Vent Post: From the Files of Questionable Parenting
So, the way Sheila is acting and carrying on right now is triggering my PTSD like whoa.
She's always had anger problems. That's been a given for as long as I've known her, Vegas from a year and a half ago notwithstanding.
But she seems to get angrier every year. And it bugs me on so many levels that she refuses to get help. A therapist would do wonders for her.
I'm having a hard time dealing with her screaming, and throwing things around. I know she's pissed and it actually doesn't have anything to do with me, but it's cutting a little too close to home with what I'm currently trying to process in therapy regarding my own childhood. Stuff that I haven't even really delved into.
She's upset because, gee, Phoenix hasn't cleaned his room and with the recent sale of the lake house, furniture is being moved back and forth between the places. Junk is everywhere. I'm not going to lie; the apartment is gross. I've hated staying here because I feel like I'm constantly dodging piles of dog feces and stacks of clutter that should just be thrown out. At least it's giving me perspective; I'm going to stop feeling embarrassed that my furniture doesn't match and that my wall decorations aren't put up.
Still, I don't care how messy your kids' room is. You do not shout at them that they "don't deserve a fucking thing" when you are equally as responsible for the pigsty that you're living in, you don't get to make them feel badly for being slobs when you have done precisely zero in the category of housework as an example, you are not entitled to project your own experiences on them as justification for flipping your shit.
You don't expect video games and portable DVD players to baby-sit your kids and then punish them for having absolutely zero attention span and something bordering on a video game addiction. And you do not get to sit there and scream about doing all the cleaning yourself as a cheap shot against me when I have just fucking offered to help clean that room, despite having my own stuff to do.
She's always had anger problems. That's been a given for as long as I've known her, Vegas from a year and a half ago notwithstanding.
But she seems to get angrier every year. And it bugs me on so many levels that she refuses to get help. A therapist would do wonders for her.
I'm having a hard time dealing with her screaming, and throwing things around. I know she's pissed and it actually doesn't have anything to do with me, but it's cutting a little too close to home with what I'm currently trying to process in therapy regarding my own childhood. Stuff that I haven't even really delved into.
She's upset because, gee, Phoenix hasn't cleaned his room and with the recent sale of the lake house, furniture is being moved back and forth between the places. Junk is everywhere. I'm not going to lie; the apartment is gross. I've hated staying here because I feel like I'm constantly dodging piles of dog feces and stacks of clutter that should just be thrown out. At least it's giving me perspective; I'm going to stop feeling embarrassed that my furniture doesn't match and that my wall decorations aren't put up.
Still, I don't care how messy your kids' room is. You do not shout at them that they "don't deserve a fucking thing" when you are equally as responsible for the pigsty that you're living in, you don't get to make them feel badly for being slobs when you have done precisely zero in the category of housework as an example, you are not entitled to project your own experiences on them as justification for flipping your shit.
You don't expect video games and portable DVD players to baby-sit your kids and then punish them for having absolutely zero attention span and something bordering on a video game addiction. And you do not get to sit there and scream about doing all the cleaning yourself as a cheap shot against me when I have just fucking offered to help clean that room, despite having my own stuff to do.