child of neglect

Let’s play, “was I abused” game! Reblog and bold the things your parents have done to you! Italicize if you’re not sure. (copy paste it all and then bold)

Physical abuse

  • parent slapped me to prove their point/teach me a lesson
  • parent spanked me as a “punishment” saying it was for my own good
  • parent pulled on my hair to force me to move
  • parent threw things at me while angry, things heavy enough to hurt me
  • parent trapped me into a room/corner so I couldn’t escape them
  • parent hit me when I wouldn’t obey them/tried to confront them
  • parent used a twig/stick/belt to lash at my body
  • parent grabbed me to force me to pay attention to them
  • parent pinned me down and physically prevented me from escaping
  • parent brought me into situations where I feared for my life
  • parent made it painfully obvious for me that I’ll obey them or suffer injuries
  • parent threatened to beat me if I wouldn’t do as they say
  • parent forcefully fed me something I refused to eat 
  • parent made an attempt at strangling/drowning/burning me
  • parent banged my head/body into the wall/furniture
  • parent forced me into sexual activities

Emotional abuse

  • parent called me derogatory names and slurs more than once
  • parent said my name mostly with hatred and scorn in their voice
  • parent degraded and humiliated me in front of others for fun
  • parent insulted and devalued something really important to me
  • parent deprived me of something that meant the world to me
  • parent yelled and swore at me in anger more than once
  • parent blamed me for things that were out of my control/not my fault
  • parent shamed me for my physical appearance
  • parent guilt-tripped me for not pleasing them well enough
  • parent regarded me as a burden, and shamed me for needing them at all
  • parent insisted I couldn’t take a joke after I got hurt from their insults
  • parent never comforted me/got angry if I reached for comfort
  • parent punished me for crying/showing fear/showing trauma symptoms
  • parent humiliated me for showing excitement and happiness
  • parent subtly let me know that my feelings and my problems don’t matter
  • parent got angry at me for feeling depressed/angry/tired/suicidal
  • parent blamed me for feeling depressed/angry/tired/suicidal
  • parent compared me to cousins/other children to prove how I’m the worst
  • parent decided for me how I feel when it was convenient for them
  • parent told me that I was crazy/delusional/need to be locked away
  • parent threatened me with kicking me out/sending away if I don’t change
  • parent refused to accept my sexuality/tried to force it to change
  • parent required for me to act normal to protect family’s reputation
  • parent isolated me from family activities they all enjoy
  • parent assured me that nobody will ever want me 
  • parent insisted that I was lucky and that I could have had it much worse
  • parent made me responsible for their well being and made me the caretaker
  • parent insisted that their harmful acts were all made “out of love”
  • parent demanded me to be available for their requests at any time
  • parent punished me for trying to establish boundaries
  • parent destroyed my belongings as a revenge
  • parent made inappropriate sex jokes and comments in my presence
  • parent denied doing any of this and insists that all the blame is on me

Psychological Abuse

  • parent kept pointing out my flaws as proofs that I wont achieve anything
  • parent called me stupid, incompetent, ignorant, while withholding information that I needed to know in order to complete tasks
  • parent would change their side of the agreement in crucial moment and then pretend it was obvious from the start
  • parent stalked me/distrusted me without any reason/invaded my privacy
  • parent attacked my insecurities and vulnerabilities in any argument
  • parent forced me into degrading actions while they watched me do it 
  • parent threatened to leave me
  • parent accused me regularly of behaving the way they did
  • parent never acknowledged, praised or approved of my actions
  • parent always demanded they are right without any proof/explanation
  • parent insisted that they’re a great parent using financial support as proof
  • parent insisted that I should be grateful for how good they are to me
  • parent gaslighted me and tried to make me believe my memories weren’t real if I confronted them with what they did

Neglect

  • parent didn’t notice I haven’t been eating properly
  • parent didn’t notice I was sick/didn’t care for me while I was sick
  • parent didn’t notice I was injured
  • parent didn’t notice I didn’t have clothes/shoes I needed for school
  • parent didn’t notice I suffered from trauma 
  • parent didn’t notice I was anxious and stressed
  • parent didn’t notice I was depressed
  • parent didn’t notice I was cutting myself
  • parent didn’t notice I was suicidal
  • parent didn’t notice I was being sexually abused
  • parent didn’t notice I was being bullied
  • parent failed to get me medical attention when it was needed
  • parent failed to teach me the very basics of self care
  • parent didn’t seem to notice any of my needs and feelings except the absolute minimum I required to survive
  • when I notified them of these things, they denied it, accused me of lying, decided it wasn’t happening and/or blamed me for it

Financial Abuse

  • parent made me feel ashamed for needing money
  • parent made me feel like I’m a financial burden to them
  • parent only gave me minimal money to survive 
  • parent made sure I never have a decent amount of money on me
  • parent took the money I earned from me
  • parent used the money to blackmail me (if you continue this way let’s see who will pay for your bus ticket!)
  • parent insisted since they “pay for my stuff” they have the right to control my behaviour and actions
  • parent had enough money for luxury but kept me without anything
  • parent refused to get my medicine/get me medical attention because it’s too expensive while they got everything for themselves
  • parent would keep me anxious over if they would pay my expenses or not
  • parent would make me do as much work for them as possible before they would pay for a necessity
  • parent kept me in the dark over family finances even when I was of age
  • parent would make sure I never have enough money to escape them

If you bold more than 5 things, you have been through abuse. For some particular ones, even one true thing on this list means you’ve been badly harmed by your parents. Also this list is not complete, there are many more abusive behaviours not listed here, feel free to add!

Shout out to all the people who are having Mother’s Day shoved in their faces even though their mothers were abusive, neglectful, or absent. I know it feels like everyone is forgetting you or leaving you behind, but please know that you’re not alone, and you have every right to hate or ignore this holiday.

That awkward moment when you realize as a result of being emotionally neglected and abused as a child you never learned how to vocalize “what’s wrong” because no one ever cared enough to ask…
Or when they did they didn’t take the time to understand, or used it against you to bully you, invalidating your experience and minimizing your feelings labeling you “too sensitive” so as an adult you keep everything inside to the detriment of your own mental health and relationships 🙃🙃🙃

If you have a complicated relationship with your mother because of abuse or neglect, you don’t have to feel guilty regardless of how much or how little you choose to interact with her.

I know there’s a lot of pressure to acknowledge her even if she’s hurt you badly. If you choose to (or wish you could) keep your distance or even end your relationship with her, you’re not a bad child or ungrateful or mean.

If for any reason you do something nice for her, that doesn’t mean you give up your right to be angry or hurt by what she did before that. It doesn’t mean you give up your right to keep your distance or even end your relationship with her later on.

You don’t owe her. But it’s complicated sometimes, I understand. Just do your best to be gentle with yourself, and try to remember that you didn’t deserve what happened. You have always deserved care and respect.

Exercise: Assessing Your Parent’s Emotional Immaturity

Read through the following statements and check any that describe your parent. Since all these items are potential signs of emotional immaturity, checking more than one suggests you very well may have been dealing with an emotionally immature parent.

  • My parent often overreacted to relatively minor things.
  • My parent didn’t express much empathy or emotional awareness.
  • When it came to emotional closeness and feelings, my parent seemed uncomfortable and didn’t go there.
  • My parent was often irritated by individual differences or different points of view.
  • When I was growing up, my parent used me as a confidant but wasn’t a confidant for me.
  • My parent often said and did things without thinking about people’s feelings.
  • I didn’t get much attention or sympathy from my parent, except maybe when I was really sick.
  • My parent was inconsistent - sometimes wise, sometimes unreasonable.
  • If I became upset, my parent either said something superficial and unhelpful or got angry and sarcastic.
  • Conversations mostly centered on my parent’s interests.
  • Even polite disagreement could make my parent very defensive.
  • It was deflating to tell my parent about my successes because it didn’t seem to matter.
  • Facts and logic were no match for my parent’s opinions.
  • My parent wasn’t self-reflective and rarely looked at their role in a problem.
  • My parent tended to be a black-and-white thinker, and unreceptive to new ideas.

-Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson

2

Genie was born in 1957 in California. Her father determined that she was mentally disabled and therefore not worthy of his attention or care. He isolated her from everybody - locking her alone inside a room until she reached the age of 13. While inside this room, he kept her strapped to a toilet or enclosed in a crib. Due to her isolation, she was incapable of communicating or walking when she was finally rescued by Los Angeles child welfare authorities on 4 November, 1970.

Her father would beat her with a plank wood each time she attempted to communicate with her family and would bark and growl at her like a dog to intimidate her - this instilled a severe fear of dogs which continued after she was freed. He even grew his fingernails; the sole purpose being so he could scratch at Genie is she ever “misbehaved.” After she was freed, she was often used as a case study for psychologists, linguists, and scientists.

Genie was sent into care and while there seemed to be a series of breakthroughs in the beginning, there were also major setbacks - she was exploited and also abused by those who were supposed to be caring for her - she was sent to an extremely religious foster care home in which she retreated and in 1977, she managed to tell a children’s hospital that her foster parents had physically punished her when she had been sick. Following this, her speech never recovered and nobody knows for sure what became of her other than she was sent to an institute for the mentally undeveloped in Southern California in 2008.

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

To all the kids who were forced into taking care of your younger siblings, to everyone who had to do the work of mothering far too young, to people who lost huge parts of your own childhood in order to see that the other kids could keep a bit of theirs –

You should never have been put in that position. You deserved a childhood too. And I am so proud of you for doing the best you could in a bad situation. The kids you looked after are lucky that someone in their life cared enough to try to parent them, and on a day where people are thanking their mothers you deserve recognition too.

Thank you for trying so hard and for loving those kids as best you knew how. What you did was incredibly difficult and important work that you should not have had to do. Thank you for trying to give them the childhood you didn’t get to have.

Exercise: Determining Your Parent’s Type

Emotional Parent

  • Is preoccupied with their own needs
  • Has low empathy
  • Is enmeshed and not respectful of boundaries
  • Is defensively non-intimate
  • Doesn’t engage in reciprocal communication; just talks about themselves
  • Isn’t self-reflective
  • Has poor relationship repair skills
  • Is reactive, not thoughtful
  • Is either too close or too distant
  • Has frightening or intimidating emotional intensity
  • Expects their child to provide soothing and doesn’t think about the child’s needs
  • Likes to pretend they don’t run the show
  • Sees themselves as a victim

Driven Parent

  • Is preoccupied with their own needs
  • Has low empathy
  • Is enmeshed and not respectful of boundaries
  • Is defensively non-intimate 
  • Doesn’t engage in reciprocal communication; just talks about themselves
  • Isn’t self-reflective 
  • Has poor relationship repair skills 
  • Is reactive, not thoughtful 
  • Is either too close or too distant 
  • Has rigid values and perfectionistic expectations
  • Is goal-obsessed and busy, with machinelike tunnel vision
  • Sees their child as a reflection, without considering what the child wants
  • Likes to run the show
  • Sees themselves as a fixer

Passive Parent

  • Is preoccupied with their own needs
  • Has limited empathy
  • Is enmeshed and not respectful of boundaries 
  • Can be sporadically emotionally intimate
  • Engages only minimally in reciprocal communication; mostly talks about themselves
  • Isn’t self-reflective
  • Has limited relationship repair skills
  • Can be thoughtful on occasion
  • Is either too close or too distant
  • Can be kindly and fun but not protective
  • Has a laissez-faire attitude that all is well
  • Is affectionate toward the child but doesn’t stand up for them
  • Likes someone else to run the show or be the bad guy
  • Sees themselves as mellow and good-natured

Rejecting Parent

  • Is preoccupied with their own needs
  • Shows no empathy
  • Has impenetrable boundaries
  • Seems disconnected and hostile
  • Seldom engages in communication
  • Isn’t self-reflective
  • Has no relationship repair skills
  • Is reactive, attacking, and demeaning
  • Is too distant
  • Ignores their child and can be rageful toward the child
  • Is often rejecting and angry
  • Sees their child as a bother and doesn’t want to get near the children
  • Likes to mock and dismiss
  • Sees themselves as independent from others

All four types of emotionally immature parents are self-involved and insensitive and therefore emotionally unavailable to their children. Their lack of empathy makes them hard to communicate with and difficult to connect with. They’re all afraid of genuine emotion and seek to control others for their own comfort. None of them make their children feel emotionally seen. All are draining to be around in their own ways, and ultimately all interactions center around them. In addition, all are incapable of true interpersonal reciprocity. 

-Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Adults by Lindsay C. Gibson

I can’t believe those parents from that daddyofive channel are straight up blaming Phil for all the flack they’re getting???

Nobody is reacting the way they are to them because of what Phil said. He didn’t have to say anything, the clips from their own channel spoke for themselves. All Phil did was see kids potentially in danger and blew the whistle on it. What kind of person would he be to look away from children in need?

They’re claiming the videos are fake, which I don’t buy, but even if they faked the videos, I don’t understand what kind of reaction they expected? How do you put up videos of you yelling at, cussing at, and man handling your kids and not expect someone to try to jump in and defend those kids? It’s already fucking wild to me that it went on so long before someone finally said something.

Fake or not, you sat there and filmed, edited, and posted these videos, not seeing anything wrong with the content, and that’s still a huge fucking problem. It was aggressive, abusive, disturbing, and not in the least bit funny. You can’t just be like “but they’re for entertainment!” and be absolved of everything. The fact that they think that’s entertainment in and of itself is concerning to me.

Whatever, I dunno, I just thinking blaming someone else for being genuinely scared for your children instead of stepping back and being able to understand what you did wrong is a cop out.

hey when you feel awful about how you reacted to abuse and you think you must be weak and pathetic and blame yourself for not being stronger and more stable and unaffected by abuse, you know, it’s not just you, everyone would react the same way you did. Humans weren’t made to go thru trauma and pain without support and comfort, and stay unaffected, especially as children, all of us get hit by trauma and get paralyzed and broken by it, there is no human on this planet who would be able to go thru what you did and not feel the consequences. I know a lot of people play strong or act like nothing affects them, but it’s an act, they can get traumatized and abused just like everyone else. Some even go as far as to imply that only reason you were traumatized was because you were so weak and so sensitive, well that is bullshit and believe me they don’t know what they’re talking about, if they were subjected to the same trauma and abuse, with as little support and validation you had, they would be exactly where you are right now. Everyone would be exactly where you are right now. You haven’t reacted wrong or dealt with it wrong or taken damage from “nothing”, nobody can know how hard it was for you and how much you struggled except for you. Nobody else has the right to speak about it or tell you shit about how you should be reacting and how much it should be affecting you. They wouldn’t have taken it any better than you did. You did the best it was humanely possible.

Its really important when dealing with trauma that people remember that trauma is not always just one life changing event. Its also microagressions, put downs, neglect, emotional manipulation, etc. This type of trauma very rarely gets brought to light in the general public because we don’t necessarily understand how its going to affect humans down the road. We constantly tell people that they can rise above how they were brought up, negating that they have been affected by these things.

anonymous asked:

I have a character who did not have much interaction with others during her childhood. Would this have any lasting effects on her?

Being around other people is CRITICAL for a child’s development.

Okay. So I’m going to talk about two levels of isolation here.

The first level is going to be the Romanian Orphanage level of neglect.

The backstory is a bit complicated, but the upshot is that Romania suddenly had a hell of a lot of unwanted children, most of which had to be raised in institutional orphanages. There were not enough caregivers for the amount of children they had to deal with.

So what ended up happening is that babies were left in their cribs, 24/7, and fed and changed on a strict schedule. The babies learned not to cry, because it didn’t make a caregiver come running any faster. They didn’t have toys; all they could do is stare at their hands or the ceiling.

That lack of stimulation was found to have pretty significantly negative effects as the kids grew up. These kids are often physically stunted – they’re not as big as they should be for their age. Their brains are often actually physically smaller. They have lower IQs. They struggle with language. They also have problems with attachment.

Things do start to get better if the character is put into a foster home quickly, but they may still have emotional and psychological problems (there are some links below for further research).


Now. The other level of isolation I’m going to talk about is, for lack of a better term, the horror stories. These are children who were raised in extreme isolation by severely abusive caretakers, if they had caretakers at all.

Most children who are completely isolated or severely deprived of interaction have not learned, or have extreme difficulties with, language.

They also have difficulty with basic motor skills. There’s something in our brain called “mirror neurons.” @scriptbrainscientist will be able to elaborate more, but basically it boils down to “Monkey see, monkey do.” We learn how to do things because we mimic the behaviors of people around us. If there’s no one around the character, they won’t know how to do things. The character won’t know how to put on clothes or tie their shoes. They won’t know how to use a fork or knife. They may not even know how to walk.

Even if the character does have some social interaction, if they are mostly isolated, the level of interaction they get isn’t enough to foster normal development.

Now. That’s not to say that the character won’t ever be able to develop language and learn those skills. This kind of thing is not seen often enough for psychologists to make that kind of a conclusion. But every report we’ve seen so far says that feral or isolated kids never reach the level of functioning of same-age peers.

The best-studied case of a child being raised in isolation is that of a girl who was nicknamed “Genie.” 

I’m putting the rest of this post under the jump because what was done to her is nothing short of horrific.

Keep reading

The Shameful Death of Elisa Izquierdo - Elisa Izquierdo was born on 11 February, 1989, in Woodhull Hospital, Brooklyn, New York. Her father, Gustavo, was a Cuban immigrant while her mother, Awilda, was Puerto Rican raised in Brooklyn. Throughout the pregnancy, Awilda, a drug addict, continued to abuse drugs. As a result, Elisa was born addicted to crack cocaine. Awilda carried on this drug abuse following the birth and Gustavo, worried about the safety of their daughter, filed for full custody which was granted. Gustavo was a fantastic father that doted on his precious daughter - “She was his life. He would always say she was his princess,” a family friend went on to recall. As Elisa was in preschool, an affidavit was signed which stated that Awilda had overcome her addiction, had a permanent accommodation, and was now a married woman expecting another child. On paper, she seemed to have her life together. By 1991, Awilda was granted unsupervised visitation with her daughter, Elisa. Awilda’s two eldest children informed relatives that during these visits, Awilda would brutally beat Elisa. You would think that upon hearing this information these relatives would take that information straight to authorities. They did not. Gustavo and a number of Elia’s teachers noticed that Elisa often arrived back home from these visits bearing bruising. On one occasion, Elisa even had bruising around the genitalia. It was noticed by Gustavo that Elisa had began to wet the bed and would often be sick once returning home. Gustavo went straight to the authorities to report these findings, as did one teacher. Elisa herself even confessed to the abuse to a social worker. 

In 1992, Gustavo applied to have the visitation rights ceased; tragically, the courts denied this application and the visitations were allowed to continue. By 1993, Gustavo had purchased airplane tickets and had planned to move back to Cuba, taking Elisa with him. However, Gustavo and Elisa never made the flight - Gustavo was rushed to hospital with respiratory complications and died from lung cancer. The death of Gustavo was the nail in the coffin of Elisa escaping her abusive mother. Upon his death, Awilda filed for full custody of Elisa. She was initially granted temporary custody and upon hearing this terrifying news, Elsa Canizares, Gustavo’s cousin, also filed for custody. The head teacher of Elisa’s school and even Prince Michael of Greece, who had met Elisa in her school, wrote letters to the Judge, informing him of the torment Elisa had experienced at the hands of her own mother. Regardless of the mounting evidence as to why Awilda was not a suitable mother, in 1994, Awilda was granted full and permanent custody of Elisa: a decision that would prove to be fatal. Almost immediately, the abuse began. Elisa was taken out of her preschool and sent to a different one. Here she was reported as being withdrawn and uncommunicative. She was also reported to be riddled with bruises each week and appeared to have difficulty walking. Again, this clear evidence of abuse was reported but these reports were discarded due to apparently being “not reportable.” Enraged, Awilda withdrew Elisa from the school. Upon this withdrawal, Elisa was locked in her bedroom 24/7. She wasn’t even allowed out to use the bathroom. Neighbours often heard Elisa screaming and begging Awilda to stop. This was reported to the authorities but again, no action was taken. On 15 November, Awilda called her sister and told her that Elisa was “like retarded on the bed,” and that she had some sort of fluid leaking from her nose and mouth. The fluid was brain fluid. Elisa was left on the bed until the following day when Awilda invited a neighbour inside to view the body. The neighbour immediately called an ambulance but it was far too late - Elisa was dead. 

Awilda confessed that she had thrown Elisa head first into a concrete wall two days before the ambulance was called. She revealed that Elisa hadn’t spoken or moved since the incident. Medical examiners were horrified at the sight of little Elisa and couldn’t even begin to imagine the torture she had endured by somebody who was supposed to be her caregiver. She had numerous injuries which included broken fingers (one finger bone was even protruding through the skin), burns and cuts over her head, face, and body, and internal injuries. An autopsy also revealed that her genitalia and rectum bore signs of trauma which included tearing. It was later reported that Awilda had often sexually assaulted Elisa with a toothbrush and a hairbrush. Awilda’s husuband, Carlos Lopez, also partook. They even forced Elisa to eat her own faeces on a number of occasions. It was shown that all of the injuries had been sustained over a period of time; she had been tortured from the moment she entered the house. The abuse surrounding this case is extremely abhorrent but even more abhorrent is the fact that it was easily preventable had the authorities responded accordingly. Awilda was sentenced to 15 years to life imprisonment. Her next parole hearing is scheduled for July 2016,

if you’re in a home that’s abusive and you know the reason behind the abuse, you know that they don’t mean to hurt you and that they care about you, but just don’t have or use the skills to manage their emotions more effectively, im here for you and it doesn’t excuse or invalidate the abuse. it’s still abuse and you’re strong for being able to understand the reason they do it, but also strong enough to know that it’s still not your fault.

if your parent(s) or guardian(s) had you before they were ready, if you were an accident, if you were a one night stand, if your parents had you to fix their marriage, if you were born out of rape, if your parents’ emotional immaturity is the reason they abuse you because they had you too young and still haven’t grown up, I am here for you, and I appreciate how strong you are. you are so, so brave, and these things do not justify the abuse. you have a right to feel hurt by the things they say and do, and it isn’t your fault. you don’t owe your parents anything just because they kept you.

if you’re abused by your family and you still love them, not because you feel guilted into it but because you love the good times you’ve had and the memories you share, because you love their good traits, I’m here for you and I love you. you don’t deserve to be treated in the bad ways they treat you. even if the good times are so good you laugh until you cry, and the bad times are so bad you have an emergency bag packed in case you want to run away – the good times don’t justify the abuse. I feel you and I know you’ll be okay.

you can still have a relationship with your parents if you want to, and you can completely cut them out of your life if you want to. it’s up to you, this life is yours and your decisions are yours and no one else’s. you do not have to feel guilt or shame for either of those decisions, or for any decision you make concerning your wellbeing. and your decisions don’t have to be that extreme – you can hate the things your parents did/do to you, but you can still have a relationship with them and appreciate the nice times. either way you are still validated in saying they abused you or are abusive, and you are valid if you keep a relationship with them. or if you don’t. either way I’m here for you, and I’m proud of you.

I’m here for all of you.