I am not used to conditional love. It wasn’t always like this.
I grew up in an extended family for the first part of my childhood. My lolo was fortunate to purchase a huge lot. It was too enormous for a family of five. So my generous lolo shared this space with his siblings.
My childhood home was partitioned. It became the dwelling place of multiple families. Up until today, that house stands in Manila, housing at least five families.
My mother had been a single mother. Despite this, she always had time for me and my brother. I never questioned her love. She always made time for us. I was happy in this big and happy home with my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, and other lolos and lolas from next door.
Then, our Mother remarried.
Looking back, she did not explain what remarrying meant, what will happen to our family, and how things will be drastically different from then on. My brother and I, only 8 and 9 years old respectively, were happy for our Mother. She looked happy on her wedding day.
Mother remarried and we had to move out. In our new house, I thought we could be a happy and normal family.
But Mother’s Husband had a sour attitude. When things did not go his way, he would explode. He raised his voice until he his anger vibrated through the walls of the house, leaving everyone unsettled. Deeply uncomfortable.
Mother then would ask my brother and I to forgive him, making an apology for him. She constantly reminds us that he had a rough childhood so we should understand him. Yes, my mother still uses this excuse. Maybe that’s why her man never apologises for the outburst.
I wasn’t used to adult tantrums over little things. My grandparents raised me in a loving environment, where my quirks are celebrated, my knack for writing is supported, my entire being is embraced. I wasn’t shamed into being my unique self. I was seen, heard, and loved in that big house with my big family.
I am not used to being yelled over small mistakes. When I forget to keep things in place, or when water spilled outside the glass, or when I clinked my utensils on the plate too loudly, when I eat too much, when I eat too little, when I accidentally left the lights on in the room, and so on, I am instantly criticized by my Mother’s Husband. I wasn’t hit by a belt, but I was stabbed with severe words that traumatized a 9 year old. (My brother was whacked by a belt, and that’s a different story.)
Over the years, whenever Mother’s Husband doesn’t like what I/we do, he pretends to not notice my brother and I. He has two children with my mom, who he never treats this way. (Not that I wish he would. No.)
Later on in life, I realised that this is called the silent treatment. However, it felt like he treats us as ghost. Non-existent on the same plane of reality. He would not mind us, but at the same time, he would criticize us harshly without name-dropping or being clear. This passive-aggressive mind game made me question my perception of things.
Whenever I expressed myself, communicated my truth, my Mother and her Husband would say something that led me to second-guess myself. Most of the time, I wish I never talked at all. I didn’t know what invalidation mean then, but it was like hard and tasteless gum in the guts. These sticky little doubts were digested completely.
Today, I struggle to see my worth. I try to put myself out there, try to share my writing, but I still have a fear of being seen.
Being seen meant being criticized harshly. Being treated as a ghost felt “safer” because there was no yelling, only emotional torture and parinig that can be ignored.
Thanks to how I was treated, I also struggle to find a decent partner. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that I attract connections with equally emotionally immature people. Connections where I have to prove myself, where I over-give, over-understand, and over-adjust for people who refuse to communicate properly. Because it was how I was raised. I desire to break the pattern. I don’t want to connect with yet another inconsiderate jerk.
I’m 29 now. I still live with my parents. Too broke to move out and currently unemployed. (Also another different traumatic story.)
I have no clear re/solution yet. For now, I’m trying my best to give gratitude to the universe. This experience is traumatizing, and I hope to get out of here some day. In the meantime, I’ll just keep on writing. I hope to heal.