My Parent 's True Spouse

The boy’s mother was raised in poverty. Her mother taught her how to use the governmental system and the streets to survive. My wife and I had never been subject to welfare or any government assistance programs before so many things was new to use when we tried to help his mother get back on her feet. I was very shocked to learn that his mother, whom was twenty-three years old has never done such things as craving pumpkins, coloring Easter eggs and even putting up a Christmas tree. She was raised in such a different social group then my family. I felt very sorry for her because of her past and wanted to help get her out of the situation she had been raised in. Then a few months had passed and things was not getting any better she had stopped coming and seeing her son and I noticed drug addicts coming and in and out of her house. At that moment, I knew she had fallen a victim to her surroundings. The child’s mother had suffered through a very difficult childhood, and at the age of thirteen her own mother had prostituted her out to

When I was a child, every time I saw my mother crying and hurting from all the abuse induced by her husband, the person who was supposed to protect her, I ask God, why? I never received an answer. As the abuse continued and life went on, I was never able to forgive him for the suffering that he caused not only to my mother, but to me as well. I was carrying all the miseries from my childhood and taking out on the people who love and care for me. There was no closure for the pain and suffering. The only person that I saw comfort and security from was my father, a man who never allowed me to pity myself or blame myself for other's actions. He was always there for me until my eighteenth birthday when he decided that I was “old enough to be on my own;” it was his own way to attempt making me independent. Everything became blurry at that point in my life. There was nowhere to turn except the only person who had the opportunities in her eighty years to master the meaning of true forgiveness: my grandmother, Consuelo, which her name literally means to console. Living with her and listening to her life stories allowed me to comprehend

Throughout my life I've suffered through nurmous horrific events. It began when I was born, when I was diagnosed with Poland syndrome. Poland syndrome is a rare birth defect characterized by underdevelopment of the chest muscle on one side of the body. In most individuals, (me) the missing part is the large section of the muscle that attaches to the upper arm on one side and the breastbone on the other, In women the breast will be noticeably different in overall size and nipple size. I attend a facilty titled "Touching You," for treatment and will later have corrections surgically made later down the road. When I was six years old, my father remarried for the first time to a woman who haunts my mind til this day. Her father took

My mother was in a relationship with a man, little did she know that this man was not the man she thought he was. I was about seven years old the first time I witnessed my mother physically abused. All I can remember was seeing my mother being pushed down a flight of stairs. The second time that I can remember is hearing an argument getting really heated. I went to the kitchen to see what was going on, he had a knife in his hand. I was so scared and felt helpless that I couldn’t protect my mother. I immediately called 911 in a panic. I remember a police officer questioning me. I don’t remember my mother ever talking to me about what happened it was just swept under the rug. Now that I am older I question why my mother dealt with verbal and physical abuse and stayed with this man. Of course, I can never bring my questions up to my mother. She’s just not that kind of person to talk about situations or just really talk about anything in

My sister, Sylvia, was attached to my mother. I never knew what happened to her, one day she was there and the next she was gone. Ever since then my sister hasn’t been the same. I knew my mum was abused by my dad, every night, I could hear her piercing screams, which resembled Sylvia’s as he laughed at her

As time went by, I discovered that I had misinterpreted my mom’s anger. The nightly tears she shed in what she thought was secret, revealed to me that she wasn’t angry; she was extremely worried and frightened. Being a religious woman, she obviously didn’t want her son to go to hell. It occurred to me that my angry reaction may have done more harm than good. I misconstrued her fear for anger; she misconstrued my hurt for

Trust is naturally built into child-adult relationships. Children are fully dependent on adults for all of their needs and initially trust without thought. This is the first stage in Erikson’s eight psychosocial stages of development (Willows, 2009, p.46). Abuse in any of the young stages does not show itself kindly. This mistrust of others, even dear loved ones, may follow the survivors of CSA into adulthood. Even if their own mother did not abuse them, their father may have, and the child believes that the mother knew and did nothing. How will this affect the mothering skills of the survivor? Certain mothers felt the need to constantly be around their child or would leave their child without hesitation, only later to realize after working through repressed memories that the babysitters she chose were the very people who abused her (Oz & Ogiers, 2006, pp. 45-47).

I was 3 when my mom remarried to a guy named Keith, a drunk, abusive, control freak towards my mom about what she could and couldn’t do, and to top it off he was addicted to drugs so he couldn’t hold a job. I was young, carefree, and in the end completely ignorant to what a healthy relationship was. I guess it is like they say “Ignorance is bliss.” Until the age of 6 I didn’t know the truth of everything going on while I wasn’t home or outside playing with my whoever were my friends where we lived at that time. He never touched me or my half brother, but what I didn’t know till I was way older is how abusive he was towards my half sister.

I called my father and told him I wanted to leave my mother’s house. I didn’t want to stay in a house where I was emotionally abused. However, he denied my request. He felt he could never be able to win the case. I figured it was because of how manipulative my mother was, but that wasn’t it. My mother has a better house and a more stable job than my father. There was no responsible way out of a place where I was unwanted and unhappy. I remember staying locked in my room for several weeks. My mother never seemed to notice my disappearance. I believe that she knew what was going on with me, but she had “better things” to worry about. To this day, I still suffer with depression and deal with the same problems at home, but I don’t let it affect my school work. I know my mother loves me, but I feel as if she picks favorites and I am the last one on the

Since the age of three, I have had scarring images of being abused by my divorced mother’s boyfriend. I vividly remember the cold winter night that changed my life forever. My mother, her boyfriend, and I had just got home from going to the store. We were gazing into the clear, star filled night, pondering the constellations. When I felt a violent shove from my mother’s boyfriend. The next thing I knew, my head smacked off the

When I got home from school, my mother, with an uneasy look plastered on her rose white skin greeted me along with her traditional kiss on the cheek. She asked me, “What happened?” with a concerned tone to her voice. That was it. Hearing my mother’s words of concern was the it. I could no longer keep myself together any longer. I had been holding my tears since that damned Drama class. I finally let myself go. I went into my room without saying a word, I shouted his name until my lungs were no longer capable of keeping air.

My mother is a very complicated woman. I believe the best way to describe her would be, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I know, weird way to start off my literary story, right? As much as I do not like my mother, I love her, and respect her. While I am being honest, I owe my work ethic and a vast majority of my success to her, as much as I hate to admit it. The way she lived her life, most college graduates and the societal hoity toity types would raise their noses to. However, you can’t deny her dedication to her children and their education, she is the start of my literacy journey.

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping

My dad, Michael, was born in California in 1961 and raised by his mom for the first portion of his life. While living with his mom, there was no importance placed on religion thus, no belief system in which the family followed. She eventually re-married when he was about six years old. The man she remarried, Gary, would end up having a huge role in the way my dad ended up growing up. Unfortunately Michael’s mom was often gone working two jobs leaving him at home alone with Gary, a very angry, unsympathetic and abusive body builder. My dad was abused often by Gary and found himself being terrified of even leaving his bedroom to use the bathroom in fear of the repercussion it would have with Gary. While living with his mom and Gary; there was little to no importance put into family norms such as conversation, communication, doing things as a family or even eating dinner together. There were no words of encouragement or

A few months into our immigration to the U.S, our situation was starting to unsettle. My father’s relative became mentally abusive towards my mother. They blamed my mother for the disappearance of my father, stating that it was her that causes the failure in their marriage. This blame would have a tremendous impact on her psyche. It was at this period that my mother began to show signs of abnormal behavior. Her characteristics began to change. She, who had always been reliable and independent, became uncertain and reliant. Although she was growing increasingly uncertain, there was one thing that my mother strongly believed. My mother had an unrealistic belief that my father had the intention of contacting us, and that there was another