Favoritism Hurts, Please Stop

I am beyond brokenhearted rn. How some people can treat their own children absolutely blows my mind!💔😤😠
It’s one thing to have a split or blended family, it’s another thing, entirely, to treat them like they don’t quite fit in.😠😡🤬 But, to intentionally exclude a child from his own family vacation to
Disney World! —-and then, let him in on the “secret” weeks afterward, boasting that the Disney trip had actually been a gift to his brother for his 11th b’day!😡😡😤😤🤬🤬 💔😥
My son was tearful as he told me this. The sadness he feels is amplified in my heart 10000×!
How could his OWN (only living, biological) grandma and grandpa choose to leave our son out?😢 We have 2 sons!!! Not 1! Two!
……And their father! 🤬🤬🤬 How could he be so unfair to his son??? I appalled, crushed, and pissed!!!
I will NEVER EVER understand how a parent or grandparent can play “favorites” like that! SMDH!!
Don’t they realize the damage they are causing to the child being left out??? These kids are HURTING inside! They are NOT stupid! They SEE the difference that is made between them and the “favorite” child(ren).
They notice the amount of gifts under the tree with their name on them. They notice who, all-of-a-sudden fell terribly ill, and can’t make it to their birthday party, yet the very next day, take Mary’s child to the McDonalds play-place for lunch!
They F-ING notice!!! THEY ARE NOT STUPID!!! We, their mothers, their advocates, their shoulder to cry on; are drying our own tears as were explaining to them how YOU DO love them, YOU’RE just “busy”,..again!😠
They start to feel as if they are not good enough, that they are not smart enough, that they are not worthy of your love…. They recant, over and over, what they could have possibly done wrong. SAD! SAD! SAD!😭
They also begin to blame themselves…. they think that maybe if they’d behaved better at the store with grandma, the ONE time she took them, she would come visit more.
Let me tell you something…..
I will NOT allow this bs to continue to emotionally damage my child! I refuse to lie for you to spare my children the heartache! I will gently and lovingly explain to them what a sorry person(people) you are.💩 I will help my child to rise above the heartache and promote emotional strength within him!💪🏼👍🏼👊🏻😒💖
I will teach my children the skills they need to protect their tender, innocent, loving hearts from people like you. I will not allow you to embed your unfair, selfish acts upon my sons happy, childhood memories. I will NEVER EVER, EVER let ANYONE make my child feel unworthy or ignored!‼
NO ONE with half-ass intentions deserves, the privilege, of a role in my childrens lives. It’s YOU who’ll miss out in the long run.🖤
STEP-UP OR STEP OUT, the choice is yours.

💔 Found this! 👇🏼👇🏼😥😢😥😭😭
2, yes 2 of those children are mine and his. It may not be so obvious who’s the very “favorite” here, BUT, it is ABSOLUTELY OBVIOUS that, my precious guy, is NOT. His (full-blood)brother is lying on the back of the couch.
This pic was taken on Christmas Day in 2017. 😢😢😢(at his dads parents home)💔💔
My baby…he looks so sad, while all the other grandchildren are beaming!!! IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY! He should be elated! But,… he’s NOT! 💔😡
This picture speaks volumes about the emotional turmoil “favoritism” causes!!!
😡🐻😡🐻😡🐻😡🐻😡🐻😡🐻😡

IF you hug one of them,

Hug ALL of them.
If you miss one of them,
Miss ALL of them.
If you bake cookies with one of them,
Bake with ALL of them.
If you celebrate her/his birthday,
Celebrate ALL their birthdays.
If you “treat” one of them,
“Treat” ALL of them.
If you love one of them,
Love ALL OF THEM!❤💞

👨‍👩👱‍♀👧🏼👨🏾👦👶🏿🧒🏾👨‍👩‍
PLEASE QUIT PLAYING “FAVORITES”

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To All Moms Of Boys

Hello readers! It has definitely been a while since I’ve written. Getting my brain to focus on a post has been quite difficult lately. ADHD is to blame, it’s both a blessing and a curse!

This is not exactly ADHD related, but if you are a MOM raising only boys…. You need to read this! It was written by an admin in a fb group I belong to, exclusively for “boy moms”! I, myself, have 6 sons!

We are hard on ourselves and struggle often to raise these little male humans, obviously… Moms are not boys.

Again, this was not written by me! I just had to share! Enjoy!

What Does It Mean To Be A BOYMOM?

Everytime I read an article or social media post about what it is like to be a boymom I see a comment about how raising girls is exactly the same & just as hard as raising boys. Usually, the comment is made by a mother who doesn’t have any sons & I have to smile & shake my head because I know that she doesn’t understand. She can’t understand. She probably thinks that the term Boymom is simply a way to perpetuate gender stereotypes, a way to laugh off the boys will be boys culture, & a way to make moms with sons feel superior because they gave birth to the golden children that have penises.

This can’t be further from the truth!

Boymoms know that there are many similarities between boys & girls. Girls can make messes & eat mud pies & boys can like to paint their toe nails & sleep with baby dolls. Girls can be obsessed with dinosaurs & boys can love to bake cupcakes. I have seen the #boymom & #lifewithboys tag used for everything from pee on the bathroom floor to a picture of a toddler boy who got into his mother’s makeup & put it on his face so he could be like mommy.

Boymoms are proud of our boys & each & everyone of them is different & unique in their own special ways.

But the truth is that raising boys comes with one huge difference from raising girls. A boymom is tasked with raising a child who she will never fully be able to relate to. We try our bests to give them all of the love & support they need & our goal is to raise them to be good men, but there are many instances in their lives when we are blindly guiding them through things that we have no experience with. Things we don’t fully even understand. I frequently compare it to living in a foreign country when you don’t speak the language. This is what makes being a boymom somewhat more difficult of an experience than raising girls.

It starts when they are toddlers & begin to explore their bodies. Boymoms are left wondering just exactly why little boys become so obsessed with playing with their penis & balls. We don’t see our friends daughters sitting in church with their fingers in their vaginas, but little Timmy has to be reminded eight times to keep his hands out of his pants.

Potty training is also a different experience with boys. Females have it pretty easy. We sit, push, stuff comes out, we wipe, & we are done. Boys have to worry about things like aim, spray, & volume. This is a challenge that seems to plague even the best of them their entire lives. Boymoms actually have to teach their sons to use body parts they have never had to use themselves.

As boys get older being a boymom gets more challenging. As women we could easily teach a preteen daughter about her period & sympathize with her when she gets bad cramps. However, as women we don’t know what it is like to have surges of testosterone running through our body. We have never had to worry about our voice cracking while reading out loud in class & we don’t know what it feels like to get a random erection in front of the entire school during a talent show. Despite our inability to relate we still have to help our sons through puberty.

Than our teenage sons start to be told to ‘act like a man’. Boymoms have never had to ‘act like a man’ because we are women. There are so many conflicting messages in the world about what it means to be a ‘man’ so again we have to help guide them through something outside our realm of experience. We have to teach our sons that they are bigger & stronger than women, including their own mom, & therefore must act as protectors instead of aggressors. This is something mothers of girls will never have to worry about.

These are just a few examples. There are many experiences during adolescence & adulthood that are biologically different for males than for females.

This is why we identify as boymoms. This is why we write articles & social media posts. This is why we come together as a community to discuss our experiences. Why we lean on each other for advice. Why we assure each other that things our sons do that seem wierd to us are normal.

We can’t always reach out to our friends & family that are raising girls or who only raised girls because they don’t know how it feels. We can’t always get comfort from the men in our lives because they also don’t 100% understand what we are going through. Parenting boys isn’t as hard for them as it is for us because they know what their sons are experiencing because they were once young boys too.

So we label ourselves as boymoms & we find our squad. The other women who understand. The ones who offer support with out judgement.

So mothers of girls, when you see a mom caption her picture #boymom or a mom who has a cute shirt on that identifies her as a ‘mom of boys’ know that she uses that caption or wears that shirt because she is proud of her sons & she is proud to be a part of the community of women who are raising their boys together. Allowing her to acknowledge that her experience as a mother is different than yours in no way diminishes your own experiences. You are a bad ass mom too & raising girls can be extremely challenging as well, but it is different than raising boys & it is ok for both boymoms & mothers of girls to acknowledge those differences.

Boys & girls are equal but they are not exactly the same. #lifewithboys

The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me; not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me. I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do. Because isn’t that all we really want; an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame. Regardless, an explanation is long overdue. And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing. To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement! Don’t get me wrong; I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good; plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected. At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear. When I was a very young girl, about 3 or 4, I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up. My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop. Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was; an innocent, yet very damaged child. I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older. My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing. As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up. On good days, mom was awake. I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful. The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store. I really cherished the good days and I looked forward to them as they were few and far between. Most days, though, she was in her own world. Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose. And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse. When she’d use, she’d pass out, and I’d be left all alone. Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly. I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up! As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir. Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking. Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink. The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with? In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault. Maybe if i could be a really, really good girl, I’d be worth staying awake for. No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born), of benzodiazapine abuse, had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days. It was horrible! Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear. I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house. Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone. Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and she was my world. I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on. I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT. The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated. I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital. Did I get hugged, held and reassured? Um, no. In fact, I was teased and ridiculed. My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby. And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon. My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously. All I wanted was my mommy, and I cried for her relentlessly.

wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships. I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was. I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most. What exactly does that do to a person you ask? Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth. How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl? Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done. I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return. My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve. It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me. I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love. A hug, to you, may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace. To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space. Sad, isn’t it? This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy. I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be. Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me;  not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me.  I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do.  Because isn’t that all we really want;  an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame.  Regardless, an explanation is long overdue.  And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing.  To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement!  Don’t get me wrong;  I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good;  plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected.  At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear.  When I was a  very young girl, about 3 or 4,  I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up.  My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms.  I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop.  Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was;  an innocent, yet very damaged child.   I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older.   My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing.  As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up.  On good days, mom was awake.  I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful.  The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store.  I really cherished the good days and I  looked forward to them as they were few and far between.  Most days, though, she was in her own world.  Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose.  And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse.  When she’d use, she’d  pass out, and I’d be left all alone.  Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly.  I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up!  As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir.  Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking.  Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink.  The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with?  In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault.  Maybe if i could be a really, really good girlI’d be worth staying awake for.  No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born) had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days.  It was horrible!  Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear.  I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house.  Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone.  Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and  she was my world.  I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on.  I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT.  The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated.  I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital.  Did I get hugged, held and reassured?  Um, no.  In fact, I was teased and ridiculed.  My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby.   And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon.  My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously.  All I wanted was my mommy, and I  cried for her relentlessly.  wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships.  I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was.  I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most.  What exactly does that do to a person you ask?  Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth.  How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl?  Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done.  I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return.  My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve.  It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me.  I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love.  A hug, to you,  may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace.  To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space.  Sad, isn’t it?  This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy.  I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be.    Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

A Mother’s Perspective Of ADHD

I HAVE to share this with you… it is so powerful! Keep in mind, I did NOT write this! It was beautifully written by Rachael Simmon.  As a person with ADHD, I’m also the mother of 3 children with ADHD, and this couldn’t be more perfectly stated….

  I sit here alone, as I often do,   Looking through pictures, pictures of you,

I think of the good times as a family we’ve had,

But, lately, they seem far outweighed by the bad.

I know you’re unhappy and it makes my heart ache.

If wishes came true, then your place I’d take.

Your head is filled with anger.  Your heart is full of pain.

For you, I am fighting, but I’m feeling the strain.

I’m not always patient.  Sometimes I get mad.

I scream and I shout, and Lord, I feel bad.

 ‘Cause the last thing you need is more anger and hate.

Cause you’ve had plenty of that in your life to date.

No one knows of the loneliness or the tears that are shed.

They don’t care how you’re feeling, or whats going on in your head.

 They see a boy naughty, what a pain you can be.

They should try living with ADHD.

This morning “you hate me.”   I’m sure that you don’t.

“I’ll hate you forever.”  I’m sure that you won’t.

Whatever you say, and whatever you do,  the fact will remain, that I’ll always love you.

I pray for you daily.  I cry for you too.  I cry for my child to no longer be blue.

  So if there is a God, and he’s listening to me,

Please try lessening the heartache of  ADHD.

He Will Succeed With ADD/ADHD

Newly diagnosed, yet, full of promise. I vow to not fail my child with ADD, as I was so obviously failed myself. We’ve attained the diagnosis and are armed with the medicine to help manage his distractibility. It doesn’t end there though, children with ADD/ADHD have often built up a negative self image.  And, by the time they are diagnosed, self esteem problems are already there. I have to make sure my child knows he’s not damaged or dumb, he has to know that his brain is just wired differently.  I have to challenge myself to be the best example I can be. As a mom with ADD, I have to make my boy proud, I have to set a perfect example of a successful life with ADHD.

MY God,  did I say that? A successful life with ADHD ? Is that even possible? I’m 43 and far from a success. How will I ever do this? I could use some good references.

Wish me the best of luck as I lovingly try to raise a successful ADDer!