My childhood is filled with many memories. There were the normal memories of playing with my brother and friends, going to the movies, and hanging out at the mall. Most of my memories were of a loud angry household. My most vivid childhood memories were of my mother screaming at me, calling me names, and putting me down. Occasionally, she would spank us. When she did, she would be so angry that she would lose control. When she would get angry with me, she would yell and call me names, purposely being hurtful. 

My first such memory was when I was 5 years old. We were getting ready for church and I was unable to find one of my shoes. When I told my mother, she yelled and screamed that I had misplaced the shoe on purpose so that I wouldn’t have to go to church. On the way to church, she continued by telling me that I was the devil and I had nothing but evil in me. In the fourth grade, I went to a new school. For the first four or five months, I was picked on and bullied. When I told my mother, her first response was to ask me what I had done to make them pick on me. It was about this time that I began to believe that I was less than, not as good as, other kids. I carried that feeling into adulthood, and still fight with it today. 

One day during the summer before seventh grade I was working on a puzzle when a friend called, I asked my mother to ask her if I could call her back later because I was almost finished. She did as I asked, but after she hung up the phone she flew into a rage and told me that I was a bitch and that I would never have any friends. I still carry that with me. As a teenager, I was given the offer to train for the U.S. Swimming Team for the 1988 Olympics. I was excited. This was my dream. My mother declined the offer. When I asked her why, she said she didn’t have time to waste with that. These events were not as rare as it would appear. My mother would often yell, scream and put me down. By my early to mid-teens, it was routine. It was part of my day. The only upside to my mother’s rages was that she wouldn’t speak to me for a few days afterward. The silence was calming. I enjoyed it while I could. 

Having said all of that, I loved my mother, and I know she loved me. She made many sacrifices so that my brother and I could have some of the things we wanted, and go on vacations. We would look through all of the catalogs that we got in the mail and pretend that we were shopping at the mall. The problem came when she got angry. She responded to me the way her grandmother responded to her. I have always been disappointed that she never tried to be better than that. I did drugs and drank during junior high and high school. I stopped doing drugs during my late teens, but I started drinking rather heavily.

When I was about 20 years old I began to see a therapist, and eventually a psychiatrist. I have been in and out of therapy and on and off of medication for the last 25 years. I am currently in therapy, and very happy with my therapist. I am also taking antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. Every day is a struggle with self-esteem. Every day I fight to believe I’m not the person my mother said I was. The biggest struggle is to build up my children’s self-esteem while working on my own. As a parent, I try very hard not to yell, scream and be mean like my mother was. When I get upset with my children, I focus on what they did wrong. I never tell them what horrible people they are, because they aren’t.  I realize that I get angry, too angry, and I’m the one that needs a time out. I don’t spank my kids.  Not because I believe it’s wrong, because I don’t. But because I’m afraid that I will lose control like my mother did. - American Psychological Association. 

Scripture says "Train up a child the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it ". Let's be mindful how we bring up our children.