Wilma de Soto
Nov 8 · 2 min read

“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.”-Blaise Pascal

Wow! This essay struck me to the core.

In my family it was my mother and I was the not favorite child. My eldest sister also was not a favorite and endured physical and emotional abuse as well.

But I was the quintessential middle child: Not the first-born, not the baby, not the only son.

The thing is my mother was an expert at putting on a facade before others of being the loving, sacrificing martyr-mother, who suffered because of her marriage to my father. Suffered for 54 years!

Everyone knew my father was not around as much and she denigrated him at every opportunity even though they stayed together in the same house for over 54 years.

What people didn’t know was I did not really have a mother. In her eyes I was a rival for my father’s attention, and I paid dearly for that.

I was given restraint through responsibility from age four when I could then hold a cleaning rag and lug a bucket.

I moved out one August with the man who would become my husband a year later. In December, I received a nasty telephone call from my youngest sister, (one of the golden ones who still lived at home with her), to come and clean her house so we could celebrate Christmas. After all she screeched it was, “your mother’s house.” I hadn’t lived there for months! Still, I came like a dutiful daughter and cleaned the house and did so for years after until I finally put my foot down.

My mother sat there and said nothing. My youngest sister was recruited by her to fight her battles for her with my father and against those she hated (like me).

Only my musical talent saved me. It forced her to do things like take me to lessons and pretend to praise me when others did.

Needless to say it took a lot of work and therapy for me to tolerate being in her presence .Later in life she confessed that she used to hate me, but didn’t any longer.

My mother was raised in the South. I always used to wonder if there is a way women are raised there that makes them this way? A cycle of abuse handed down over generations.

I am happy that you’ve decided that the abuse and veneration at all costs stops with you. I never had children out of fear that I could become like her.

With a few variations on the theme, your story could well have been my story.

    Wilma de Soto

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