This is the first piece I ever did on the way I grew up. From a few years ago.
I am a strong woman. Childhood days were spent wondering if it was going to happen again; if I would see my mother black and blue for the third day in a row. Wondering if sleep would come quickly for me that night or if I'd be kept awake by screams or by the sobs of a woman just looking for love. My father was a good man, my mom just made bad decisions that pushed him away, causing her to fall into his grasp.
I never got a "bring your parents to school" day. I couldn't brag about how cool my mom was. For eighteen years, I was to hold the secret just like she did. For eighteen years, I had to pretend that my step-father was the most amazing man.
Rule #1: Do not look him in the eyes, for you shall get what she gets.
Rule #2: Do not try and defend her for you shall get her punishment.
Rule #3: Do not tell anyone for you shall not have a tongue to tell another soul.
It filled me with rage I've had to bottle up for eighteen years. Rage was never allowed to voice. I was to be seen and not heard.
Now, at eighteen, I do not live by those rules any longer. I no longer live in fear. My mother dealt with that wretched man for eighteen years out of love. Love she has found in a true gentleman. A man that kisses her damage away with gentle lips.
Although, she is not perfect. Yes, she's been through a lot, but she is not a good woman. I am not a strong woman because I came from her, I am a strong woman because I dealt with her. A woman who would take her anger out on anyone and anything around her.
After all, a narcissist creates other narcissists. And that is all they will be.