I found a picture book I did in 1st grade. I drew my mom in bed with a headache. I needed to make my breakfast by myself.
I didn’t remember that book. But I cried when I read it. I may have embellished the story a bit, but the truth was there.
When I was 5 years old my mom got me a Guinea pig. Probably to ease the unpleasantness of the divorce. I remember watching Eureka’s Castle with piggie laying serenely on my back. Sometimes he would get out, but he would leave a little poopie trail we could follow.
Then one day I came home and piggie was gone, “Where’d my guinea pig go, Mommy?” I asked. “Well you weren’t taking care of it, so I got rid of it.” She spat.
That was the pattern. I was given something, displayed affection for it, she took it away, and then made me feel guilt/shame for some perceived wrong.
That wasn’t even the last pet she whisked away. I can count at least 4 other animals that she brought into the house and then got rid of when no one could stop her. Then later she would excuse herself by blaming me.
As an adult I got a pet rat. She fell in love with it and decided to go to the pet store and buy another one. A year or two later I went to college. They did not allow pets in the dorms, so I had to leave them with her. Whenever she saw fit to yell at me so would point out how I “abandoned” my pets and she so selflessly is taking care of them for me.
But all this guilt and shame started even before the divorce.
She told me how I became hysterical when being spanked and she needed to take special classes to learn how to discipline me. I think she started to resent me then. I had stopped being a cute little doll that loves unconditionally and started becoming a real responsibility. This was not part of the plan.
I remember once being in our kitchen with mommy (I was probably about 3-4). She was on the phone with a friend. It was one of those old rotary-dial phones with the curly cord. She was playing the airplane game with me. You know, where you lie on your back and hoist the kid up with your feet? Well I started to feel nauseous. I remember thinking, “Oh no! I don’t want to interrupt her! But if I don’t get down I’m gonna-!” Too late. I threw up all over her chest and immediately started weeping inconsolably. I remember being so terrified that she would never love me again. Luckily she handled that very well and laughed it off. But I learned early that crying is the only way she took me seriously.

Special classes?

Yeah that's what she called them. Some 'How to Discipline Your Child' for new parents sort of thing. They taught her to do time-outs. I remember time-outs. I never had a problem doing them. I have no memories of how she disciplined me before. hmm maybe one fuzzy one of being spanked. I remember I was crying and not understanding what was so bad to deserve this.