Not child abuse

 Let’s start with one of my favorite excerpts that I got to enjoy while going through court records last month.

Anyone that has followed this page from the beginning knows that my father had lots of “fiancees” “baby mommas” whatever you want to call them. There was never NOT a woman “seriously” dating him. There was also never a lack of other women around in general. To this day, I’m not entirely sure I know how many children he has, or how many we don’t know about. 

(Which by the way, is exactly why I won’t ever do one of those DNA kits).
I don’t have the mental capacity to know who else was wrapped into all of this without my knowledge (and maybe without theirs).

Let’s not go ruining innocent people’s lives when they find out their father was a psychopathic arsonist.

But this quick clip is a court document where my “step mom of the year” was testifying that I wasn’t being abused.

Wasn’t.
Being.
Abused.

“Gives her chores around the house for days at a time when he is angry with her.”
(I was 9-10 by the way.)

“Sent Katharine from a restaurant because she wasn’t cutting her lettuce correctly.”

“Told her to shut up when the child was excited about a school event.”

My favorite personally…

“Shoved food into Katharine’s mouth until her cheeks were bulging because she was not eating. The food had been sitting around for awhile and the child threw up all night.”

Let me be clear. 

As a mother. 

And a step mother.

If my significant other threatened my children or put my children in danger…I would get myself killed protecting them. There is not a single thing on this planet that could stop me. And to be clear…since none of my step moms really understood it…

That includes my daughter.
The one I took on the second I dated and married her father.

I didn’t get that. I was disposable to every single one of those women. I was a babysitter and “his daughter.” I had all of the responsibility for my younger siblings…but none of the protection and unconditional love I deserved from the adults.

The more I look back on it and think about how hurt I was and how hard I tried to make everyone happy…the angrier I get.

I was actively drowning…and they were critiquing my swimming.

At least it wasn’t “child abuse.”