I fractured my wrist once, and my mom beat me for it
It was the day after I made the senior men’s volleyball team, and I was so proud of myself because every successful tryout for me was confirmation that I was part of the cool, athletic kids' posse.
It was confirmation bias at the highest level for teenagers.
But I still loved basketball, so I went to my school’s basketball court to practice. I was probably 5’7 or 5’8 at the time, and because I practiced basketball so much, I couldn’t believe that I was able to touch a ten-foot rim.
I was fucking ecstatic.
At 13 years old — I touched the fucking rim and even hung on it.
I couldn’t dunk yet, but I fucking hung on it.
Don’t get too excited for me, though, because I’m 33, and I can’t touch the rim anymore.
So guess what? I kept jumping, jumping, and jumping and finally, I got so tired that only two fingers grabbed the rim, lost my grip and fell on my dominant hand.
I fractured my wrist.
So I walked home, pretending nothing had happened, but the pain was too unbearable. I told my mom and said I should probably go to the emergency room.
My mom freaked out, spewed all of her insecurities, and started beating me.
WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE THE OTHER KIDS WHO STUDY?! WHY CAN’T YOU LIKE BOOKS INSTEAD OF SPORTS?! YOUR GRADES ARE BAD, YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR FUTURE, AND AT THIS RATE YOU WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING!
While trying to beat the shit out of me as I was trying to protect my wrist from getting damaged further, eventually, one of my siblings had to step in to protect me.
Is what my mom did consider abuse? Yep.
Was it normal for me at the time? Yep.
Was my mom probably going through depression at the time? Probably, based on my family history.
Do I blame my mom for what she did? No.
Did it affect my personality? Absolutely.
The unfortunate thing about this post is even still, today, she believes she has no responsibility for how I turned out as an adult based on her actions as a mom.
It’s fucking wild that she thinks this way.
But, at the same time, I think most people are doing their best, given what they have, based on their circumstances.
So, as I said, do I blame her? No.
But do I think I have shitty parents? Yes.
Do I wish things would have been different? Sometimes.
But I wouldn’t be the person I am now if it wasn’t for those experiences, and I like myself.
So maybe the question that’s worth asking isn’t about whether or not your parents should have changed if you’ve gone through similar shit that I have. The question that’s worth asking is:
Do you like yourself?