I'm going to start a series of shorter stories about my family, called "that didn't happen" - it's tongue in cheek, referring to how my parents would rewrite some or even all of an event after it happened. If you're reading this blog, you know how abusive parents are... they don't take accountability for their actions. If their conscience is eating them up, or they know they did something wrong, they don't just apologize for it and make amends like a normal person would. They tell you that you have an overactive imagination, they don't remember that happening, it happened differently than you're remembering it, or it didn't happen at all. It's one of the many forms that gaslighting can take.
When we moved to the United States, we lived with my maternal grandma for a while. She moved around with us all over the Southeast until we settled on one major city, where we lived in a one bedroom together, until she moved away when I was in the 3rd grade. My grandma was a real monster of a mother, and even though my mom won't hear a single criticism of her, she was absolutely not fit to be around children. One example of her poor character is that she'd often leave my mom with strangers from a very young age, so she could go shopping and clubbing with her friends. My mom told me lots of stories about this happening, where she'd be crying the entire time for her mom to come back for her. When I said that my grandma isn't a very good mother for allowing this, my mom backtracked and went into "how dare you" mode. My mom insists that her mom was very loving and good despite this (and many other things), because her pride won't let her admit that she was failed by her parents from birth.
Well, believe it or not, she didn't view me any differently. They say that some abusive parents "change" and treat their grandchildren better, but my grandma was not like this. I could always tell that having to watch me was a terrible chore for her. She hated even speaking to me, and she really lacked the proper judgment about what topics were appropriate to talk about with a child. I could see that it angered her if I needed anything, and I knew better than to ever ask her to play or spend time with me. If she ever watched me, I mostly sat there in silence, because I knew that I would be met with anger and yelling if I interrupted her as she watched her soap operas. She used to give me lots of food to shut me up, and my mom and grandma both don't understand how this is related to a weight problem I developed at a young age - which they loved to make fun of me for, of course. If I was eating, at least I wasn't trying to bother her.
My grandma used to illegally clean a clothing store, and my mom would drive her to and from work. My grandma had her own form of learned helplessness, much like my parents, but hers specifically was that she would not learn how to drive. She had been this way from her early 20's - just entirely rejected the idea. At this point, my mom was comfortable driving in the United States even though she was here illegally and didn't have a driver's license. My grandma would insist that they go to several clothing stores after work every day - she had more outfits than there are days in the year, I swear I'm not exaggerating. After she moved back to our country, we still had boxes and boxes of her clothes. Clothes that she never even got around to wearing, because there were just so many of them. My mom said that she'd stand in the stores flipping through the discount and clearance racks like pages in a book.
Well, they didn't have anyone to watch me if it was with the both of them, and obviously as a 6 or 7 year old, the last thing I wanted to do was look at blouses at multiple clothing stores each day. As any kid would, I asked if we can go home, and if we really have to go to another store after this. My grandma got very angry with me, and her solution to the problem was to buy me a large pizza and lock me in the car outside of the store with the window cracked. My mom 100% went along with this idea, to placate her own mom.
Except, it didn't work. Of course it didn't work. I immediately panicked. The pizza did not comfort me the way she expected it to - how could it? I was literally locked in a car in a parking lot outside of a clothing store. I started screaming, crying, and beating on the windows after they walked into the store. I actually think this is one of the first ever panic attacks I remember having.
Eventually, a nice woman came to my rescue. I still remember exactly how she looked, an older and very short black lady with short hair and a pink baseball cap. I was so relieved. She was horrified to see a small child locked in a car. "What's happening? Where is your mom?" - I told her that my mom left me in the car so she could go clothes shopping. She was disgusted and asked for my mom's phone number, so she could call her. I gave it to her, and my mom didn't answer the phone. Then she had the idea of going into the store and making them announce on the intercom that there is a screaming child in a car, and that their parents need to come out. She asked for my mom's name and went inside.
Out come my mom and my grandma, absolutely fuming at me. I know it was at me, because that's what they told me. They thought I was so irresponsible and impatient, and I could have gotten them in serious trouble! They even left me with a pizza, I was fine, what was I thinking by doing what I did? It was only for a few minutes! My grandma gave me her typical silent treatment, which my mom also did, but for a shorter duration than my grandma. My grandma loved the silent treatment, and it worked pretty well on my mom (but generally not on me) - the intention was that I'd beg for her forgiveness to get her to talk to me again. Neither of them saw anything wrong with what they did, and explicitly stated that I was to blame for this situation. They could have been arrested! I felt awful, because I was still too little to understand that I was wronged.
Well, fast forward to my late teens or early 20's, when this event came up in a conversation with my mom. I believe that I'd already been reading blogs and material online about abusive and dysfunctional families, and I remembered being locked in a car outside of a clothing store... and I realized it was screwed up. Really, really screwed up. I asked my mom about it, and she rewrote much of the story. The biggest slap in the face was her trying to tell me that she was angry at my grandma, not me. That my grandma "forced" her to lock me in a car with a pizza and go clothes shopping, that she had no choice.
It was one of the earlier things my mom did when I was a young adult that made me realize we absolutely cannot have a normal relationship. I explicitly remember her being angry with me, blaming me for the situation, and going along with my grandma's idea of leaving me in the car. I remember the exact wording, tone, and facial expressions that very clearly expressed "this is your fault". What the hell was she talking about now? Years later, I figured out it was an attempt at gaslighting. Back then, I just thought she was lying to make herself look better, because she knew I was old enough to know that she wronged me, and she had hoped I forgot the situation by now... but I didn't.
Even the lies themselves were quite telling. "Forced to"... my mom was in her early 30's at this point. No one forced her to do anything, she could have said "no". She needed to say no, her child's safety and well-being was at stake. That was her responsibility and her duty to me, and she failed at it. The fact that I explicitly remember her being angry with me for being scared means that she is just like my grandma - she viewed me as a burden and just wished I'd shut up already and let her do what she wants. My mom is only a little bit better at hiding it than my grandma is.
I have a daughter now and the idea of ever putting her in an unsafe situation like this literally makes my stomach turn. I am not exaggerating - I would rather die. I would not be able to live with myself if my spinelessness was the cause for her screaming and crying in a car, beating on a window, terrified about being left in a strange place all alone. This is probably one of the most glaringly obvious examples of my mom just not giving a damn about me, my safety, or my dignity. And the pizza was just the icing on the cake - like I'm a cat that can be left alone with a bowl of food and be just fine.
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