It is easy to point the finger of blame. But I prefer the word cause as I prefer reason to excuse. There is a larger picture than what happened to me. Life on Mother’s farm was a barren landscape emotionally. I cannot begin to tell the stories of my siblings except where they intersected with mine.There was a drought of love and kindness. Healthy nurturing was absent. Mistakes were met with uncontrolled rage, whippings, and verbal carnage.

If there was one advantage to being “the baby” it was that I sat in a place of observing, being forever too young. But I witnessed savage punishment and years later was told about the worst of it before I came along.

My parents had a silent war in play for all the time I knew them and we children were the collateral damage. I called it the cold war after the Cold War between the USA and USSR. There were no winners, only survivors. Each of us made it out the best we could and went on to lead seriously dysfunctional lives.

So the parents are to blame then. Simple; end of story.

I think not. It is easy to lay blame. Then I can hate them and move on. But I do not hate them. Being a by-product of their inability to parent has brought me more questions than answers. What sort of environment were they the product of? I think it matters. At what point do we set our per-conceived ideas aside and seek real answers? I grew up believing my parents did not love me. I tried to win their love until they passed from this earth, and I failed. What I sought, they were incapable of, at least in the context I yearned for. But what I sought was the same as the child in me sought always, love me, I will do anything, just love me, please.

I believe Mother suffered Borderline Personality Disorder. If so, she probably suffered as much as I suffered being her child. I am diagnosed with the same disorder. It feels like suffering is just part of the deal. I used to say my mother was the greatest martyr ever. What if she was just suffering and had no way out that she could see?

As I stumble along my own journey to insight into how I became the person who caused suffering in my children’s lives from loss and abandonment I can see a similar path my mother trod. And I see it is possible she did love me under her layers of armor against a cruel world. She was not capable of acting on that love.

I am not the hateful monster I have been labeled. I am a woman lost in the muck and mire of a life I inadvertently created, a life I would not wish on my enemies.

Perception is everything. Knowledge is power. Leave the blaming for the rain that spoiled a picnic rather than the complex people who cross our paths. Blame only perverts the truth.