This was originally posted in January 2016.  Re-posting on this site March 2017.

Let me begin by first saying that I loved my mother. She taught me a lot about how to be independent and self-sufficient and how to work hard. She suffered in life, though, from depression, paranoid delusions, and a narcissistic personality disorder. I know that she did the best she could with, most likely, the behavior that was modeled for her by her own parents and family. Despite all that she suffered, I turned out o.k. I am now trying to work through some of the more painful experiences in the only way I can, by writing. Once written, it seems, I am finally free of the pain and suffering. This is not meant as a ploy for sympathy, but as a release through artistic expression put out in the universe in the hopes that those suffering from bullying, low self-esteem, and/or emotional abuse will know you are not alone. Please help me help others who are being emotionally abused and help stop the cycle now.

 The Bee…a story

 Once upon a time there was a cute little dark haired, hazel eyed girl who loved to read, loved school, and was excited about learning anything new. She was like a sponge that swelled as she absorbed everything new that came her way. She was very good in school and got straight A’s most of the time and was extremely good at spelling. 

In 6^th grade, her class had a spelling bee competition and she was awarded first place. Then they had a competition between her class and the other 6^th grade class in her school and she was awarded first place again. It was amazing! She was so excited because she loved words and loved to figure out how to spell them. She really didn’t care about winning because competition and being in front of people made her very nervous. In fact, she was extremely shy and unsure of herself. Nevertheless, she always participated because she loved all of her teachers and did whatever she could to please them.

One day, her teacher announced that there was going to be another spelling bee with two other schools in the area and since she was first place in their school, she would be representing them at this competition. This made her very nervous because she would be spelling in front of a lot of people. She went home and told her mother, who immediately started to drill her on many very hard words in order to prepare her for this event.

The day finally came and this very scared little girl drove to the school with her parents.  The gymnasium was filled with people from all over the valley. Veritable strangers mixed with a few people she knew from school and church. There were conversations buzzing all over the room. Her throat was dry and she could hardly speak. She went to see her teacher for instructions and he encouraged her and said she would do great!  “Just spell the words, and do your best,” he said. He also reminded her that if she made it to the finals, she would be required to write the words on an overhead projector, and to remember to keep it covered until the judges told her to turn on the light. She did remember because they had practiced at school a few times, but it made her even more nervous because she didn’t like using the overhead projector.

The competition started, she was doing great and she made it to the finals with only three students remaining.  Now the three of them would go to the stage where the projectors were. Her hands were shaking as she picked up the pen. The first word was good, she nailed it, but the third participant didn’t. Then it was down to just two students.  The judges asked her to spell yeast. She started writing…y-e-i-s-t. That didn’t look right.  She started to panic because she knew something was wrong but couldn’t think. Her brain wasn’t working properly and the more she tried, the less she could think. It was time to turn on the light and there was nothing she could do. She flipped the switch and looked at the screens. There it was, clearly written on the other girl’s screen, the correct spelling y-e-a-s-t. She nodded, understanding the other one was correct and she had failed. She let down her teacher, her school, her parents, and her classmates. She was humiliated at the failure. The next few minutes became a blur. All she could think about was how she had failed. She received her second place trophy then went to find her parents because all she wanted to do was to go home.

On the way home, her humiliation escalated to guilt, shame and self-loathing because her mother gave her a verbal lashing from the time they got into the car until the time they got home. “How could you be so stupid?” she screamed. “We make bread at home all the time and you should know how to spell yeast! You should know better!,” she yelled. “How could you do such a thing?” she continued to scream.  And on and on it went for the two miles that seemed like an eternity.

Her father sat silent as he drove them home. 

She felt small, stupid, insignificant and all alone as she held her trophy in her tiny hands.  She didn’t dare cry because her mother would then yell at her for crying, so she sat quietly, listening, and believing everything her mother told her. She had shamed her family and most of all, her mother.  She felt horrible.

When she went back to school the next Monday, her teacher told her how proud he was that she had received the second place trophy out of all those students, that she had done a great job and that he and the school were very proud of her. She shyly nodded, but she didn’t believe him. The ones she believed were the boy at school who teased her about it until she graduated high school, and her mother who teased her about it her whole life. She was constantly reminded how stupid she was for not spelling that word “yeast” correctly.

It always came up when they played Scrabble at family parties or during holidays.  One day when this little girl, who was now a woman of nearly 50, was with her mother and she brought it up, something rose up inside her and she knew she needed to do something about it and make it stop. She found her voice and kindly, gently explained to her mother that it really hurt her when she made fun of her about the spelling bee and asked her to please stop bringing it up. Her mother agreed. Then, the very next week at a Thanksgiving dinner at the beginning of a Scrabble game, her mother brought it up again. This time, she got up, gathered up her family and went home. She decided she was not going to listen to the shaming and bullying anymore.

She stayed away from her mother as much as possible after that, just to protect herself from the abuse.  She did not need to have the hurt and pain of the constant berating and bullying.  She had finally had enough and decided to learn how to stand up for herself. It didn’t make the voices stop, though, and even after the passing of her mother, the voice is still there. It haunts and rears its ugly head from time to time. It has quieted some, however, and things are more peaceful. The voices are now changing to things like “You are beautiful, you can do this,” and “I love you very much.”

 It wasn’t until my mother passed away and in reading a short memoir of hers, I found out that she, herself, had won a spelling bee at her school. I wonder if, on some level, with her skewed thinking, she felt it was her right to make fun of me because if she could win, I certainly should have been able to. It put a small piece of the puzzle in place for me. It does not excuse the bad behavior, though. I only hope that I broke the cycle within my own family by raising my children a little better, a little kinder.

I often wonder what it would have been like to have a mother who loved me unconditionally. I also I wonder how different my life might have been if had I been told in that moment, “Oh, sweetheart, you were so brave!” or “Wow!  Look at that great trophy!” or “I am so proud of you, you did great and I love you,” or even “You did your best and that’s enough.”  What a different path it might have been.

Words are powerful weapons, use them wisely and be kind.  Break the cycle.

Watch for my upcoming book “Menopause, Moms, and Muu Muu’s” that contains this and many other stories as I explore ways to navigate through adult recovery of emotional abuse and mental illness.