the least amount of money on my clothes compared to my siblings.
I was embarrassed to wear the clothes that she bought me but I had no choice. When I asked her about getting clothes like my friends she would say, "if you lose weight then you could wear prettier clothes like me and Cindy and your friends.
I look back on my pictures at this age and I do not see a fat child. If I didn't know the child in the picture I would NEVER think that child was fat, far from it. But at that time, she told me I was, my siblings reinforced it with their teasing and taunting, so I assumed that I must be fat. This constant monitoring of my weight by my mother went on for years. Then when I was 17 and got married so that I could move out of her home (another whole story in and of itself) I continued the dieting on my own. I would rarely lose more than a few pounds, then gain it right back.
Ten days before my wedding my mom convinced me that I should go on a fasting diet so I would be slim for my wedding day. This was totally new to me, but apparently you could lose a lot of weight by simply drinking liquids and not eating. So I did it. After 10 days of fasting I went from 120 lbs (at 5'4") down to 110 lbs for my wedding day. I still felt fat on my wedding day but now I also felt very weak and shaky too. I ate at my reception, not a lot, just enough to keep me from passing out. Needless to say the 10 lbs came right back as soon as I resumed eating again. Within 10 months I had even gained an additional 10 lbs, putting me at 130 lbs. [Boy what I would give to be 130 lbs now!]
My weight has been a constant issue for me since I was 9 years old and my mother decided I was fat. My highest weight has been 175 lbs and at that weight I felt grotesque. I lost down to 145 lbs and still felt so fat, but my husband insisted that I stop dieting because I was getting too thin (in his eyes). At this very moment I am about 158 lbs and feel as fat as I was at 175. My mood is governed by what the scale says. If I step on and I am up half a pound then my day will be bad. If I step on and I am down half a pound I assume the scale is wrong. If my pants feel fine, then I step on the scale and discover I weigh 1 lb more than I did the week before, then suddenly my pants feel like they are cutting me in two. I know logically this is all in my head, but I am not able to turn off the voice inside my head that constantly remind me that I am fat.
© 2009-2010 I'm a Pollyanna All Rights Reserved
No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Negative messages "train" us to behave the way we do.
I am coming down with a cold so I did not sleep well last night. But this sleeplessness helped me to realize something very profound...and a little gross.
I have been told by therapists, friends, family, and numerous self-help books that all I need to do is stop thinking the negative thoughts about myself and my body and replace those thoughts with positive ones. Sounds really simple, but only to someone who has not had negative messages pounded into their head about their weight, attractiveness (or lack there of), and personal abilities.
It is not a behavior that I can just suddenly stop doing. It is ingrained in me just as the automatic instinct to wipe my nose when it begins to run. Think about it...when you were a baby with a runny nose you didn't think, "Oh, I need to wipe my nose with a tissue." You would probably do nothing about it, or you might have even put your fingers in it and smeared it on your face. But over time you learned to get a tissue. Why? Because your mother (or other care provider) would exclaim, "Oh yuck, snot!" and she would hurry and grab a tissue and quickly clean your nose.
So as an adult, when I am deep in my sleep and my nose begins to run I immediately snap awake and grab a tissue. I have been trained that this is the proper response to my yucky nose running, right? Right! And I have also been trained by this same method to look at myself in the mirror and think, "Oh you are so fat, look at your flabby stomach. You can never wear nice fashionable clothes because you are too fat. You have to find something in the closet that is going to hide that fat stomach." That is just one of the many negative messages I received from my mother on a daily basis from as far back as I can remember until I moved out of her house at the age of 17.
So in reality I am not going to suddenly look in the mirror and say, "Wow, you look great today! You should buy yourself a new outfit to show off your beautiful self," any more than I am going to be able to sit still and let the snot run down my face.
I have been told by therapists, friends, family, and numerous self-help books that all I need to do is stop thinking the negative thoughts about myself and my body and replace those thoughts with positive ones. Sounds really simple, but only to someone who has not had negative messages pounded into their head about their weight, attractiveness (or lack there of), and personal abilities.
It is not a behavior that I can just suddenly stop doing. It is ingrained in me just as the automatic instinct to wipe my nose when it begins to run. Think about it...when you were a baby with a runny nose you didn't think, "Oh, I need to wipe my nose with a tissue." You would probably do nothing about it, or you might have even put your fingers in it and smeared it on your face. But over time you learned to get a tissue. Why? Because your mother (or other care provider) would exclaim, "Oh yuck, snot!" and she would hurry and grab a tissue and quickly clean your nose.
So as an adult, when I am deep in my sleep and my nose begins to run I immediately snap awake and grab a tissue. I have been trained that this is the proper response to my yucky nose running, right? Right! And I have also been trained by this same method to look at myself in the mirror and think, "Oh you are so fat, look at your flabby stomach. You can never wear nice fashionable clothes because you are too fat. You have to find something in the closet that is going to hide that fat stomach." That is just one of the many negative messages I received from my mother on a daily basis from as far back as I can remember until I moved out of her house at the age of 17.So in reality I am not going to suddenly look in the mirror and say, "Wow, you look great today! You should buy yourself a new outfit to show off your beautiful self," any more than I am going to be able to sit still and let the snot run down my face.
© 2009-2010 I'm a Pollyanna All Rights Reserved
No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.
Let me give you a little history of my beginning...
I was the third of four children, with two older brothers and a younger sister. My younger sister, who I will call *Cindy, is almost five years my junior so we never hung out together and did 'sister' stuff. I was more like her surrogate mother. My oldest brother who I will call *Greg was the 'chosen son'. Greg was my mothers heart and joy. He could do not wrong in her eyes, even when he was obviously doing wrong in other peoples eyes. My other brother, the one born between me and Greg, who I will call *Peter was not the chosen one in my mothers eye's but he was born on my fathers birthday so he had a special place in my fathers heart. Then there was me, born the third child in three years. This meant my mother had a lot on her plate. Taking care of two babies was hard enough, but now she had a third one. Fortunately for her I was not a demanding baby. According to her, I did not cry or fuss and need her attention. Apparently that is why I didn't get any attention.
From as far back as I can remember, my mother made it well known that I was an 'accident'. The unplanned one that ruined her life and burdened her with triple the work. Peter was also an accident. Although, as children, we didn't know what an 'accident' was, we certainly understood it to be something bad. It served as her excuse to not give us as much love and attention as Greg, the chosen one received. Fortunately for Peter, he was close enough in age to Greg that he received the same toys, chores, & freedoms as Greg received. I on the other hand was a girl, so everything was different for me.
Then along comes my baby sister Cindy when I was about 4-1/2 years old. She was the Special Baby. Although I had not yet even started kindergarten, my mother was feeling the urge to have another baby. She and my father discussed having another baby and my father strongly objected. But my mother gets what she wants, no matter what. So she 'accidentally on purpose' got pregnant. My father was very upset but he didn't remain that way for long because he always wanted my mother to be happy and being pregnant again seem to make her happy.
The lack of love and attention that I had received up until this moment was now amplified. Cindy was the adorable baby girl that my mother always wanted. She even looked like my mother in hair & eye color, where I did not have hair OR eyes that matched either of my parents. My mother doted on her, dressed her up in cute outfits, showed her off to people, filled the family album with massive numbers of pictures of her and generally forgot about me. (Note: I've located approximately 4 pictures of myself before the age of 5, and even in two of those, I am an 'extra' or a 'prop' in my sisters photos.)
My birthday is in December and Cindy was born in June, so when my 5th birthday rolled around my mother decided to give Cindy a half-birthday. Just so you know...up until this 5th birthday I never had birthday party. Not even a cake! My mother claimed that she was too busy taking care of three babies and my birthday was so close to Christmas that she just didn't have time or energy for a birthday party for me. My younger cousin's birthday was the day before mine so my mother would tell me that I could have cake and have fun at her birthday party. So that is what my birthday party consisted of, having cake at my cousin's party and watching her open gifts. Then we would return home and I would get to pick one gift from under the tree to open for my birthday. But now that Cindy was here (at 6 months old) she got a present too as her 'half-birthday' gift. Then Greg would start crying and carrying on that he didn't get a gift, so my mom would let my brothers have a gift too. Nice birthday, way to make me feel special.
When my sixth birthday came around I was in kindergarten. I was so anxious for the Christmas break to begin because it started on my birthday. I remember fidgeting in my seat on the school bus as we rode home. I got off the bus at the end of our street and I ran all the way home. When I opened the front door I could see my mother in the kitchen. She was mixing up something in a large bowl. "Oh that must be my birthday cake!" I thought to myself. I ran to the kitchen and tried to peek in the bowl but the counter was too high. I asked mom excitedly if that was my birthday cake she was mixing. She said, "No, I am making dinner." I didn't believe her, I knew it had to be my birthday cake and she just wanted it to be a surprise. "Yes it is!" I said in a cheerful way as I kept jumping up to see in the bowl. She again said that no it wasn't, but still I did not believe her so I climbed up into a chair near the counter and looked in the bowl... to my dismay, it was cornmeal. She was making corn bread for dinner. My heart nearly broke at that moment. I asked her why wasn't I going to get a birthday cake. She said, "After dinner we are going to your cousins house and you can have some of her birthday cake." Now my heart broke in two.
My mother never made me a birthday cake, not even once in my entire life. But that was not the case for my baby sister Cindy. She not only got a birthday cake, she got a party too with balloons, decorations, hats, the works. Starting when she was just 1 year old. My brothers each got birthday cakes and sometimes even a party too. When I was a teenager I baked my own cake a few times. Years later, when I was a mother myself, my daughters helped me bake a cake for my birthday. I received my first birthday cake when I was 29 years old. It was a surprise gift from my step-mother who knew about my childhood. It still brings tears to my eyes to reflect on that day. She made the most elaborate birthday cake I had ever seen. It had a Barbie doll in the center and the cake itself was made to look like a fancy ball gown on the Barbie doll.
So this was just the beginning of my life. This one blog post would be the length of a book if I told you my entire story so I am going to just stop here and slowly unfold the story in future posts. Besides, I don't think I am emotionally strong enough to re-live anymore than this right now. The memories and pain that are brought to the surface with just this very brief summary of my beginning will take some time for my conscious-self to absorb. I hope you will please join me on this journey to understanding it all and finding some peace in my life.
*You may have noticed that the names I use for my siblings are from the Brady Bunch, it is not by mistake. I wanted to protect their identity, and I grew up on the Brady Bunch.
From as far back as I can remember, my mother made it well known that I was an 'accident'. The unplanned one that ruined her life and burdened her with triple the work. Peter was also an accident. Although, as children, we didn't know what an 'accident' was, we certainly understood it to be something bad. It served as her excuse to not give us as much love and attention as Greg, the chosen one received. Fortunately for Peter, he was close enough in age to Greg that he received the same toys, chores, & freedoms as Greg received. I on the other hand was a girl, so everything was different for me.
Then along comes my baby sister Cindy when I was about 4-1/2 years old. She was the Special Baby. Although I had not yet even started kindergarten, my mother was feeling the urge to have another baby. She and my father discussed having another baby and my father strongly objected. But my mother gets what she wants, no matter what. So she 'accidentally on purpose' got pregnant. My father was very upset but he didn't remain that way for long because he always wanted my mother to be happy and being pregnant again seem to make her happy.The lack of love and attention that I had received up until this moment was now amplified. Cindy was the adorable baby girl that my mother always wanted. She even looked like my mother in hair & eye color, where I did not have hair OR eyes that matched either of my parents. My mother doted on her, dressed her up in cute outfits, showed her off to people, filled the family album with massive numbers of pictures of her and generally forgot about me. (Note: I've located approximately 4 pictures of myself before the age of 5, and even in two of those, I am an 'extra' or a 'prop' in my sisters photos.)
My birthday is in December and Cindy was born in June, so when my 5th birthday rolled around my mother decided to give Cindy a half-birthday. Just so you know...up until this 5th birthday I never had birthday party. Not even a cake! My mother claimed that she was too busy taking care of three babies and my birthday was so close to Christmas that she just didn't have time or energy for a birthday party for me. My younger cousin's birthday was the day before mine so my mother would tell me that I could have cake and have fun at her birthday party. So that is what my birthday party consisted of, having cake at my cousin's party and watching her open gifts. Then we would return home and I would get to pick one gift from under the tree to open for my birthday. But now that Cindy was here (at 6 months old) she got a present too as her 'half-birthday' gift. Then Greg would start crying and carrying on that he didn't get a gift, so my mom would let my brothers have a gift too. Nice birthday, way to make me feel special.
When my sixth birthday came around I was in kindergarten. I was so anxious for the Christmas break to begin because it started on my birthday. I remember fidgeting in my seat on the school bus as we rode home. I got off the bus at the end of our street and I ran all the way home. When I opened the front door I could see my mother in the kitchen. She was mixing up something in a large bowl. "Oh that must be my birthday cake!" I thought to myself. I ran to the kitchen and tried to peek in the bowl but the counter was too high. I asked mom excitedly if that was my birthday cake she was mixing. She said, "No, I am making dinner." I didn't believe her, I knew it had to be my birthday cake and she just wanted it to be a surprise. "Yes it is!" I said in a cheerful way as I kept jumping up to see in the bowl. She again said that no it wasn't, but still I did not believe her so I climbed up into a chair near the counter and looked in the bowl... to my dismay, it was cornmeal. She was making corn bread for dinner. My heart nearly broke at that moment. I asked her why wasn't I going to get a birthday cake. She said, "After dinner we are going to your cousins house and you can have some of her birthday cake." Now my heart broke in two.
My mother never made me a birthday cake, not even once in my entire life. But that was not the case for my baby sister Cindy. She not only got a birthday cake, she got a party too with balloons, decorations, hats, the works. Starting when she was just 1 year old. My brothers each got birthday cakes and sometimes even a party too. When I was a teenager I baked my own cake a few times. Years later, when I was a mother myself, my daughters helped me bake a cake for my birthday. I received my first birthday cake when I was 29 years old. It was a surprise gift from my step-mother who knew about my childhood. It still brings tears to my eyes to reflect on that day. She made the most elaborate birthday cake I had ever seen. It had a Barbie doll in the center and the cake itself was made to look like a fancy ball gown on the Barbie doll.
So this was just the beginning of my life. This one blog post would be the length of a book if I told you my entire story so I am going to just stop here and slowly unfold the story in future posts. Besides, I don't think I am emotionally strong enough to re-live anymore than this right now. The memories and pain that are brought to the surface with just this very brief summary of my beginning will take some time for my conscious-self to absorb. I hope you will please join me on this journey to understanding it all and finding some peace in my life.
*You may have noticed that the names I use for my siblings are from the Brady Bunch, it is not by mistake. I wanted to protect their identity, and I grew up on the Brady Bunch.
© 2009-2010 I'm a Pollyanna All Rights Reserved
No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
What is a Pollyanna?
Besides being the title of a 1960 Walt Disney film starring child actress Hayley Mills, a Pollyanna is defined as being a person who is regarded as being foolishly or blindly optimistic. Looking at my sad childhood, one would not think of me as 'foolishly optimistic' however I do believe I am. After all, I spent most of my entire life trying to somehow please my mother, make her proud of me, and to make her love me. Although that never happened, I still blindly believed that it would, if only I could be pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough, witty enough, helpful enough, selfless enough...the list goes on.
So, yes, I am a Pollyanna. And this blog is part therapy for me and part my 'Pollyanna' personality wanting to maybe help someone else by sharing my deepest, darkest thoughts & memories with them. And it is also a live history of my journey to find peace and happiness within myself.
If at anytime I blog about something that touches you enough to respond, please do. I will post and respond to any comments that are not meant to be hurtful to myself or others reading this blog. There will be a short delay in seeing your posts because I must approve them. I don't want my blog to become a place for spammers to post, or for 'haters' to spew their hate. This is a place of caring and kindness.
© 2009-2010 I'm a Pollyanna All Rights Reserved
No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.
No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.
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