I wrote a post over on AYGTET about how I used to eat Indian sweets - even the ones I didn't like - to avoid not offending anyone. One of the girls at work brought in a bunch of Indian sweets after a ceremony, and one of the dishes she brought in was supposed to be served warm. Though after sitting on the counter for a few hours, the clarified butter and the cream had separated, so when you opened the container, you got greeted by a big, thick layer of clarified butter-ness. It looked truly awful.
Given that this was one of the foods that I don't like, yet made myself eat anyway, my jaw dropped. Like I said on AYGTET - "If I'm going to put THAT crap in my body, at least I should like the way it tastes?!"
Andrew then wrote a comment that got me thinking.
And I've never been afraid of offending people by saying no. Very finicky eater I'm told. :)It got me thinking, What was the reason behind me forcibly eating food that I didn't like to avoid offending people?
I once brought in some Barfi after Diwali and gave pieces to everyone at work. Not everyone liked it, which is understandable. NandosGirl even told me to my face that she didn't like it, but thanked me anyway for giving her a piece. It stung a little, but I understood. It probably stung because I wasn't expecting such upfront honesty - it was something I hadn't ever seen before.
I've written a lot about how my Mum has shaped my growing up, how her comments have lead to many of the damaging behaviours that I developed. This post is about one of the damaging behaviours that my Dad has contributed to.
Given what I've written about my Mum, many of you might believe that there's a good-cop-bad-cop situation in my household, with my Mum being the bad cop, and my Dad being the good. In reality, that's not the case. My Mum and Dad both have endearing qualities, yet in many ways, they have been heavily influenced by their upbringing. The difference between me and them is that I want to break the cycle of mental torment, whereas they are unaware of it in the first place.
One day, I was about 5, we were invited over to someone's house for dinner. I don't remember much of the details, but I do remember that I had discovered ice-cream and was head over heels. So when dessert was served, it was kheer - a rice pudding, which I hated (and still hate) - I was seriously annoyed. I wrinkled my nose at it and picked the raisins out, making a face if I happened to get a grain of rice with it. I just simply hated the stuff.
I remember the bowl being taken away from me, the pudding being reheated, and put back in front of me several times. I sat there, letting it grow cold, refusing to eat the stuff. Eventually, we left the house and went home.
When I got home, my Dad grabbed my shoulders and threw me against the wall, shouting at me for being so rude. He picked up one of his shoes and clubbed me across the face with it several times. I barely had time to start crying in between each blow.
Yes, it was physical abuse, and yes, it was wrong. Under the current 'anti-smacking' legislation in New Zealand, I'm certain that my Dad would be guilty as charged. This was a common occurrence in my house, so I wasn't aware that it didn't happen to other children - and that if they did get slapped, it was with an open palm, rather than using a hardened shoe or using a belt as a whip.
Thankfully for my parents, they realised that it was wrong, and brought my brother up without resorting to the physical abuse. However, I'm ashamed to say that I didn't understand why my Dad never hit my brother the way that they hit me when he was naughty. So, I would hit him instead. A 9 year old, beating up on a 3 year old. It makes me disgusted when I think of how I hurt him - I would kick him in the ribs, punch him. I don't think I ever used shoes or belts on him, though whenever I saw him start to cry, I felt a gleeful satisfaction that he was learning his lesson.
After thinking about Andrew's comment, I realised *that's* why I'm so terrified of not offending anyone when it comes to their food. That memory of my father slamming me up against the wall, that shoe in my face too many times to count, that memory was what had haunted me - and that fear that the five year old who received that beating, I've carried that with me.
I've forgiven my Dad. He didn't know any different from when he was brought up by his parents, and they brought him up the same way. My Mum didn't object since she too was brought up that way. How were they supposed to know? Noone gives you parenting manuals, never mind when you change countries and suddenly all of society's rules are different.
Now I need to be more forgiving and kind to myself. I don't need to eat foods I hate to pelase people. I don't need to be afraid anymore. My Dad isn't going to beat me up now.
The only person who can beat me up now, is myself.
13 comments:
Oh, Marshy. This post had me in tears. Both for what you've been through, and for the way you have become - you have such a big heart and kind spirit that you can recognize these faults in your parents and yet still forgive them and move on without bitterness. You are such an inspiration to me.
Christ, this touched a nerve with me. My dad has a similar temper, and nothing was as likely to awaken it as his pride being hurt...like yours, he learned his bad habits from his own father, and while he hated that aspect of his own upbringing, and ultimately hated that quality existing in himself, it was evident from time to time nonetheless. I can count on one hand how often I've seen violence from him, but they've been the most terrifying times of my life. This can't have been an easy post to write missus, and even less so admitting your own treatment of your wee brother, thank you for sharing, as ever. I don't think I'd be able to share my own experiences in such depth...I would feel too much of a need to justify and defend after every revelation.
Yowzers...I'm glad you have let it out. But wow...
Oh man being a finky eater is certainly not my problem. Ever since I got dyspepsia, I am the first one to tell people, that I cant eat gluten, red meat or diary. Or really anything processed. Watch their faces drop as they try and figure out what to feed me.
And in restaurants I am the first one to deviate from the menu and just tell them exactly what I want and how I want it cooked.
As soon as you have a medical problem or a food allergy people are far more likely to comply as well, then if you tell them you just dont like it.
Say, I am allergic to fat, if I eat fat, my thighs grow, thats a horrible allergic reaction wouldnt you say! hehe.
xx
My eyes welled up and my heart ached terribly reading this. I have memories of being cruel to my younger brother too, and I was also imitating someone else. The memories haunt me to this day, though I try to practice forgiveness. It sounds like you too have found some degree of forgiveness. So grateful to know you honey.
Oh my gosh. This post made me cry. I have a little girl and I just can't imagine. I am fortunate my parents did not hit me (much) but I understand how it gets passed down in families. As you say, how would anyone know better?
I am glad you have broken the chain. And glad you made this realization now. How profound. Thank you for opening up and sharing this.
While this was a very honest and heartbreaking post to read, I completely am in awe of the way you are able to use your blog as a cathartic medium. Respect for recognising what you were doing to your brother and why you were doing it - it takes a lot to own up to that kinda stuff because i's not something you want to admit to yourself, let alone other people.
On another personal note, do you find blogging about this to actually be cathartic? It does read like it is, and I hope that's the case.
Christie - Thank you. I think I have a lot more forgiving to do before I can be completely freed from the sunk-in behaviours like this.
Cara - It must have been terrifying whenever your father was in a violent mood, and you're incredible for recognising that his violence stemmed from his upbringing and his own anger at the fact. And who knows, maybe some day you can share some experiences of your own, I'd love to hear them. :-)
Andrew - Cheers, I am too.
Arna - heheh, that might be the way to go, pretend I'm allergic to anything I happen to hate the taste of :-D
cmae - It's a relief to know that there is someone else who shares the same memories. I too, am grateful to know you :-)
Lyn - Agreed; some people may find it puzzling as to how I could stay in 'an abusive family', but they didn't know better, and neither did I. We just need to be wiser and break the cycle :-)
WundaLucy - Indeed, there are things that the blog helps me in articulating that I often don't want to admit to myself. So in that respect, I very much find blogging to be cathartic. Most of my significant emotional 'accomplishments' as such have come through blogging. Connecting with my computer lets me express myself without interruption, time constraint, or money constraint - and that really has been infinitely beneficial in my personal healing process. :-)
I am terrified of offending people by not eating what they serve me. I have eaten foods that have literally made me heave as I am eating them because I am too polite to say I don't like that.
My mum is a really picky eater and never cares when people don't like her food because she knows that she is the same. I am a bit more sensitive and even when it is my turn to bring in morning tea to work I always buy something rather then make it because I am scared people won't like what I cook.
My parents were the same as yours,raised to hit kids and didn't know any better, but like yours they did learn that this isn't the way to raise kids. I know how scary it is though to be bracing youself for that smack across the head.
I think if you have forgiven your parents you should be able to forgive yourself, afterall you were just doing what they were doing.
Take care! :-)
Took my breath away. Hugs. Have history and guilt to deal with, too.
What an amazing post, Marshie...
Imagine what a different parent you'll be than yours. You are making such a huge effort to break the patterns of how you were raised.
I wonder if your parents were harder on you because you were a girl?
Thanks for your support on my blog. I thought my response might have been OTT but this morning I re-read it and thought "Fuck it. They had it coming!" It's the same person who has left the other Anon messages in the past...Thanks again.
Tully - I'm sorry to hear that your parents hit you as a kid, though I'm also glad to hear that they managed to put an end to it. Hopefully I'll one day be able to forgive myself for what I did to my brother/
Alexia - Good luck dealing with your history {HUGZ}
crankybee - Nah, I don't think they were harder on me because I'm a girl; they were harder on me because I was their first. And hey, of course I'm going to support you in your battle against anonymous fools!
My father was very angry when I was growing up. He was more verbally abusive than physical, but when he started a tantrum, everyone held their breath. I thought I would never get his rage out of me. When I got mad, I sounded like him. It has been a lifetime of working on it, but I finally feel peace, thanks to my kids.
Raising kids is the hardest job I have ever, but I never knew it was possible to love so much. I think that is why the rage is healed. Well, that and avoiding coffee, who knew the stuff was so mind altering. I read a book on it and decided to wean myself off, wow, I was shocked how much more calm I felt. Wish someone would have told me that 30 years ago!
About the eating food so you won't offend people, I don't eat flesh or eggs usually, but when someone wants to feed me, I try to take a small plate at least. I'd rather brave eggs than flesh, but I try to be gracious and compliment their efforts at the very least. So I guess I am saying, it is always good to honor others, but not to the point of harming yourself. Remember, paper plates fold, so when no one is looking, you can fold it in half on the way to the trash, and no one will be the wiser :)