In normal families, you see a parent that is overwhelmed…tired…nothing left but frustration. You step in and help, you offer to take the kids overnight, you ask if there is anything they need. You help!

Well in my family we do a little fun game called…the opposite game.

As a child I never really got to be a child. I was the dishwasher, the chef, the nanny, the adult maid. I had to do everything. I made sure the house was cleaned before I went to bed, I made sure my siblings were sleeping before I could even walk in my bedroom, I made sure my parents were sleeping before I shut my bedroom door. This started when my brother was born. I did everything to make my parents happy, I did everything to make their lives easier, I did everything because that was my purpose. The one time I decided to be brave and ask why I had to do all of these things I was told…that is why we had you. It wasn’t out of love, it wasn’t because they wanted me, it wasn’t because they were ready to have kids. It was for free labor and an all access to a punching bag.

My mother was the abuser. My father was the worker… the truck driver who was gone for weeks at a time. My mother was not made to have children.

What I do recall and honestly never understood is the amount of people that stood by and watched her take her anger out on my siblings and I. They continued to watch their show…the walked right past…they watched. They never stepped in to help. They never opened their mouth. They never defended innocent children. But, what they did do is talk about it and laugh right after. As we were crippled and folded in the corner of the room holding back our tears and moans. They were laughing. We knew better not to cry. We knew it would end badly. I saved that for bed time.

My mother would invite people over just to show them how much I could take. I remember three separate occurrences. I didn’t even know some of these people. But they watched as my mother used anything close enough to “punish” me. I never knew what I did wrong. I just knew I would never be right.

I think what hurt the most was when you try and ask for help…ask for someone to stand up for you. And you hear “I didn’t see anything” or “your mom never beat you, you got “spanked” knock it off”. My inner self was screaming, YOU SAW EVERYTHING! I had proof! I had bruises, I had cuts, I had hand marks.

I get it. I was not good enough to save. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was a bad daughter. Maybe they were scared. I get it. All I can say was I tried.