My hair is pink; an act of victory. (Or) Why I stopped talking to my emotionally abusive family
"My hair is pink; an act of victory."
(Or)
Why I stopped talking to my Emotionally Abusive Family
A few years ago I treated myself to a new hairstyle for my birthday. I cut it short and dyed it black. I was so happy. The compliments from close friends and associates felt really good. I felt confident.
That same evening I knocked on a door. It opened and I was faced with instant disapproval. "Why are you always trying to get attention?" It should be noted I was literally walking into what was suppose to be my own birthday party, a perfect opportunity to hold attention.
More birthdays came and went with similar attitude. How grateful I should be while at the same time I was in a room of people who could not except me for me. The picture became more clear when two close people in my life said in separate conversations, “I don’t even recognize you when you are with your family.”
So in 2014, another birthday, a final breaking point. I couldn’t even make a spinach dish, a simple 3 step process that takes 5 mins. It was my birthday, I should be able to eat what I want without being pushed into what others want for me. How many times have other family members came into that same kitchen to make entire Thanksgiving meals and I can’t even get a frying pan without some disgruntled drama. It’s my birthday. It’s my hair. It’s me. I was so tired of feeling sad, guilty, in-the-way. That particular year, 2014, I was just angry. And for the first time in my life I thought it’s okay to be angry. I have a right to be angry. Problem was they didn’t care to acknowledge that anger. Whether the anger stemmed from a simple conflict like what to eat or larger problems, they simply did not care. They will always blame back, yell, scream and make me feel ashamed about the stupidest sh*t. They never will listen to how I feel or what I need, especially on my birthday. With that realization, I had enough.
So... I put down my bag of spinach and walked out the door.
2015 I did a lot of detoxing. Decades of being bullied, feeling small, and unwanted, I relived it all. All the family vacations taken without me. The insults. The disregard for my needs when managing my mental health. Being told my friends were losers. That I was a loser. A freak. The picture I spent hours drawing, that guy, the guy I drew, Kurt Cobain, he “is a loser.” But I worked hard and carefully on it, I pleaded to my big brother. “Shouldn’t have spent all that energy on such a loser." My adoptee mom/guardian concurred with a dismissive look. I was 14 years old. 2015, the second year of not speaking to my family, was so hard. All the memories came back, things I haven’t thought of in years. Standing on the chair in the living room, just so someone would acknowledge me. Get down! They said. Stop trying to get attention. “Stop trying,” I say, to my own kid when he is driving me crazy, “to get attention.” Parenting 101, the child is bored and wants your love. When I stop and think about it, he acts that way because I was too busy or not playing with him enough. When I do my job as a parent and balance my time and focus, he isn’t starved for attention, he does not act out. Remembering standing on that chair for no reason, I realize what was missing from my own life. A simple conversation. How was your day? How is your new school? Your new room? Do you miss the dog? Do you miss dad? Do you understand what is happening? Why we moved a 3rd time? No one asked, no one cared. Not my big brother, not my adoptee mom. All through 2015, memories came flooding back. I had to relive and detox from it all. "You were adopted to keep your dad from cheating on me..." Each memory telling me what I realized that January 20, 2014. They don’t love you. They don’t want you. They never could be bothered, you were a mistake.
It really dragged me down. It was so hard. It was hard on me, my husband and my son. But we got through it. I pulled myself through it. Now I am ready to call my life my own. Ready to be myself and be with the people I love (the so-called losers and all). I'm ready to do the things I like to do. This 2016, a new year, another January birthday. I’m doing me.
January 20, 2016, my hair was dyed happy pink, and celebrating the fact there is no one to judge me, or simply put up with the fact I am around. My hair is pink, and purple, hardly a shock since it’s a common hairstyle these days. But for me, it’s a brave act. I look in the mirror and my hair is fucking awesome. I'm fucking awesome. My friends love it. My friends love me! My neighbors and associates love my new hair. More importantly, I love it! SO MUCH!!!! So, to judging family members spying on my Facebook after a 3 year silence period, yes, my profile picture will inspire a sigh "oh god. She dyed it pink..." Yes! Happy, victorious pink! Deal with it.
(Or)
Why I stopped talking to my Emotionally Abusive Family
A few years ago I treated myself to a new hairstyle for my birthday. I cut it short and dyed it black. I was so happy. The compliments from close friends and associates felt really good. I felt confident.
That same evening I knocked on a door. It opened and I was faced with instant disapproval. "Why are you always trying to get attention?" It should be noted I was literally walking into what was suppose to be my own birthday party, a perfect opportunity to hold attention.
More birthdays came and went with similar attitude. How grateful I should be while at the same time I was in a room of people who could not except me for me. The picture became more clear when two close people in my life said in separate conversations, “I don’t even recognize you when you are with your family.”
So in 2014, another birthday, a final breaking point. I couldn’t even make a spinach dish, a simple 3 step process that takes 5 mins. It was my birthday, I should be able to eat what I want without being pushed into what others want for me. How many times have other family members came into that same kitchen to make entire Thanksgiving meals and I can’t even get a frying pan without some disgruntled drama. It’s my birthday. It’s my hair. It’s me. I was so tired of feeling sad, guilty, in-the-way. That particular year, 2014, I was just angry. And for the first time in my life I thought it’s okay to be angry. I have a right to be angry. Problem was they didn’t care to acknowledge that anger. Whether the anger stemmed from a simple conflict like what to eat or larger problems, they simply did not care. They will always blame back, yell, scream and make me feel ashamed about the stupidest sh*t. They never will listen to how I feel or what I need, especially on my birthday. With that realization, I had enough.
So... I put down my bag of spinach and walked out the door.
2015 I did a lot of detoxing. Decades of being bullied, feeling small, and unwanted, I relived it all. All the family vacations taken without me. The insults. The disregard for my needs when managing my mental health. Being told my friends were losers. That I was a loser. A freak. The picture I spent hours drawing, that guy, the guy I drew, Kurt Cobain, he “is a loser.” But I worked hard and carefully on it, I pleaded to my big brother. “Shouldn’t have spent all that energy on such a loser." My adoptee mom/guardian concurred with a dismissive look. I was 14 years old. 2015, the second year of not speaking to my family, was so hard. All the memories came back, things I haven’t thought of in years. Standing on the chair in the living room, just so someone would acknowledge me. Get down! They said. Stop trying to get attention. “Stop trying,” I say, to my own kid when he is driving me crazy, “to get attention.” Parenting 101, the child is bored and wants your love. When I stop and think about it, he acts that way because I was too busy or not playing with him enough. When I do my job as a parent and balance my time and focus, he isn’t starved for attention, he does not act out. Remembering standing on that chair for no reason, I realize what was missing from my own life. A simple conversation. How was your day? How is your new school? Your new room? Do you miss the dog? Do you miss dad? Do you understand what is happening? Why we moved a 3rd time? No one asked, no one cared. Not my big brother, not my adoptee mom. All through 2015, memories came flooding back. I had to relive and detox from it all. "You were adopted to keep your dad from cheating on me..." Each memory telling me what I realized that January 20, 2014. They don’t love you. They don’t want you. They never could be bothered, you were a mistake.
It really dragged me down. It was so hard. It was hard on me, my husband and my son. But we got through it. I pulled myself through it. Now I am ready to call my life my own. Ready to be myself and be with the people I love (the so-called losers and all). I'm ready to do the things I like to do. This 2016, a new year, another January birthday. I’m doing me.
January 20, 2016, my hair was dyed happy pink, and celebrating the fact there is no one to judge me, or simply put up with the fact I am around. My hair is pink, and purple, hardly a shock since it’s a common hairstyle these days. But for me, it’s a brave act. I look in the mirror and my hair is fucking awesome. I'm fucking awesome. My friends love it. My friends love me! My neighbors and associates love my new hair. More importantly, I love it! SO MUCH!!!! So, to judging family members spying on my Facebook after a 3 year silence period, yes, my profile picture will inspire a sigh "oh god. She dyed it pink..." Yes! Happy, victorious pink! Deal with it.
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