How to find humor in a crappy childhood?

[Anonymous]

DCUM, help me to paint this sad childhood in a light, humorous way, for sanity's sake. So I can be able to share it with others without bringing people down and garnering pity and awkwardness all around. I have always felt like I can not show people the real me, and you know what, I'm getting too old for this. I don't want to go through my whole life hiding part of myself. I want to be whole. I have this envy with comedians who are able to talk about some pretty dark stuff in their past, and make it funny. It must feel cathartic. To share that, and have people hear that part of your experience, and not judge you, but to share a laugh about it.

Here is the general picture. My dad had a sad life. My mom had a sad life. Lot of loss, poverty, physical abuse, alcoholism. My sibling and I had a sad life -less sad than theirs, but still. Dad was verbally and physically abusive and ultra-controlling to us, probably a narcissist. We were lashed severely for the smallest infractions. We lived in constant terror and fear of our lives. Mom, always miserable and detached. My sibling and I had no voice, no identities, no freedoms, no allowances for feelings, no preferences. We were lazy, disappointing, uninteresting, boring, cold, loveless, spoiled, ungrateful, we didn't walk right, we didn't talk right, we didn't sit right, we couldn't do anything right. We were not allowed to socialize with our peers, except for a couple "approved" friends.

The thing is, no one knows this part of my past except my sibling, and our spouses. If you met me, you'd never know. On the surface, I seem pretty well put together, have a decent marriage, happy, well-adjusted kids. I've hinted to my friends about strict parents, but never told the whole story. And so I always feel like there is sort of a wall between me and everyone else, a part of myself that I hide. I feel like there is this well of sadness in my soul. And I feel like I need to be able to just package it somehow so that it is more palatable, less awkward and awful, and better yet, FUNNY. But how???

[Anonymous]

It is not funny. You do not need to share everything about your past. What difference does it make to anyone but you and your sibling? Learn to accept your past. You have moved on, enjoy today. Go for therapy and learn to deal with your childhood.

[Anonymous]

Here are two examples of how you make it humorous:

1. In my family, either things were done the Bing Way, or the Wrong Way. There was no other way to do them other than how my dad thought things should be done. When I finally moved out, 1,000 miles away, it was exciting but also terrifying. Because my parents spent months having me make budget after budget, constantly telling me how I wouldn't be able to afford living on my own. Finally I snapped and pointed out there are people who pack up their cars and just go, and they make it. I had 10 months of savings, had leads on jobs, had three relatives in the area I wanted to move to, and was going. So I went. After I moved into my new apartment, I was laying in bed smiling about how awesome it was to finally be on my own. I could watch MTV if I wanted. I could eat a piece of fruit standing over the sink - NO BOWL! The possibilities were endless. This was MY home. I could do WHATEVER I wanted. And that's why at 3am I got out of bed, went into the bathroom, grabbed the garbage pail, and defiantly put it OUTSIDE the bathroom, in the hall. Because I could. Two days later I put it back in the bathroom because well, that was more practical. But still. I could put things WHEREVER I WANTED. A few months later my parents came to visit. Proudly I showed them around my apartment. There was a ledge at the top of the entry stairs, and I kept a couple of things there - keys, a flashlight, etc. My dad picked something up and asked where it went. I proceeded to give him a heart attack by saying, "It goes right where it is. It just lives there. Out. All the time." His face twitched something awful, but he put it down and said nothing.

2. I came from a family where if you weren't early, you were late. I was the type to skid in right as the bell finished ringing. My parents never missed an opportunity to tell me how unprofessional this was. Even when I was seven, and my profession was to be a kid and have fun. I was allowed to ride my bike for a maximum of 15 minutes. For every minute I was late getting back, that was a week I was grounded. My parents were hardcore about time. In 2019 a bunch of family members were getting together - a little family reunion if you will - and it was agreed we would all meet at a certain time in the lobby of the hotel we were all staying in. At 5 minutes to 4pm, I left my hotel room for the lobby, arriving there a minute and a half later. At 4pm I got a text from my SIL - their baby had exploded, they were cleaning her up and they were running a couple of minutes behind. My parents however, rolled up at 4:09. My mother smiled at me. My father looked at me with no expression on his face. I made a show of pulling up my phone, looking at the time, then looking at him, and just said, "Well, well, well."

See, OP? I left out that I had my precious possessions thrown away if they weren't in the spot my parents decided they should be in. I left out that if I was late getting home I had to stand against the wall getting yelled at for an hour being told I was never going to amount to anything and nobody would ever hire me. I left out how I grew up being terrified of my father. Or that he hit me so hard I peed my pants. More than once. I just laid out something that lets you know they were super strict, and how I dealt with it once I had a bit more power and autonomy.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:Here are two examples of how you make it humorous:

1. In my family, either things were done the Bing Way, or the Wrong Way. There was no other way to do them other than how my dad thought things should be done. When I finally moved out, 1,000 miles away, it was exciting but also terrifying. Because my parents spent months having me make budget after budget, constantly telling me how I wouldn't be able to afford living on my own. Finally I snapped and pointed out there are people who pack up their cars and just go, and they make it. I had 10 months of savings, had leads on jobs, had three relatives in the area I wanted to move to, and was going. So I went. After I moved into my new apartment, I was laying in bed smiling about how awesome it was to finally be on my own. I could watch MTV if I wanted. I could eat a piece of fruit standing over the sink - NO BOWL! The possibilities were endless. This was MY home. I could do WHATEVER I wanted. And that's why at 3am I got out of bed, went into the bathroom, grabbed the garbage pail, and defiantly put it OUTSIDE the bathroom, in the hall. Because I could. Two days later I put it back in the bathroom because well, that was more practical. But still. I could put things WHEREVER I WANTED. A few months later my parents came to visit. Proudly I showed them around my apartment. There was a ledge at the top of the entry stairs, and I kept a couple of things there - keys, a flashlight, etc. My dad picked something up and asked where it went. I proceeded to give him a heart attack by saying, "It goes right where it is. It just lives there. Out. All the time." His face twitched something awful, but he put it down and said nothing.

2. I came from a family where if you weren't early, you were late. I was the type to skid in right as the bell finished ringing. My parents never missed an opportunity to tell me how unprofessional this was. Even when I was seven, and my profession was to be a kid and have fun. I was allowed to ride my bike for a maximum of 15 minutes. For every minute I was late getting back, that was a week I was grounded. My parents were hardcore about time. In 2019 a bunch of family members were getting together - a little family reunion if you will - and it was agreed we would all meet at a certain time in the lobby of the hotel we were all staying in. At 5 minutes to 4pm, I left my hotel room for the lobby, arriving there a minute and a half later. At 4pm I got a text from my SIL - their baby had exploded, they were cleaning her up and they were running a couple of minutes behind. My parents however, rolled up at 4:09. My mother smiled at me. My father looked at me with no expression on his face. I made a show of pulling up my phone, looking at the time, then looking at him, and just said, "Well, well, well."

See, OP? I left out that I had my precious possessions thrown away if they weren't in the spot my parents decided they should be in. I left out that if I was late getting home I had to stand against the wall getting yelled at for an hour being told I was never going to amount to anything and nobody would ever hire me. I left out how I grew up being terrified of my father. Or that he hit me so hard I peed my pants. More than once. I just laid out something that lets you know they were super strict, and how I dealt with it once I had a bit more power and autonomy.

NP here, and I LOVE PP's post. Great examples and discussion. What I take from this is that the answer is "editing." Tell people the truth with the focus on editing to remove details that will trigger uncomfortable feelings.

So many people have unresolved feelings about childhood abuse that they experienced and/or know someone else who experienced it. OP, if you share unedited information about childhood abuse, you're likely to get responses that will feel hurtful.

It's great that you want to be more authentic about who you are. Being strategic - editing - is the way to do it.

To both you and PP, I'm also very sorry you had such a crappy childhood, and hope you're doing okay now.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:Here are two examples of how you make it humorous:

1. In my family, either things were done the Bing Way, or the Wrong Way. There was no other way to do them other than how my dad thought things should be done. When I finally moved out, 1,000 miles away, it was exciting but also terrifying. Because my parents spent months having me make budget after budget, constantly telling me how I wouldn't be able to afford living on my own. Finally I snapped and pointed out there are people who pack up their cars and just go, and they make it. I had 10 months of savings, had leads on jobs, had three relatives in the area I wanted to move to, and was going. So I went. After I moved into my new apartment, I was laying in bed smiling about how awesome it was to finally be on my own. I could watch MTV if I wanted. I could eat a piece of fruit standing over the sink - NO BOWL! The possibilities were endless. This was MY home. I could do WHATEVER I wanted. And that's why at 3am I got out of bed, went into the bathroom, grabbed the garbage pail, and defiantly put it OUTSIDE the bathroom, in the hall. Because I could. Two days later I put it back in the bathroom because well, that was more practical. But still. I could put things WHEREVER I WANTED. A few months later my parents came to visit. Proudly I showed them around my apartment. There was a ledge at the top of the entry stairs, and I kept a couple of things there - keys, a flashlight, etc. My dad picked something up and asked where it went. I proceeded to give him a heart attack by saying, "It goes right where it is. It just lives there. Out. All the time." His face twitched something awful, but he put it down and said nothing.

2. I came from a family where if you weren't early, you were late. I was the type to skid in right as the bell finished ringing. My parents never missed an opportunity to tell me how unprofessional this was. Even when I was seven, and my profession was to be a kid and have fun. I was allowed to ride my bike for a maximum of 15 minutes. For every minute I was late getting back, that was a week I was grounded. My parents were hardcore about time. In 2019 a bunch of family members were getting together - a little family reunion if you will - and it was agreed we would all meet at a certain time in the lobby of the hotel we were all staying in. At 5 minutes to 4pm, I left my hotel room for the lobby, arriving there a minute and a half later. At 4pm I got a text from my SIL - their baby had exploded, they were cleaning her up and they were running a couple of minutes behind. My parents however, rolled up at 4:09. My mother smiled at me. My father looked at me with no expression on his face. I made a show of pulling up my phone, looking at the time, then looking at him, and just said, "Well, well, well."

See, OP? I left out that I had my precious possessions thrown away if they weren't in the spot my parents decided they should be in. I left out that if I was late getting home I had to stand against the wall getting yelled at for an hour being told I was never going to amount to anything and nobody would ever hire me. I left out how I grew up being terrified of my father. Or that he hit me so hard I peed my pants. More than once. I just laid out something that lets you know they were super strict, and how I dealt with it once I had a bit more power and autonomy.

I'm impressed, expertly done. Thank you for the kindness.

[Anonymous]

OP here and thanks again to PP for your response - and your incredible insight. Not only did you totally get and understood what I was going for... You also employed a technique that is an invaluable life skill - to take something bad that happened to you, and effectively turn yourself into the hero of your own life by overcoming it and gaining power over it. That part is the key that I was really missing. That takes incredible emotional intelligence and maturity. Sorry you had to experience that in your childhood.

[Anonymous]

I get triggered watching Trump because my dad was also a cruel, self involved narcissist. Made up mean nicknames for us and encouraged others to call us by those mean names. Called me mean names at my wedding in front of my husband and in laws. Everything was always about him. These days I make a joke by comparing him to Donald trump i.e. Imagine being a kid and hacking Donald trump come for parents weekend at college, summer camp etc.

[Anonymous]

04:00, thank you for painting a picture through your writing. Very well done.

OP, I had the opposite problem, and I didn't resolve it until my mid-30s. I grew up joking about my upbringing to the extent of ignoring the trauma and compartmentalizing it in an emotionally unhealthy way. Therapy helped me tremendously.

08:52, I, too, am triggered by Trump. I think he does that to a lot of people. When Paula Reid recently called him out on his lies, his facial expressions before he walked off made my hair stand on end.

[Anonymous]

The thing is, no one knows this part of my past except my sibling, and our spouses. If you met me, you'd never know. On the surface, I seem pretty well put together, have a decent marriage, happy, well-adjusted kids. I've hinted to my friends about strict parents, but never told the whole story. And so I always feel like there is sort of a wall between me and everyone else, a part of myself that I hide. I feel like there is this well of sadness in my soul. And I feel like I need to be able to just package it somehow so that it is more palatable, less awkward and awful, and better yet, FUNNY. But how???

I don't have any suggestions, because for me joking about it doesn't sit well, but I wanted to let you know that I understand about feeling like there is a hidden part of yourself. Whenever I've let slip small bits of my history, friends completely didn't get it and I felt more alone. For me, telling the whole story in therapy made the biggest difference, and I have a best friend who knows pieces of it and while she doesn't really understand, she's compassionate and that helps.

For the purposes of socializing, I have sort of differentiated my home (abused) self from my school (seemingly normal) self. So when childhood stuff comes up in conversations, I tell school stories.

[Anonymous]

It's not funny. Watch The King of Comedy if you want to see how not funny it is.

A therapist is a good person to unload onto, OP.

[Anonymous]

I think it’s easiest to make things “funny” when you have some distance from them, and when you have someone — a family member or a community, to join you in laughing together from the perspective of somewhat shared experiences. I agree with others who have suggested that you talk to a therapist — or someone that you feel you can share your whole self and experiences with without having to edit (unless you choose to). That experience may make it easier for you to have enough distance to edit as you need to, share things with the strengths that humor can give you.

I grew up with an older brother who brought his sense of humor to some difficult family situations. I am forever grateful to him for giving me a useful defense that allowed both of us to develop resilience and strong bonds with each other through these experiences.

Having said that, there are many ways to share tough experiences— and being able to laugh at your pain for the benefit of others may not universally serve you well if you have to diminish your authentic experiences in order to do this.

Wishing you well as you sort these issues out in ways that support your own well-being.

Note: I’m thinking of Richard Pryor as I write this. I’m hardly holding him up as a healthy model, but the experience of watching some of his stand up shows might be something for you to consider.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:It's not funny. Watch The King of Comedy if you want to see how not funny it is.

A therapist is a good person to unload onto, OP.

I had one therapist I told. He charged $250 a session, so I stopped after 2 sessions. He was the first human I talked to about it. Ever. But it allowed me to be able to tell my now DH and allowed me to bring it up with my sibling and talk about it.

I guess I just feel like it would be nice if I had at least a couple friends that knew as well - maybe not the entire saga, but just the extent of it.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:It's not funny. Watch The King of Comedy if you want to see how not funny it is.

A therapist is a good person to unload onto, OP.

I had one therapist I told. He charged $250 a session, so I stopped after 2 sessions. He was the first human I talked to about it. Ever. But it allowed me to be able to tell my now DH and allowed me to bring it up with my sibling and talk about it.

I guess I just feel like it would be nice if I had at least a couple friends that knew as well - maybe not the entire saga, but just the extent of it.

Do you already have friends that you trust in mind? If so, maybe instead of going for humor, you might think of starting small. Talking about how you’ve made a conscious decision to raise your children differently from the way you were raised could be a good way to talk in general terms that leave you freedom to share specific examples if you choose to. Don’t be surprised if it turns out that some of your friends can relate to your experiences.

Do you think something like Al-Anon for family members would be something to explore? You could share —or not, and might get practice with the experience of sharing your authentic story. I’m sorry that despite this suggestion, I have no idea how these groups may be organized post-covid.

[Anonymous]

This doesn't really address your question, OP, but you might be surprised at what other people might be hiding as well. Over time, I have come to find out that I have a large number of friends that have had incredibly difficult childhoods, the kind of stuff that makes it on TVs. I have seen nothing but kindness and understanding, when people have revealed their closely guarded secrets, because all of a sudden, some parts of their behaviors started making more sense.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:It's not funny. Watch The King of Comedy if you want to see how not funny it is.

A therapist is a good person to unload onto, OP.

+1

And do not think that trying a humorous take will make people want a window into your life. I am instantly turned off; the use of humor lets me know the person is still a wreck and being dishonest about it, or trying to sell me something about it. The dishonesty/story manipulation is unattractive. Just tell me: My dad was awful.

- Person estranged from family due to abuse who doesn’t volunteer information, but if you push me about what I’m doing for mom for Mother’s Day, I’ll tell you point-blank that she was abusive so I have no contact.