After the divorce mom and I moved back in with gramma. For me it wasn’t really a move at all. Most of my earlier childhood was spent with gramma. Mom went back to work when I was 9 months old and Dad worked too.

Gramma spoiled me some, but I wasn’t an ungracious kid I always tried to be a good girl. She would always find fairs, carnivals, and activities I could enjoy. We baked, we picked berries, we rode bikes, we took showers together, we even slept in the same bed.

I know she felt badly for me. She told me recently, “I don’t think either of my kids should’ve been parents.” That must’ve hurt her; the kids she raised aren’t fit for the children they had. She saw how much mom ignored me and tried to make me feel special. I loved her for that so I tried to remain innocent and childish for as long as I could. I was participating in events and activities way below my age group, because they were things she enjoyed and it made her feel special to see me do them.

After my mom remarried I went to live with them; which meant I left gramma. But every break at school mom drove me back to her house to stay.

One night (8-9 years old) when mom was supposed to pick me up I felt dread (not that I knew that then I just didn’t want to go), so I hid in the closet. I thought if she didn’t find me she’d give up and leave. I thought about her looking all over for me and wondered if she would cry. Would she be desperate to find me? I hoped so, but, sadly, I knew she wouldn’t. I knew if she was to look for me and didn’t find me she’d just be angry, and if I stayed hidden she would just leave. And I didn’t want that. I wanted her to want me. I couldn’t take seeing her just leave me behind. I’d rather go back to the home where I was treated like an unwelcome guest than face the truth that my own mother rejects me. So I came out. I’m not sure if she saw me come out of hiding, or if I told her I was hiding, but she knew. The entire way home (2 hours) she berated me. Why would you do that?!? Why would you hide from me?!? What did I do to you?!? Why do you love gramma more than me?!? I didn’t have the words to express myself then. I couldn’t explain myself to her. But it hurt me that she was yelling at me. I wanted her to love me and I just wanted to see it, some outward evidence. Getting in the car I was even hopeful that maybe this could help us start to form new bonds. Maybe she’ll talk to me and decide to spend more time with me. Alas this was not to be. Mom simply screamed accusations. She was judge, jury, and executioner. I needed to see a therapist- she proclaimed. This is no way for a child to act. You are supposed to love your mother more than your grandmother. I said she thinks I’m crazy if she wants me to go to a therapist. I didn’t think that. I actually liked the idea of having someone to talk to, but I knew she thought it was a punishment so I played the part. I was trying not to cry and told her that my throat hurt. She said very smugly and full of self-satisfaction, “Because you want to cry.” I’m sure, in her mind, she believed I was upset because she had so rightly guessed the nature of my transgression. She’s crying out of guilt. She knows exactly what she was doing. Good. Let her cry. She deserves it for trying to hurt me. You were wrong, mom. But I loved you so much I let you believe anything you wanted just to help you feel better.

That’s how it started. Slowly she began poisoning my thinking against gramma. She’d tell me about how lucky I was to have nice cloths, gramma never cared what her kids wore she just took them to Value City. Gramma was never there for her emotionally, she said. I found something I could get mom to talk with me about, and I could learn about her past at the same time. Gradually I began to sympathize with mom more and more. Whenever she’d pick me up from gramma’s I’d tell her whatever dirt I knew she’d love to hear. I was happy to be able to connect with her any way I could. But, in doing so, I began to villainize my gramma. I put up barriers to gramma, to show my mom how much I wanted her approval.

I stopped doing a lot of things with gramma. I still helped her out with baking, decorating, I’d go to church and bible school, but I stopped a lot of the bonding. There was a wall now, a wall that I had built, and was so ashamed that I built it that I couldn’t tear it down. Whenever I was there I usually just sat around, eating and watching TV or playing Super Nintendo. I isolated myself often, reading or playing Barbies. It would make mom happy to know as was as miserable at gramma’s as I was at home.

After college I moved into gramma’s basement. I hate to talk about some of the way I acted. It deserves a blog unto itself. To summarize gramma and I are a lot alike she tries to be helpful where maybe she shouldn’t. She wanted to keep me with her a little too often and I would get angry at her when I shouldn’t have. I was never physical, but I acted like a jerk sometimes. I always tried to apologize or do something to make up for it though.

Now our relationship is at a point where I will not get as frustrated with her anymore, but there’s little for me to say to her. I know she’s probably not going to be around 10 years from now, and she was the only person who really loved me. I make a special effort to involve her in all major events, and even have her over just for dinner on occasion.

She’s the kind of person who would bring you a hot meal when you are sick and crochet you a blanket to keep you warm. But she can’t listen, not to me anyway. If she calls me I answer the phone, ask questions where I need to, and listen. When she’s done she says ‘Well that’s all. Talk to you later.’ She won’t ask me about myself. If I do say something it’s ‘Oh. Okay.’ I can’t really get mad, because I think it must be what it’s like for other people to talk to me, in some ways. That and I know she has difficulty with privacy issues. She feels like if she asks me about myself it’s an invasion of privacy.

I love her dearly. She really is a saint. I feel so guilty for letting my mom corrupt our relationship. I feel like I shouldn’t have tried to get close to my mother the way I did. I should’ve seen where it would lead me. I should’ve known it would eventually destroy all my relationships. I feel so guilty and so ashamed there’s so little I can do to fix what I’ve done with the choices I made. And the choices I still make. Every time my mom calls me half the conversation is all about how messed up she thinks her mom is and I continue to participate in it. I feel like it’s been so long I can’t stop now. So if I can keep from talking to her I do. I just avoid both of them. I don’t want to feed the monsters.

I find it completely understandable that a child growing up receiving so little love, and being subjected instead to so much hostility, would learn to be wary of people. And that this in turn makes it difficult to have satisfying interactions with anyone, which then leads the child to more doubts about self-worth.

It sounds like you're getting more clarity about what happened, by writing about it for others to read. I hope this helps you see that anyone growing up in such an unhealthy environment would be harmed and would struggle to recover. And that none of this was your fault, you were just a child, and considering what you were put through, you've done very well: you succeeded in making it through all that!