Not Blaming my Parents for my Problems

My Mom with her Aunt. (Mom is on the left)

In the first chapter of her book, You can Heal your Life, Louise Hay says that, though our parents are largely responsible for our faulty perceptions of the world, we shouldn’t blame them. They did the best they could. Further, if we look beneath the surface of our parent’s behavior, we’ll find the fears and insecurities (created from their childhoods) that made them behave as they did. Louise Hay also wrote that we chose our parents and the family to which we’re born so that we can learn certain lessons we need in order to continue our spiritual evolution.

I agree with both points.

In a few days, I will blog about why I think I chose my family to advance my spiritual path. Today, however, I want to discuss my parents through my adult eyes for a change. Odd as this may sound, this is the first time that I’ve ever thought about my childhood from my adult perspective. Every time I’ve thought about my childhood, I usually look at it through my confused, scared child’s eyes. Not today.

My Mother
My mother was born WaveJean on November 19, 1938, at the end of the Great Depression.  She was the second eldest of five children born to Virgil and Belva Sears. Virgil worked in the coal mines, I think. (I never called him Grandpa, for reasons that I’ll probably reveal much later in my  blog).

Virgil had been a violent, abusive alcoholic, terrorizing his children and his passive wife. (Back then, this kind of behavior wasn’t considered to be violent, it was probably expected of a husband and father, especially in the hills of West Virginia).  My mother never had many positive things to say about either of her parents. She feared and resented her father and had no respect for her mother who could never stand up to him.

Probably the most disturbing thing about Virgil was his sexual behavior. I don’t remember details, but I have the impression that he was always cheating on his wife. But apparently—and this is even more disturbing—the age of the female didn’t matter. Mom said that every time she brought a girlfriend over to stay the night, Virgil would come into her bedroom and try to molest her. Consequently, her friends never got to spend the entire night with her. They always went home in the middle of the night, crying.

It makes sense to me that if Virgil molested her young girlfriends, he probably molested her. So I asked Mom about it once. She didn’t deny the possibility, but she said she had no memory of it.
On Her Own

Mom said that her mother was very jealous of her. She said that Belva (whom I had never met, for she died before I was born) was constantly telling Mom that she could see the “sex” in her eyes.  This is another reason why I believe that Virgil molested Mom. I think that Belva knew all about it and, as some women do, blamed her daughter for it. This had to be so shameful to Mom. I think they also kicked Mom out of the house many times and she had to go live with relatives.

Becoming an Adult at 15

Mom had been a beautiful woman. She could have been a model, with her shining black hair, brown eyes, hourglass figure and 5’6” tall frame. But, instead, she got married at the age of 15 to a man she didn’t know very well. His name was Cliff Walters and she said she married him to “escape” West Virginia and come to Ohio. She had a child by him, my oldest brother, but the marriage didn’t last very long. Cliff cheated on her constantly, Mom said.

Cliff got custody of Gary, my brother, because her parents wouldn’t go to court with her and help her get custody. (I don’t remember her age at the time, but she wasn’t old enough, back then, to go to court by herself). I can only imagine the feelings of bitterness Mom must have had toward her parents for letting her lose custody of her child.

Several years later, after she had married my dad, they went to court and got custody of Gary. By that time, they had already borne a few children of their own, and Gary felt like a misfit.

Eventually, Mom gave birth to 7 children.  (She actually had something like 10 pregnancies. One was stillborn and the rest were miscarriages). With babies, Mom was loving and protective and nurturing. But when we got old enough to be people, Mom became rejecting. There was little softness in her. Rather, she respected strength. She could show anger much easier than she could ever show tenderness. Vulnerability was dangerous to her sense of self preservation, I suppose.
Though I was the oldest daughter, Mom made it clear that she didn’t respect me. I was sensitive, quiet. I cried easily, wore my “heart on my sleeve” as she put it with heavy disdain in her voice.

I grew to resent and fear Mom, whom I could never seem to please. I felt constantly belittled and betrayed by her. Sometimes I even hated her. But good or bad, this woman has been the major influence on me throughout my life. My intense need to escape her only fused me more tightly to her.

As I got older, I withdrew more and more into myself, into the safety and relative peace of my bedroom.

In a later post, I will talk about my father.

Thoughts to Ponder:

Did you ever think of your parents as people while you were kids?

Do you think of them as people now?

Do you understand your childhood better now that you're an adult?