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aronarchy · 9 months

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https://twitter.com/butchanarchy/status/1682439217538801679

Tbh you know the “your parents did their best” is an empty platitude because there’s no specificity to what goal they were “doing their best” to achieve. Just assumes that all parents are part of the same unique social group who have a set of shared and benevolent goals.

Yeah I could say my parent “tried their best” in that they poured a LOT of energy into their parenting goals. But their goals as a parent was to control me, shape me into an image that conformed to gender norms, and punish deviations from those goals.

I completely believe that if my parent’s goals had included treating me with compassion and respect they would have achieved that, even if they had fuck ups along the way. It didn’t happen because they didn’t see me, and children in general, as worthy of that compassion and respect.

There are poor and incredibly under-resourced parents who cannot, due to structural pressures, provide secure housing, food, and medical care, and still manage to not abuse and degrade the children in their care. There are wealthy parents who become vile child abusers.

Again and again people want to locate the origin of abuse in trauma and lack of resources and thus inherently position trauma survivors and poor people as the most dangerous/most likely to become abusive.

The actual origin of abuse is ideology. Children are not abused so frequently because their parents were abused but because children are an oppressed group in our society, almost entirely disempowered by our current systems, and therefore most vulnerable to abuse.

Parents who abuse the children in their care take the mainstream beliefs about children to the most extreme conclusions. They believe in the validity of their ultimate authority over children’s bodies, interests, activities, material resources, etc. and they act on that belief.

“They tried their best” is used to shut down very righteous and responsible anger from people whose parents took advantage of their extremely empowered position over them to abuse them. It’s another way to say “it could not have been otherwise.”

And it could have been otherwise. It is a choice to abuse a child. Fuck, even non-abusive but still shitty parenting decisions could have been otherwise and the person hurt or traumatized by that, the child, gets to demand accountability for that/set boundaries in response.

And if a parent is really committed to doing their best to treat their child with compassion and respect they’ll be able to acknowledge accountability for their own fuck ups and work to do differently rather than using determinism to shift the blame. 🤷

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fromchaostocosmos · 7 days

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if anyone knows of any mutual aid, financial aid, financial resources, or just resources in general that are for/geared towards adults survivors of child abuse that they can share with me I would be really appreciative of any help.

#adult survivors of child abuse #child abuse #resources #resources for child abuse survivors #looking for help #looking for resources #looking for financial aid resources #any help is appreciated

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luke-o-lophus · 5 months

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A Ship of Theseus

Summary: Half a year after Ammit, the Moon Boys have moved in with Layla again. One day, there's a special delivery. A blast from the past, in the most mundane way imaginable.

A/N: A character study of an adult survivor of childhood abuse. What is means for memories, belongings, and justice

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It's another of those days.

On most days recently, stuff around the house is just...stuff. Then every once in a while, they seem to stare back at him. Try to provoke him into a conversation, introspection, memories.

Until recently, there wasn't a lot of belongings Marc had held on to. When he'd left the house, he could take only as much as he could fit in two bags. And he definitely wasn't aiming to include keepsakes. In a way, that had been easier: living in a space that looked absolutely different. It was easier to pretend the child in his memories wasn't really him, or at best was just a version of him. It's been fifteen years since.

When Marc moved back in with Layla, half a year past the Ammit situation, things had become completely different. Steven was in the picture now, and he came with his massive stack of books and an aquarium Marc found unnecessarily huge for two fish. "It's bigger than my army room", Marc had grumbled to Layla one evening as he helped her carry her stuff into their new apartment.

Between her and Steven, it's easy to lose yourself in the warmth of home. At least that's what Marc had hoped to do. Until Elias called again. As he does. When Marc refused to speak to him, Steven suddenly found himself on call with a father he had no memory of having. But Elias called to talk business. He was selling some old furniture from the house; too much stuff for one person he said. Layla listened to it all with rapt attention as her husband curled up on her lap. It was the memories that were hanging too heavy on Elias, that much was obvious. But she wouldn't tell Marc that, she wouldn't set him on another path of feeling guilt for his choice of cutting contacts. Marc had already done enough, and Elias not nearly so.

Two months later, Packers and Movers delivered a mountain of packages from his once 'home'. Marc eyed the pile with obvious distress, second guessing his choice of accepting the unused furniture just sitting around the house. It'd saved them good bucks they could now use towards a proper honeymoon in the Maldives.

The biggest piece of furniture was a heavy desk, now dismantled into pieces and neatly packed. It had been a gift from his grandfather when he turned five. The man liked to spoil his grandkids. In the years since, the table became his sanctuary. He sketched and played on it, and hid under it when needed. The table had been his constant, his only witness. The only piece of wood in that house he found claim to.

But seeing it now, in this form, sent a chill down his spine. The power tools were ready, it'd take just hours to put it all together. Piece by piece, construct back the silent observer of all those childhood experiences: the ones he remembered, and the ones forever lost to memory. He'd have to bring them back, by his own hands.

Layla was only a little surprised when she came home that evening. Normally Marc hated having things lying around, leading to endless complaints of Steven's untidiness. But she'd guessed the table would be, quite literally, a lot to unpack.

"You don't have to", she told him over a cup of tea. "We can sell it, or put it in storage somewhere. Anything." Marc sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It's mine. But I...", he didn't really want it around. It wasn't comforting. His home with his wife and his alter was his safe haven.

But it's also sacred. Some planks of wood simply nailed together; the weight of which only his tiny young shoulders knew. In one teasing example of the ship of Theseus, Steven told him. If you take it apart piece by piece, and build it back together, is it the same anymore?

Marc doesn't know. He leaves the philosophical shit to him and Layla. But he does know what it makes him feel, unlike either of them. It's only him, and the voice inside of him, flaring up from all those scared memories of a bruised kid hidden beneath the wide tabletop. Teary eyes demanding justice...from himself if not from anyone else.

It's been almost thirty years, and Marc still doesn't know what justice looks like for them. How is he supposed to make the correct decision? From the opposite wall, the propped up packages seem to follow every movement...observing, judging, waiting.

"I was thinking...", Layla chimes in breaking his train of thought. "We should head to Maldives in October. Weather should clear up by then...and it won't be too hot." Marc purses his lips in thought, considering the idea, glancing between the cardboard and Layla's jade black eyes.

"That's two months, huh? Yeah...should be enough time to plan", he shrugs. "Tell Steven, he'll be thrilled." "We can finish setting up the flat when we're back", she starts washing the cups. Marc stares at her back, as she's seemingly lost in her world. Another deep sigh, his eyes closed, memories of the desk, memories of this kitchen countertop, Layla sitting on it...the day they made S'mores together. "Yeah...", he smiles, walking up to her and putting the cups away. "I'll....put these in the storeroom till then?"

"Yeah sure, we can deal with them once we're back." she flashes him a blinding grin. "So, honeymoon, huh?"

Marc chuckles, and wraps her in his warmest hug.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #luke shares #moonscarab #layla el faouly #marc x layla #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort #character study #marc doesnt know about jake yet #tw child abuse #aftermath of abuse #adult survivors of childhood abuse #moon knight fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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ravenousnightwind · 7 months

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It took me a really long time to realise that I was physically abused and manipulated by school officials and even doctors. My parents did some abusing too in their frustration to figure out my problems. No one knew how to deal with me, why I couldn't or wouldn't, or didn't like to do things like go to school, or to sit and write for homework.

It wasn't until I was 35 that I truly realised it all. That was the reason/s for why I kept having problems over many years. Always in my dreams being chased by people. It was because that's what happened to me in some kind of way. They did "chase" me. They attacked, literally tackled me, grabbed me, slapped me, told I was bad, a bad student, said I was crazy.

But I know now that nothing they said about me was true. I only had bad reactions because they were doing things to me. Which made me run further from my own disabilities. It hindered my growth as a person even more than how I was born. Despite these limits, I have come a long way. Whatever happens now, I face with confidence. Knowing my own way, knowing who I am and what I want, and what I'm capable of.

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nothing0fnothing · 6 months

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We still lived in the old house when my cousin tried to hurt me. My mom had complained with him in the room to her sister that I had been caught at a birthday party with a same age as me boy in a tree house kissing on the lips. We weren't kissing when we got caught, we were just going to, but that's beside the point. Anyhow, I was 5 and my cousin was 13. So the next day he had a chance he played a game with me where we lined all my bears up against the door. He then sat against the door and told me to kiss him. I didn't want to. I'd gotten in enough trouble before and the thought of it made me uncomfortable. He then explained that I was trapped in this room with him. That no adults would hear me cry and even if they could they were powerless to save me with him sat against the door. That I would be trapped here forever till I did it. I began to cry and ask him to move, I began screaming for my mommy but she didn't rush to me at all. I began to barter as small children do, "you can have my legos, my dolly, my favoritist picture" I'm sat on one side of the room bawling while he taunts me in the other. Till I decided there was one route that I hadn't tried yet, physical violence. I got up from my corner, wiped the tears from my eyes and put my hands around his throat, choking him. I squeezed hard till he was red in the face then let go. He ran to my mother who immediately sided with him. She barely listened to my explanation of what happened and made it clear she didn't believe me. So there it was. The first time I reported and I wasn't believed. Later on other people did worse and I knew to just keep it to myself, because I knew with the reputation my parents pinned on me nobody would believe me and I'd only make it worse.

#csa survivor #Adult survivor of csa #grooming survivor #toxic parents #vent post #raised by narcissists #toxic mom #narcissistic abuse #childhood trauma #parental abuse #dysfunctional family #complex trauma #dysfunctional household #grooming victim #child abuse #victim blaming

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whatbigotspost · 6 months

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Fuck. Being the child/grandchild of a truly awful, violent person is so complicated. One of the many complex facets of it for me is the act of identifying and rooting out the subconscious kind of self hatred I’ve carried because of who my father is and who my biological grandfather was.

I feel like I don’t often hear a ton about this difficult experience of reconciling the feelings inside you when you really understand that some of the people who have passed along your DNA are among the people you abhor most. People whose actions and behaviors disgust you.

At a subconscious level, and very deliberately, I’ve gone out of my way, nearly constantly, to try to figure out being a Good Person and essentially acting extremely differently than I witnessed/experienced as a kid.

Isn’t this driven by a fear of “badness” in me? Trying to demonstrate kind actions is great. But truly healing takes first recognizing and then acknowledging that in some way, my viewing myself as inherently bad (if not carefully managed) because I “came from them” has been probably hurting me or holding me back in some way. It’s a form of festering self hatred. And like while you KNOW that you are not them and you haven’t done what they did and you’re not responsible for what they did and you’re not doomed to become them… you might “know” it but still not really get it at a deeper level. In how you see yourself as bad or potentially bad.

Basically, I’ve spent a lot of time feeling, acting, and being guilty for things that never had anything to do with me directly.

I’m sure not everyone who shares DNA with bad people will have these feelings but I bet a lot of us do.

Taking this festering self hatred out of the subconscious and into the light where I can understand and therefore counter it is really helpful for me.

#abuse #child abuse #healing #adult survivors of child abuse #violence #reparenting #self worth

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wasted-on-dreaming · 2 years

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A Polite Response to my Abuser

I've been meaning to crawl back onto Tumblr all week, and this is not how I meant to do it, but uh... So my abusive parent sent me a fantastically horrible email. And I'm so furious I really wanted to reply, so I wrote the reply. But in the end I think it's better to not give them the satisfaction. So I'm not actually sending it. But I feel like I have to put this somewhere or I'm going to scream, so I guess I'm tossing it here. I promise I'll add some more fun content asap! Maybe my collection of thoughts about Kavinsky, which is starting to feel like the guy with the board of red strings. "Kavinsky is a good boy, actually, if you just follow this string here--" Also my brain has been stuck in this fucking hole of Dream Pack Adam AU thoughts. And I've been toying with headcanons for Jiang bc he does not get enough love. Also why is there not more Swan and Proko content when they have FUCKING MATCHING CARS??? And the wait for Greywaren is seriously K I L L I N G me ugh ugh.

To be clear: you don't deserve a response, but I'm writing one anyway. I don't expect it to make a difference, of course. More than the old adage about old dogs and new tricks, I don't think you want to change. But I'm going to say it anyway.

To start: the idea that you are my mother is not "just fact", actually. You are my genetic progenitor, while mother implies a deeper connection that you have not earned. I have, on multiple occasions, given you opportunities to change that, but you remain incapable of rising to the challenge. Despite that all I've ever asked is that you behave like an adult and actually treat me like a human being. So despite what you claim, you have turned your back on me more times and in more ways than I can count. The fact that you fail to acknowledge this is frankly baffling. Do you think I'm unaware?

You can choose to rewrite events so you don't have to deal with them. That's your prerogative. But it does not change the actual events. You were yelling at me, twice, on two different subjects. This was so bad that someone knocked on my door afterwards asking if I was okay, since as we discussed previously, you were on speaker as my phone doesn't work otherwise. So, no. We are not talking about your "tone". We are talking about yelling in a way audible from the hallway such that a stranger was concerned. Not that this is new behavior for you.

You asked me and I responded honestly, saying that it would be a huge help, but that it was okay if you couldn't cover my insurance. And then you're yelling at me like I'm mugging you at gunpoint. And this was after the point where I had to point out that making me feel unsafe does not make it easier for me to do things I struggle with.

I have diagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder tied to your abuse and the way you behave towards me. You know, that thing that people in warzones have, because that's what interacting with you is like. The explosion is always inevitable, I just never know how or when it'll happen.

It's not trying to take advantage of your offer of financial assistance -- every time I said that you did not have to, you said that you wanted to help. And you refused to elucidate in any way what the issue was. All while continuing to yell at me and make me uncomfortable for no discernable reason. The issue is, as always, the fact that you don't treat me with even basic human decency. The fact that every time I try to make space so you can step into my life, you just prove that you still see me as a defenseless child you can hit with no repercussions. And yet I've kept giving you chances. But that's never good enough for you, because you don't want chances. You don't want an opportunity to build a relationship, to see if there exists the potential for a relationship that isn't built on fear. You want unquestioning love without bothering to question if you even deserve it. You show zero regard for my comfort or boundaries, or even the slightest hint that you're aware that there are barriers to what you're asking for. Likely because you can't acknowledge those barriers are your own behavior.

The fact that you still turn verbally abusive despite the number of times that I've told you I wont tolerate that behavior further is the issue. Not that I'm "entitled" and "ungracious". This time I am following through.

I can't believe I have to explain this to you, but the way that you behave, and how you treat people, has consequences. This is especially true when it comes to exercising their right to decide how they want to interact with you.

An example of one of those consequences is the degree to which I feel comfortable including you in my life. You talk about entitlement, and yet fail to see it in the way you talk about how I keep you from talking to my doctors, as if that's a level of trust that you think you deserve. Simply, the more that you make it clear that you can't behave in a way that is safe for other people, even over the phone, the less able I am to interact with you. Full stop. I would, frankly, love to have a functional parent, who cared for me and was able to support me when I'm dealing with things that are challenging and sometimes beyond what I'm capable of. Not even necessarily in a way that involves money, but just someone who could talk to me and be there and be a comfort when I'm overwhelmed because I'm dealing with a lot of things and need help figuring things out. Unfortunately, both of my parents were damaged people before I was born. And sending me stuff has always been easier for you than being responsive to how I feel. You've been emotionally abusive throughout my entire life, and you have proven over and over that you have no interest in changing those behaviors.

So the fact you can say feeling like I don't have a support system is an illusion, and insist that you're always there for me without a shred of self-awareness is horrifyingly insulting on a level you clearly don't care enough to grasp. You act as if your presence and your support comes without cost and without threat and without feelings that damage my safety when that is absurdly untrue.

If I dated someone, and we broke up because they hit me in the face, I might give them a chance to prove that they were not that still that person if we met years later. But I sure as hell would not get back together with them after meeting a couple times for Starbucks. And if they yelled at me during one of those meetings and proved they were still incapable of communicating in a way that didn't reference that old violence, I would very abruptly stop giving them the opportunity. And that isn't entitlement, that is prioritizing my own fucking safety. You say that you're "tired of trying". But the problem is that you don't actually seem interested in trying in the first place. You want to skip to the end- to be welcomed with open arms- which isn't trying at all. You completely ignore the reasons being physically in your presence is difficult for me while you act wounded about being rebuffed.

Honestly, living with my dad was not all that I needed. But it was so much better than being consistently physically hit, and kicked, and yelled at, and verbally belittled, and told how worthless I was, that it was literally impossible for me to see it in any other light for most of my life. Do you remember how you used to call me "Bubbles" and demean me for daring to be happy to talk to someone who valued my existence? Because I do. Yes, you are clearly still the same person, and that is the problem. You say that you "did your best", but I honestly don't believe it. Or at least, if you did, your focus was not on the baby you chose to bring into the world. You made a choice that you were going to subject a baby to those struggles. You don't get a girl scout badge for toughing it out; there is no gold star for doing it on your own while you commit criminal levels of child abuse. You don't get a prize for living beyond your means and not being on welfare, and if you happen to hit your kid, well, that's just water under the bridge. Further, the problem with this victim narrative you're trying to spin, is that any struggles that you had a result of having a child, were struggles that you knowingly chose. You decided that you wanted that in your life. I obviously did not get any such choice when it came to being abused by my mother from before I'd even started kindergarten. So no, it's not that I don't understand that things were "difficult". It's simply that things being difficult does not justify or excuse the actions you took. You had options like adoption or foster care or letting my father have custody far earlier than you did, if being a mother was beyond your capabilities. Which it clearly was, by your own admissions. Being a dependent child, I had no choice in the matter.

You try to paint this as some saintly, virtuous suffering you went through -- but it isn't. I can imagine that situation, and yes, finding myself or a romantic partner with a child I was unprepared would be terrifying. I would seriously consider if being with me was the best option for the child -- not for me. But the first time I abused that child and realized that I was not a safe situation for them, I would have reckoned with what my options were for giving that child a chance at a good life, one that didn't include me. Which are choices that you had, but chose not to make. Do you remember when my friends and I called child protective services, and you charmed your way through that by bullying terrified children? And you weren't angry at the prospect of losing me, or because you loved me, but because you were afraid of how it would "look". Your issues with my father are, as always, between the two of you. I have no interest in the letter he wrote, because it doesn't change your actions. This whole aside about whether or not my father was delinquent on child support doesn't alter the fact that you systematically beat any concept of my own worth out of me. You know my dad had to insist that I allow him to hug me, because of how terrified I was of being touched from living with you. I could not conceive of any touch that didn't hurt. You did that. It's taken two decades for me to believe that I have a right to set boundaries, to want things that are not structured around being small and silent and appeasing the people around me out of fear. I believed that how things made me feel- or if I wanted them to stop- didn't matter, because of how you treated me and how worthless you convinced me I was. I struggle with hearing out of my right ear, and I still have the scar where you burned my hand with your cigarette. You don't get to blame the things you did on my dad when he was on the other side of the country.

Further, you say that I "live in the past", and that I'm "punishing you for my childhood", which just proves how disconnected you are from the reality of what all of this has meant for me. My point with these examples is that for me, none of this is "the past", because in many ways this is something that I continue to have to deal with. I still flinch at loud noises, or when people come up on my bad side, or when a door closes too loudly. And I still don't trust that people wont hurt me. Even the people I care about. Especially the people I care about.

This is my reality because of the degree to which you abused your own child, and because of that I do not get the luxury that you do. I don't get to just decide that I don't want to deal with this because it makes me feel bad. You've done such massive damage to my identity and self-image that I continue to have to work through it, a day at a time. I get memories as intrusive thoughts, I have triggers. If you want to talk about being entitled, telling the victim of your persistent abuse that they should just get over it and not talk about it is pretty fucking high. I am in therapy, actually, and I spend most of it trying to unravel all the things you told me. No, sorry, pointing these things out is not you being punished. It is a direct result from choices you've made to harm others, and behaviors that you continue to carry out. That is not punishment. That is just truth.

And as much as you claim that I'm fixated on the past as a way to hurt you, I very rarely have talked about any of this. I have almost never brought up the specifics of how much a specter of horror you were for me as a child. This is goodbye, in case that was unclear. And fucking fuck you. Cordially, James

#bad manners #tw abuse #a response to gaslighting #fuck your coersion #fuck im so mad #child abuse #adult abuse survivor #bad parenting #bad mothers #fucking fuck you #im shaking #im still so upset #tw child trauma #screaming into the void is better than screaming #real life #am i out of line?#i feel stupid and irrational #but maybe thats just how angry i am #fuck fuck fuck

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