They Both Sucked; or, The Actions of One Masked The Other
[the following is a scatterbrained ventpost. we find that there is utility in blasting our incomplete thoughts about our upbringing, as it sometimes helps jog our memories and pulls forward a better understanding of our deeply-hidden feelings and thoughts. this is, essentially, the incomplete initial reaction to information we'd been ignorant to our entire lives.]
I think we've spoken before, many times, about how much of an asshole our father is. Boisterous, immature, loud, explosive, ignorant. The type of man that the manosphere would consider the manliest of men, and yet he is one of the most miserable men I've ever met in my life. How any man would strive to be like this is beyond and beneath me. It's a hollow life to live; no love for anyone, just hate. Never a word of genuine support, but always a shotgun of shit-talk. No matter how good a job you do, he will find or manufacture an imperfection to tear you down with.
His behavior was so overt and loud, however, that I had entirely overlooked the behavior of my mother.
I feel so stupid. It took my partner, who'd met her for the first time last month, finally passing an off-hand comment about her behavior as I, yet again, tried to say my parental problems were the fault of one man. She felt, in that moment, that I was separated far enough from the last time I'd spoken to her to become more receptive to such a statement. She was correct.
It was like a puzzle piece snapped into place, revealing the shattered image previously hidden from view. She excused my father's behavior repeatedly, tried to explain that his spite was merely his language of love. He insulted my artwork because he wanted me to perform better in my academics, or worried about the unstable income that being an artist entails. He never showed me any love emotionally, but that was because his love language was money. Excuse after excuse, no matter how weak to analysis it was.
I'm still trying to piece it together. I have enough puzzle pieces in place to understand that my mother was neglectful in her own ways, but not enough to describe exactly how. The most obvious moments of neglect are in contrast to my father, her reaction to his behavior or her refusal to counterplay his negging. There are still moments I have yet to piece together; it's always so difficult to remember moments where I needed help and received nothing.
I thought I just had daddy issues, became a transfem stereotype in that manner. "My daddy was mean to me so I became a woman to spite his sorry ass." Yet, I see now it's not quite right. Both my parents sucked; my father the eternal hater, and my mother the apologist.
I always wondered why she suddenly refused to hug me.
I still wonder.