I Never Did Anything for My Mother
I learned to respect who was respected and to disrespect who was disrespected
I was born in a chaotic household.
The primary reason for the chaos is hard to point out, but if I had to blame something, I’d blame the environment in which my father was raised.
Looking at my family, I learned what generational trauma is.
My grandma died when my father was just 4 years old. Seeing their mother die is not only hard but confusing for a 4-year-old. He lost his first teacher and the only person who could have taught him how to be gentle.
My dad had four older brothers, one younger brother, and one older sister. When Grandma passed away, she was the only woman in the house, and she was just eight years old.
My grandpa was a farmer and all the kids used to work in the fields and take care of the cattle after school. My 8-year-old aunt had to drop out of school to handle all the household chores.
As they all grew up, one by one, all the elder brothers got married. Because of their upbringing, they shared certain toxic traits. They had no respect for women, and for them, violence was the only means to resolve anything. Even my aunt shares the same traits.
