riamonroe

[riamonroe]

If I let you go, would you even care?

[riamonroe]

I don’t know how to have a relationship with family.

When You grow up and all your dreams and goals go unsupported and dismissed, things usually go two ways. You give up, develop a seriously negative self worth/image, and have no confidence OR you stand staunchly and dismiss the naysayers, growing your own confidence and shielding yourself in an armor of nonchalant disregard for other people’s opinions that detract from your goals.

There was no one in my corner growing up. I always had to fight to achieve what I wanted. The only person I could depend on was myself. This wasn’t just for material things- this was for my spiritual, mental and emotional sustenance.

Everything that I excelled at and liked: art, theater, writing, music was looked down on and discouraged. At the same time, all that I was not good at: religion mostly, mathematics secondly, number based academics, was pushed, and of course, being fantastically bad at, i was harshly criticized for.

Outside the family, my ‘talent’ was praised and encouraged. Outside the family, people helped me develop my skills. Outside, they accepted me.

Inside the family, I was berated, insulted and demeaned. Inside the family, they rejected everything I liked and wanted to pursue. Inside, they dismissed and abused me.

Is it any wonder, then, that I avoid my own family? I don’t know how to have a relationship with them.

If I allow them, their words, actions and attitude affect me, it’s the same thing as self harm. Deadening my feelings to them was a survival tactic, a defense mechanism. That’s the only way I could save myself from the heartbreak and (further) psychological damage they’d have inflicted. With conviction, I can say that I don’t care that my actions and attitude probably hurt them.

I am not blameless in this- their disappointment in me is warranted with regards to their background and culture. They worked hard to support and provide for me. The absence of emotional presence and connection wasn’t echoed with a lack of material comfort. I understand that they couldn’t be there for me all the time. I understand that they tried, in their own way. They fed, housed and clothed me. Beatings with stainless steel broom handles, thrown forks and heavy ceramic mugs aside, I was physically cared for.

I tried to connect, tried to confide in my parents, but there are only so many fiery, dogma filled, insult laden sermons a tween/teen can take before giving the fuck up. Madness, after all, is repeating the same behavior hoping for a different outcome. There is only so much rejection based heartache and sadness an individual can take before breaking. I refused to be broken again. Apathy was and still is the most effective shield against them; avoidance a tactic to guard against the possibility of pain. It was solitary independence, or loss of self.

The emotional connection and practical guidance they couldn’t provide, I found somewhere else. Teachers, friends parents, hell, even the apartment janitor provided more of an emotional support than my family. My best friend’s mom was the one who explained to me what my period was and how to use pads and tampons. My (male) best friend’s mom was the one who took me to get my first manicure. My Spanish teacher was the one to give me relationship advice when I had my first boyfriend. The janitor “there, there”d me when he saw me crying in the stairwell after my first break up. The result of this substitution was a child who grew up on the wisdom of strangers. You cannot expect a child you didn’t raise to turn out the way you want them to. A child raised by wolves will not share values with sheep.

I still don’t know how to have a relationship with my family.

The chasm between us is too wide to bridge. Once I started being secure in the support of others, they tried to isolate me from my support system, forcing me to attend a religious institution. This force feeding of faith led me to reject it all together. My ‘bad behavior’ became more intentional. Their standards were suffocating. Their belief bordered on extremism, as I saw it. The flip from just eastern culture expectations to the same expectations coupled with religious fervor was jarring, to say the least. I rejected it on principle, with spite. They pushed, and this time, instead of avoidance, I outright rebelled. Freedom of religion is a human right, and they wanted to take it away from me. I refused. Then they tried to control me with money. Whatever I wanted came with religious conditions. So I got a job. I did whatever I could to escape the overbearing permeation of religion at home for as long as I could however I could. Staying out late, running away, fighting back, barring my bedroom door with all the furniture inside so it was physically impossible for them to open. I hated them for trying to take away my identity and all the parts of my life that made me happy. It made me harder, stronger and tougher, albeit to them just more belligerent, ungrateful and stubborn.

I didn’t understand why all my ‘normal’ friend’s parents were so supportive and encouraging and mine were just-not. Was I so bad? Why was I never good enough? These questions on repeat would have caused damage if I hadn’t armed myself with apathy. I told myself I didn’t need their approval or acceptance to survive, to shrug it off and move forward. Their opinion of me, to this day, is inconsequential.

People see my relationship with them now and want to fix it. It’s not natural, they say. You can’t fix something that doesn’t exist. It’s too late anyway. The pretense is all that can be. They’re allowed to be disappointed in me and my choices. I’m allowed to be disappointed in them and their lack of willingness to acknowledge what I feel and felt.

I don’t know how to have a relationship with them that doesn’t involve me being emotionally removed. For now, that’s ok. They’re not bad people. They tried. I tried to tell them. We can’t listen to each other because of the fundamental differences we have in values. We tried. Failure is a part of life.

I chose to grow alone, and they did too. This is just me purging part of my story. Theirs is likely just as overwrought and valid.

[riamonroe]

I’m not a forgiving person. I just forget about that person who crossed too many lines. Better to flush a POS instead of allowing it to stink up your life.

[riamonroe]

Women/Girl Empowerment I DON’T OWN OR TAKE ANY CREDIT FOR ANY OF THESE PICTURES PLEASE REPOST IF YOU SAVE OR LIKE ANY OF THESE PICTURES

[riamonroe]

Things they told me

A good girl doesn't complain

About heartaches or muscle pain

A good girl keeps her legs together

Until she's found one man, forever

A good girl smiles and doesn't fuss

And never does a good girl cuss

A good girl always serves her man

With no complaints and no demands

A good girl is never unsatisfied

If she is, it she will hide

A good girl always get things done

The proper way, there's only one

A good girl never asks for more

She's always selfless (to the core)

A good girl doesnt call atenttion

To any flaws, they're not worth the mention

A good girl will always agree

And wants nothing but family

A good girl should always cook, and clean

And above all never be mean

A good girl should be fair and slim

She needs to submit to him

If a girl doesn't follow these rules

She isn't good, but not a fool

[riamonroe]

The death of a good parent is heavily and deeply mourned. You dread its coming and will do anything to prevent it. A bad parent though--a toxic parent--their death is a relief, sometimes even celebrated. As a victim of severe physical, verbal and emotional abuse, a survivor of sexual assault that was ignored by said "parent," i look forward to their demise. Call it evil...call it cruel...but its what i feel. #happymothersday

[riamonroe]

The hardest part of being a strong, opinionated woman is maintaining relationships with weak minded men who think they are strong by virtue of brute force.

Riamonroe

[riamonroe]

*grins*

*SMILE*

[riamonroe]

[riamonroe]

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[riamonroe]

The loft bathroom at the Ranch at Rock Creek, Montana.

[riamonroe]

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[riamonroe]

Love

[riamonroe]

Sad realization

I'm settling. He isn't the one.