I blame everyone
Sep. 23rd, 2023 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
just_cydIt's a beautiful saturday in late september, and rather than being out there enjoying it, I'm here, at home, fighting off a headache and angry that once again I find myself heading into Q4 behind on bills with no money to put towards birthdays and holidays and the general living of life.
I blame my parents, I blame public schools of the 70s and 80s, and I blame society at large.
I was always a high-strung, anxious child, while also very energetic and hyper. Any idiot could see now that i had anxiety and adhd, not behavior problems that required punishment.
There was some pretty hefty separation anxiety when mom went back to working day-shift when I was in 3rd grade. prior to that, she'd worked 3rd shift, so the getting to and from school was never an issue. but we were now latchkey kids, walking the 8/10th of a mile to and from school unsupervised. But late in 3rd grade - Spring of 1981 - any time there was an afternoon thunderstorm, I'd be in the hallway in hysterics, and the best I could eventually articulate was "i don't know how I'm going to get home". I still can't say why I freaked out like I did. I also get upset to the point of tears thinking about it. I wasn't necessarily scared of the storms, but the conjunction of storm and dismissal time sent me on a spiral that I to this day cannot recall the ending of. I know it happened more than once; maybe 3 times total. But, like everything else in my life that was called out as "abnormal," it's stuck with me like a Harry Dresden soulgaze that I can NOT un-see.
At the same time, I was the hyperactive kid who could not sit down and shut up to save her life. I was impulsive, I was easily distracted and impossible to re-direct if I got my mind set on something. I was "messy" and "disorganized" and while I was smart, all of this "behavior" got in the way of me being a star pupil. I did NOT get to participate in the 5th grade gifted/talented program, and in between ping-ponging all over the place, i'd be mad about it. I suspect it was decided by teachers and parents that I would not be a good fit. I still don't know what those 8 classmates did one day a week when they'd be bussed off to an alternate location for "special instruction".
During my hysterical crying fits, did anyone try to comfort me? I don't think so. Perhaps a classmate sat with me, or the teachers conferred in whispers about what to do with me. I do know that when this level of hysterics hit at home (and oh boy, did it), it was a behavior to be punished. or mocked. Because clearly, a child who is inconsolable, no matter her age, is going to best respond to being beaten and/or mocked. But then, if the only tools in the parents' toolboxes are beatings, mockery, or avoidance, well, then *gestures at my childhood*. It might be easier to forgive, or at least move past, some of this if the surviving parent would admit -or hell, even acknowledge- their part in this. (my stepmom defends my dad's behavior because of what HE went through as the youngest and probably-not-wanted-and-certainly-not-planned-twins, while my dad continues to regress in his recollection of my childhood)
Some of the issues were that we didn't speak the same language, and the adults didn't know how to translate for the kids. The words "clean your room" still send me into a mild panic, because those words always preceded screaming, beating, and quite possibly loss of privileges and/or possessions. to mom, "clean your room" was simple. To me, it was a mystery. No matter what I did, it was never right, but she never once defined her expectations or broke it down into simpler terms. Yes, I was (and still am) a hoarder-type and very much the type that needs to have things in sight. Lots of stuff coming in, very little leaving. Yes, I very much NEEDED to keep that empty tissue box because it was pretty!! No, reducing it to a single panel of the pattern and throwing the rest away will most certainly NOT be the same thing, and now you've ruined it tyvm. (true story) mostly I don't recall being given the tools to do what was expected. As the adults, they should have worked harder to spell out what was expected; rapid-firing verbal demands at me is NOT an effect tool, fyi.
Yes, ADHD in girls was virtually nonexistent in the 1970s and 80s. ADHD in boys seemed to only occur at school and in those with bad grades. My brother struggled academically, as well as having a stammer in K-3, to the point he had speech therapy at school and seemed to get extra attention from parents and teachers (often in the form of extra conferences, since parent-teacher communication was so limited back then). Don't think I didn't notice. He wasn't stupid, and neither was I. He wasn't reading at a college level at age 12, but his monster truck drawings were incredibly detailed, and that kid took in a whole lot more than anyone ever realized. That we do not share the exact same memories still annoys the shit outta me, but again, different people, different ages when things happened. I was the "smart" kid who could do so much more if she could just apply herself. So when my brother's HS graduation was met with a level of parental fanfare and celebration beyond anything I'd ever experienced, to say it stung is a gross understatement. my graduation was EXPECTED; his was not. my post-HS plans were nebulous, and my grad gifts were a variety of makeup and jewelry and luggage and lots of pretty but not at all useful crap. My brother, bound for tech school that he'd arranged all on his own until the financial aid paperwork needed parental info, received cold hard cash to buy the tools and stuff he'd need.
When it comes to money, it's more of the same. I remember being told to save money, but never shown how. Don't recall having a savings account as a kid - it might've been one of those UGMA/UTMA ones if I did, meaning it was my parents money until i turned 18. I know I opened a bank account when I got my first real paycheck job at 16/17, but I'd been babysitting a ton before then and making serious bank, and I can't tell you what i was spent on other than candy, music and magazines. There was never any discussion of short- or long-term savings goals. that if I wanted a car, I'd be required to pay for it myself, and here's a plan on how you can make that happen. If I'd saved even half of what i'd brought in babysitting and through work from age 12-18, I'd have had a nice chunk of change and wouldn't have headed into (not-optional) college already behind the 8-ball. That's another thing: attending college was NOT optional, yet there was no discussion on how to pay for it. my "college fund" paid for the first 2 quarters at community college (12 cr @ $29/hr, plus fees & books).
Mom had a credit union account. she never explained what it was. it was just some far-off bank-like place where special money came from. I realize now it was a payroll deduction through her job, either for her own safety and sanity, or to pay for vacations or whatever. Why, as teenagers, did she not explain the concept? Why did I have to learn THE VERY HARD WAY how to deal with bills that aren't paid on a monthly basis? Mom's work was in accounting-related stuff (but fairly low on the food chain - AP processor, etc) so she was all about numbers and stuff. I guess she just assumed we knew everything she knew? Dad, well, he was worthless. He made the bulk of the money, but mom handled the bills. before she died, she had to teach him how to pay bills. He was about 55 at the time.
Now, I know that the 70s/80s were rough times financially - high interest rates (11% on a mortgage?!), there were job shutdowns that had dad laid off from GM, and lots of other things that i've not really researched but should. but to get -zero- education from home is a disgrace. I assume we were middle-class. We always lived in a house with a mortgage. the first house bought a month before I was born, the second about 12 years later. both parents had cars that were bought new, but those purchases were a big affair and infrequent. GM had a relatively lucrative family discount back then, which made those purchases far more affordable. This is when you ordered your car, not pick one off the lot.
Which is how I find myself, age 51, with zero savings, more unsecured debt than I'd prefer, and no clue how to turn this sinking ship around.
I blame my parents, I blame public schools of the 70s and 80s, and I blame society at large.
I was always a high-strung, anxious child, while also very energetic and hyper. Any idiot could see now that i had anxiety and adhd, not behavior problems that required punishment.
There was some pretty hefty separation anxiety when mom went back to working day-shift when I was in 3rd grade. prior to that, she'd worked 3rd shift, so the getting to and from school was never an issue. but we were now latchkey kids, walking the 8/10th of a mile to and from school unsupervised. But late in 3rd grade - Spring of 1981 - any time there was an afternoon thunderstorm, I'd be in the hallway in hysterics, and the best I could eventually articulate was "i don't know how I'm going to get home". I still can't say why I freaked out like I did. I also get upset to the point of tears thinking about it. I wasn't necessarily scared of the storms, but the conjunction of storm and dismissal time sent me on a spiral that I to this day cannot recall the ending of. I know it happened more than once; maybe 3 times total. But, like everything else in my life that was called out as "abnormal," it's stuck with me like a Harry Dresden soulgaze that I can NOT un-see.
At the same time, I was the hyperactive kid who could not sit down and shut up to save her life. I was impulsive, I was easily distracted and impossible to re-direct if I got my mind set on something. I was "messy" and "disorganized" and while I was smart, all of this "behavior" got in the way of me being a star pupil. I did NOT get to participate in the 5th grade gifted/talented program, and in between ping-ponging all over the place, i'd be mad about it. I suspect it was decided by teachers and parents that I would not be a good fit. I still don't know what those 8 classmates did one day a week when they'd be bussed off to an alternate location for "special instruction".
During my hysterical crying fits, did anyone try to comfort me? I don't think so. Perhaps a classmate sat with me, or the teachers conferred in whispers about what to do with me. I do know that when this level of hysterics hit at home (and oh boy, did it), it was a behavior to be punished. or mocked. Because clearly, a child who is inconsolable, no matter her age, is going to best respond to being beaten and/or mocked. But then, if the only tools in the parents' toolboxes are beatings, mockery, or avoidance, well, then *gestures at my childhood*. It might be easier to forgive, or at least move past, some of this if the surviving parent would admit -or hell, even acknowledge- their part in this. (my stepmom defends my dad's behavior because of what HE went through as the youngest and probably-not-wanted-and-certainly-not-planned-twins, while my dad continues to regress in his recollection of my childhood)
Some of the issues were that we didn't speak the same language, and the adults didn't know how to translate for the kids. The words "clean your room" still send me into a mild panic, because those words always preceded screaming, beating, and quite possibly loss of privileges and/or possessions. to mom, "clean your room" was simple. To me, it was a mystery. No matter what I did, it was never right, but she never once defined her expectations or broke it down into simpler terms. Yes, I was (and still am) a hoarder-type and very much the type that needs to have things in sight. Lots of stuff coming in, very little leaving. Yes, I very much NEEDED to keep that empty tissue box because it was pretty!! No, reducing it to a single panel of the pattern and throwing the rest away will most certainly NOT be the same thing, and now you've ruined it tyvm. (true story) mostly I don't recall being given the tools to do what was expected. As the adults, they should have worked harder to spell out what was expected; rapid-firing verbal demands at me is NOT an effect tool, fyi.
Yes, ADHD in girls was virtually nonexistent in the 1970s and 80s. ADHD in boys seemed to only occur at school and in those with bad grades. My brother struggled academically, as well as having a stammer in K-3, to the point he had speech therapy at school and seemed to get extra attention from parents and teachers (often in the form of extra conferences, since parent-teacher communication was so limited back then). Don't think I didn't notice. He wasn't stupid, and neither was I. He wasn't reading at a college level at age 12, but his monster truck drawings were incredibly detailed, and that kid took in a whole lot more than anyone ever realized. That we do not share the exact same memories still annoys the shit outta me, but again, different people, different ages when things happened. I was the "smart" kid who could do so much more if she could just apply herself. So when my brother's HS graduation was met with a level of parental fanfare and celebration beyond anything I'd ever experienced, to say it stung is a gross understatement. my graduation was EXPECTED; his was not. my post-HS plans were nebulous, and my grad gifts were a variety of makeup and jewelry and luggage and lots of pretty but not at all useful crap. My brother, bound for tech school that he'd arranged all on his own until the financial aid paperwork needed parental info, received cold hard cash to buy the tools and stuff he'd need.
When it comes to money, it's more of the same. I remember being told to save money, but never shown how. Don't recall having a savings account as a kid - it might've been one of those UGMA/UTMA ones if I did, meaning it was my parents money until i turned 18. I know I opened a bank account when I got my first real paycheck job at 16/17, but I'd been babysitting a ton before then and making serious bank, and I can't tell you what i was spent on other than candy, music and magazines. There was never any discussion of short- or long-term savings goals. that if I wanted a car, I'd be required to pay for it myself, and here's a plan on how you can make that happen. If I'd saved even half of what i'd brought in babysitting and through work from age 12-18, I'd have had a nice chunk of change and wouldn't have headed into (not-optional) college already behind the 8-ball. That's another thing: attending college was NOT optional, yet there was no discussion on how to pay for it. my "college fund" paid for the first 2 quarters at community college (12 cr @ $29/hr, plus fees & books).
Mom had a credit union account. she never explained what it was. it was just some far-off bank-like place where special money came from. I realize now it was a payroll deduction through her job, either for her own safety and sanity, or to pay for vacations or whatever. Why, as teenagers, did she not explain the concept? Why did I have to learn THE VERY HARD WAY how to deal with bills that aren't paid on a monthly basis? Mom's work was in accounting-related stuff (but fairly low on the food chain - AP processor, etc) so she was all about numbers and stuff. I guess she just assumed we knew everything she knew? Dad, well, he was worthless. He made the bulk of the money, but mom handled the bills. before she died, she had to teach him how to pay bills. He was about 55 at the time.
Now, I know that the 70s/80s were rough times financially - high interest rates (11% on a mortgage?!), there were job shutdowns that had dad laid off from GM, and lots of other things that i've not really researched but should. but to get -zero- education from home is a disgrace. I assume we were middle-class. We always lived in a house with a mortgage. the first house bought a month before I was born, the second about 12 years later. both parents had cars that were bought new, but those purchases were a big affair and infrequent. GM had a relatively lucrative family discount back then, which made those purchases far more affordable. This is when you ordered your car, not pick one off the lot.
Which is how I find myself, age 51, with zero savings, more unsecured debt than I'd prefer, and no clue how to turn this sinking ship around.
