I’ve talked to a lot of people from all walks of life, and I’ve come to realize that one of the main things that sets people apart in adulthood is whether they were loved as kids. Those that were, and those that weren’t, might as well come from different planets. It’s so bad I very much go out of my way to avoid the topic.
They: Yeah I didn’t always get along with my parents.
Me: So… how often did they beat you up?
They: Oh no, they never beat me. But my mother criticized me a lot, and my dad moped, sometimes.
Me: :-|
They: I’m kinda traumatized from all this.
Me: So… where did you spend last Christmas?
They: Well, among other things, I visited my parents, of course.
Me (who has cut of all communication for many years): o_O
My dad treated me like a boxing bag for the slightest transgression.
I once squatted for an entire night. Squatted. Because at dusk, I was gaming in the middle of a room with a very creaky floor and then darkness fell. I was expected to be in my own room, and now I was trapped. Had to turn off the console as to not make any noise or quick movement.
Had my parents found out, they’d have flat out killed me, and that’s not an exaggeration.
Oh, and apart from the constant physical and mental abuse, I was never allowed to leave the house except for going to school, and couldn’t make any phone call exceeding one minute.
I got out of it eventually, but it took a lot of healing. My siblings’ lives are still completely ruined, though.