I recently met with my psychiatrist and psychologist on the same
day, my psychiatrist is generally AMAZING and is very big on talk therapy,
unlike other shrinks I have seen who pull out the script pad the minute you
walk through the door and then kick you out again.
Having both appointments on the same day was unintentional
but it turned out to be very useful as I had some time to think about my
discussion with my psychiatrist and then explore that further with my
psychologist and had a bit of an epiphany.
Apparently, despite all the denial it turns out that I
actually do have some deep seeded unresolved ‘Mummy Issues’ after all, but don’t
get me wrong, I had a wonderful upbringing. Growing up my much older half-brother
& sister lived with their mother interstate and I lived the glorious life
of an only child there was never any abuse, my parents were (and still are)
happily married and I don’t ever remember them fighting. I have never doubted
that I was loved – in fact I was doted on and spoiled rotten but perhaps that
is a big part of the problem.
I didn’t grow up with siblings so I wasn’t teased at home
and when I entered school life and the bullying began I couldn’t understand why
other children could be so mean, intentionally harming others simply didn’t make
any sense to me, the kids laughed at me because I was fat, tripped me over and
called me names, I was devastated.
When I told mum she just said that it wasn’t true and that I
was beautiful but she was my mother and she always said
that, but the kids at school had no bias’s so why
would they lie? Besides the evidence in the mirror was pretty damning. I soon decided I couldn't trust anything positive my mother said because she HAD to be nice to me.
When I came home in tears Mum’s efforts to cheer me up involved giving me a hug and pretty much anything
that I wanted and I wanted junk food. I was allowed to drink as much soft drink
as I wanted from as far back as I can remember and I started drinking coffee at
around age 7 we actually had a “chocolate drawer” in my house accessible and
filled to the brim with a variety of fun size treats. So when I was around 8yrs
old and too young to grasp what caused weight gain in the first place, I was consoled
for being teased about my weight with chocolate treats or trips to McDonalds.
I don’t quite know how mum, who was frequently on a ‘diet’
or joining assorted weight watcher style groups, didn’t realise that all the “treats”
to make me feel better were just adding to the problem. She maintained at the
time that I wasn’t fat, and to this day claims that because I am smaller now as
an adult it was “just puppy fat” but photo’s don’t lie and my current body shape
is due to an eating disorder so frankly Mum…. Sigh…
My mother treated me like a little adult from early on, she
thought I was mature for my age and spoke to me as such. I knew right from wrong,
my core values were solid and so I was given very few boundaries and expected
to make the right decisions.
I never wanted to disappoint my parents, but of course like
all children I wanted to push the limits, the desire to try new things and experience
the thrill of danger is strong. I quickly learned that if I simply chose to lie
about my actions I could get away with pretty much anything I desired, I was
the master of my own destiny and as I became a teenager and hormones and hypomania
began rearing their ugly heads, all good intentions and common sense went out
the window.
I finally found friends as awkward as me, we did drugs, I shaved my head, had
sex and partied all night while I “stayed over at a friend’s place” and then I
came home and did my homework where no one was the wiser. At 14 I got sick of
the continued bullying and started losing weight, by 15 years old I had
developed full blown anorexia and was filled with psychotic paranoia, I was
terrified of food, counted every calorie, exercised constantly and thought my
parents were trying to poison me. Yes, my parents were worried but I lied to
them, I said I was fine and they seemed to believe me. I told them I must be
having a growth spurt, I pretended to eat before they got up, threw my school
lunches away and became a ‘vegetarian’ so I could make my own dinners.
They only took me to a doctor once, a GP. My BMI was about 15 and she told me if I didn’t
eat I would end up with a feeding tube and I simply lied and told her I wasn't afraid to gain weight and I would
eat more, she reviewed me a week later so I water loaded before the appointment
and so when I was weighed I was deemed to be ‘making progress’ I lied and told
her I felt much better with more weight on me and that was the end of that. Case
closed, nothing to worry about and no psychiatric assessment at all.
Of course my weight continued to drop, I wore baggier
clothes and when the school worried I denied any problem to them and myself –
nobody was going to make me fat again. I was being asked to see the counselor daily
and just skipped school instead – I never even met her. When they pushed the
issue and had a meeting with my mother behind my back I was furious, Mum felt guilty and I just
stopped going to school altogether.
At 15 ½ I got a full time retail job and Mum and Dad
went along with it.
I started dating a 30yr old just after my 16th
birthday and they smiled as they shook his hand, I left home a few months later
so that I could be alone with my eating disorder and they helped me move. No
one ever put their foot down, or even really tried – they were always super supportive,
always trusting my judgement.
Mum still prides herself on having a ‘friendship’ with me,
she had always wanted to be my friend not ‘just my mother’ but sometimes kids need to be treated like kids, they need
to be given firm boundaries and told “no”.
Yes, it turns out that I am harbouring some parental resentment
there after all. I love my Mum very much and I know she did her best and what
she believed was the right thing to do at the time, but I can't help but feel that maybe if she had said “No”
more often when I was little I wouldn’t have been as plump, perhaps teased a
little less and not gone on to develop an eating disorder. Maybe I wouldn’t still
be dealing with one now at 32 if I had gotten actual psychological help when I first
needed it and maybe my bipolar would have been recognised and diagnosed earlier and some of my
manic self-destructiveness could have been prevented.
That being said, I have certainly learned a lot from my
experiences and if all of that stuff hadn’t of happened I probably wouldn’t have
met my husband, been knocked up at 17 and have the amazing family I have today.
Do you blame your parents for your issues?
