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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.