I grew up in a very abusive household. I was emotionally, mentally, and physically abused by my Mom almost daily. My only reprieve was school. I was a quiet introverted kid because my Mom stomped all over my confidence. It was obvious I was depressed too.
I loved school and I loved my teachers. I was a goody two shoe who always did her homework and did extra things in class. It brought me a lot of joy even though I was very quiet and barely talked.
One day I was cleaning the hutch that’s in the entry way of our house when I was in 6th grade and came across several folders. It was pages and pages of notes written by my teachers from different grades about my behavior in class and things I did. One was a detailed account of an interaction between me and another student. How I reacted to things she said etc.
I felt sick to my stomach as I went through the folders, reading all the dates and “events”. This was something that started in 2nd grade up until 5th. I didn’t know if it was still continuing. It turns out they were monitoring my behavior because my Mom told them I was dysfunctional at home. That I broke things and was a bully to her and my siblings. The person I “acted like” in school wasn’t the real me. She made me sound like a sociopath.
My heart broke. School was an escape for me it was my happy place but apparently my teachers thought I was some deranged kid. It gutted me. It made me paranoid of what others thought of me. I was a lonely kid who was a black sheep in her own family.
It really ruined my ability to trust my peers and teachers. I got angry and started not to care. I didn’t invest as much into school (not like failing) and I was barely ever home. In 8th grade I walked into my Spanish class and my English teacher was standing in the corner we locked eyes and I felt a bit of dread wondering if I was going to be “spied” on. Part of me was like, naw that can’t be why she’s here. Maybe it’s something else.
Nope! She even wrote down the awkward exchange I had with another student who pressured me into showing my test results (I got an 89) and how the other student had a “bad look” on their face and ignore me the rest of class. That was fun to find.
Why couldn’t anyone talk to me? Instead of sitting me down and treating me like a person I was some weird thing to study. I would have given anything for someone to show me kindness. Let me talk about what was happening in my life but this made me feel more isolated.
The reason why my Mom told them I had behavior issues at home and was faking my meekness? They were concerned with how introverted I was and she didn’t want to tell them the truth. She beat the crap out of me, destroyed my bedroom almost weekly, tore apart art I would create, not feed me dinner several days a week, give me hand me down clothes and shoes that didn’t fit while my siblings got brand new everything. I suffered from ingrown toe nails for ages because of that. There were times she would purposefully drive off without me and leave me to walk home or be stuck home while the rest of my family went out to eat or see a movie.
This was twenty+ years ago. Things were a bit different back then. I escaped my family, went to school, met my husband, and we both are successful. The last time I saw my family/extended family was at my favorite Aunt’s funeral. So many relatives came up commenting how I “changed for the better” and all that kind of lovely stuff. Apparently my Mom told them I was on the path of drugs and promiscuity or something. I had to explain to them that no... I wouldn’t have my job if that was the case.
I have zero contact with my side of the family. My husband’s family is amazing. Like, white picket fence, wholesome people. They genuinely love me and it feels good. Part of me still feels anger at my teachers. I wish someone just said something. It would have helped a lonely abused kid more than they could have ever known.
Submitted July 23, 2019 at 05:00AM by Runic_Sigyn https://ift.tt/2YePuHu
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