This Isn’t Right

I grew up in a small town of 1,300 people in the backwoods of Wisconsin, the oldest of seven kids born to a narcissistic mother and well-meaning, but racist father.

My childhood was pretty par for the course. My family was incredibly poor. My mother stayed home with the kids, though held occasional part-time jobs. My father was always working to provide for all of us as best he could.

As I grew older and spent time at the homes of friends, I realized that something was missing in my own home, something incredibly important.

I love you. 

This was something my siblings and I rarely ever heard from our parents as we grew up. Even now, nearing 40, it’s a rare thing for me to hear. Our mother likes to put on a good show so it looks like she’s a loving mother. She’s always been verbally abusive, incredibly narcissistic, and plays favorites when it comes to us kids. 

Before leaving for college in 2002, I remembered hearing I love you approximately three times as I grew up. In all the years since then, it’s been heard here and there. And boy, does she just love to share on Facebook about how much she loves all of us and is so proud to be our mother. 

It’s all a lie. 

These days, the only one she claims to be proud of is my Navy brother, and the rest of us believe that’s only because she can use it to make herself look good. 

I’ve all but given up on trying to earn her approval. Life is too short, and I’ve plenty of other things I need to work on. However, it’s not lost on me that all of this is an overwhelming factor in my mental health struggles. I know the others deal with some of that as well. 

I love all my siblings, whether they believe that or not. I always have and I always will, even if we disagree on a lot of things these days. 

My younger sister and I are incredibly close. We always have been, despite the normal childhood arguments and such. She’s my ride-or-die, one of my best friends, and the person I can turn to with anything. I absolutely and unquestioningly love her. 

This past week, she made a post on Facebook about how she loves the rest of us and is proud of each of us. 

It was met with comments asking if she’d been drinking. Those comments were backed up with comments wondering the same thing. 

Just…what the actual fuck? Why is it so weird and wrong to publicly say you love your siblings and are proud of them? Why does it automatically have to be an alcohol-fueled admission?

Had my parents said “I love you” as parents are supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. Had they done that, we’d all be able to express these feelings and not feel awkward. 

It’s hard knowing that. It’s difficult to work through the idea that my parents believed that we should just “know they love us.” Why can’t they just say “I love you?” Why is that so difficult?

None of this feels right. And while I always think I shouldn’t be having these feeling at my age, I know that it’s okay to have them. Things like this, they stick with you. It’s difficult to not think about how life might be, how relationships would be different had I love you been expressed more as we were all growing up. 

I’m thankful that I have my sister to count on. It’s a true blessing in a world that otherwise doesn’t feel like I belong in it.