This might sound kind of weird, but, I don’t know that I’ve ever “felt loved”.

I mean at least not by a person.

I am a Christian, and I have experienced God’s love. I think most skeptics would doubt that’s a real feeling. And since I can’t prove to them that it is, I don’t know if that counts for them.

I think there is a psychological reason for why I don’t feel human love.

I recognize love, in my mind. But there are walls up that block it from reaching my emotions.

Growing up with an emotional manipulative and abusive father, it’s not rocket science.

For my father, saying “I love you” was usually only a thing that happened when he was berating me.

It was pretty twisted in a way.

“We’re doing this because we love you, Natasha.”

And what they were doing was berating me for everything I ever did around them.

If you want the full story of how this started, keep reading. Otherwise that was my TLDR explanation.

Let me explain:

I was told I was rebellious. Even though I hardly ever broke a rule in my entire life. I’m not kidding, I barely even broke bedtime rules. I like limits and boundaries, they make me feel more balanced. I wasn’t the type to unravel them without a good reason.

But yes when I decided something wasn’t good for me or helping me anymore, I would protest it.

So when I decided I wasn’t enjoying drum lessons anymore, I said I wanted to quit. That’s where it all started.

This was after a year long of taking them, which my father agreed on as a trial period. When I brought up to him that I didn’t want to anymore, he said “Oh you’re not gonna quit.”

Mind you, I hadn’t ever actually used the drum in a real performance, or any performance. And the only time I even tried to play along with my dad and his friends, they criticized it because it was too loud…you know, because you learn drums to play a quiet instrument.

Since I saw no purpose whatsoever in learning it anymore, I was miffed at my dad breaking his agreement with me.

After thinking about it, I pointed that out to him, respectfully enough, I thought. And he said fine, I could quite.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

He talked to his best friend and the friend’s wife, as well as my mom, about me wanting to quit, like it was one big crime.

I couldn’t understand why they cared so much. Since I wasn’t using the drum for anything, what did it matter?

But it turned into a whining session where his friend aired some other grievances about me that I had no idea he had.

Apparent’y, I made some joke during one of his music lesson with one of my sisters. Just about tomato sauce. That was it. I didn’t even really direct it at him, just made a joke about the ingredients in tomato sauce. He was deeply offended.

Now, as an adult who has taught a class, I completely could understand why he might have been annoyed that I interjected while he was teaching.

However, as an adult who teaches 10-11 year olds, I would expect that behavior from that age group, without it really being malicious. And I was only 12 at the time of this conversation.

A 12 year old interrupting to make a joke isn’t , in my mind, a big deal. If it happened to me, I would have simply given the kid a warning, explained why it was disrespectful, and left it at that. If they didn’t do it again, I wouldn’t even tell the parents because who the heck really cares that much?

Apparently, my dad’s best friend.

Now he never said a word to me about this, oddly enough, nor did he ask my mom to talk to me about it delicately.

I didn’t hear about it till this big confrontation with 4 adults, all of whom told me I was a brat, disrespectful, and not nice to other people.

At the time, I also took singing lessons from this best friend’s wife.

She didn’t like me much because I couldn’t stand still while I sang. And I got tired easily. Also I didn’t like the music choices that she insisted on. She didn’t ever teach us any songs we actually got to pick, and when I asked if we could learn any songs I actually knew and liked, she said no because they were pop songs.

I guess it was her right as a teacher not to teach it if she didn’t like it, but she really shouldn’t have expected me to be interested in learning if it was all music I didn’t care about. I’m pretty sure music teachers in actual public school pick at least some songs the kids like.

I found out years later that the reason I can’t stand up easily is I have uneven legs, so I tilt to one side when I stand (good think my name isn’t Eileen), and I have a more curved spine than usual and a curved tailbone, making it hard to stand straight for long periods of time. I have gotten a bit better with some chiropractic treatment and exercises to improve my core, but it’s never been easy for me to move the same as other people, and it probably never will be unless the problem is resolved. Which is unlikely.

So she got mad at me for something I couldn’t help. and I told her and my mom that I just got tired and didn’t feel right standing.

The crazy thing is, you can sing sitting down. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. Sure it’s better to stand,but I wasn’t going to be doing any Broadway musical, it would have been fine for me to sit while learning. She sat while teaching me.

Even moving around, which was still easier for me than standing because I could at least shift balance, she wouldn’t allow.

I suppose, maybe it’s not her fault that she didn’t know I had a real problem and just thought I wasn’t listening to her. But the issue is, she never even considered any alternative explanation other than I was trying to be defiant.

Well, to be fair, after she got on my nerves with this crap for weeks on end, I was trying to be defiant. But it didn’t start off that way. If sh’e d been nice to me, I wouldn’t have wanted to act out. But she did all this from the start, when I wasn’t trying to do anything to set her off.

I know, not the most mature thing–but I was 12 years old. 12 year olds aren’t mature. Even so the worst I did was probably roll my eyes and act bored, which is rude, but hardly the kind of rebellion I would think would warrant a four person intervention.

Again, no one just sat me down and talked to me about this in a normal way first. Which is my first recourse as child care provider myself. I always gives kids a warning before I jumped to a full lecture. If they ignore the warning, then I know they’re blowing me off. But if they don’t, then they were just being kids with short attention spans who don’t know social etiquette yet. I make allowances. It’s not like every kid is going to be able to figure this out intuitively.

Anyway, to get back to how this tied into love.

During this dialogue we were having, which felt more like a one sided monologue to me, they were criticizing pretty much everything about me.

Even at the time I didn’t think it made a lot of sense, 4 adults, two of whom I didn’t really know that well, and barely talked to the one, and my parents, all criticizing me.

I’m now very against this approach in practice. I think most people with experience with kids or even teenagers would be. Two people is about the limit for any confrontation with a kid that’s not a medical emergency, I’d say, without it feeling like you’re bullying the kid. I’ve seen kids cry over less, as it is.

Oh and I was crying through most of the conversation. Do you think they stopped? Do you think they tried to comfort me and get me to calm down?

Nope.

Tey told me I shouldn’t cry anymore.

And my singing teacher even picked apart the way I was sitting as being a defensive psotiosns.

Can’t imagine why I would have feel the need to protect myself , under the circumstances.

Now that I’m experienced enough to know how weird this situation was , I’m amazed my mom didn’t see it that way. But I figure my father probably bullied her into it, as he usually did.

The icing on the cake of all this was that one thing I was getting in trouble for was something my dad told me to do, and though I even expressed doubt about doing it to him, he said it would be fine. So I did it.

It was not fine.

He conveniently had forgotten he told me to do it. He admitted to it during the confrontation.

Do you think they stopped? Do you think they apologized to me for the mistake? Do you think they admitted it wasn’t fair?

Not in my memory. But I have blocked out a lot of it, I could be wrong…I do know it wouldn’t be in character for them to do it. I can’t recall either of the other two adults ever admit they were wrong.

My dad would only admit he was wrong about imagined things, not real things. Go figure.

The part that made this about love, much to my dismay both now and then, was that they claimed this entire humiliating experience was done out of love.

Yeah…it really felt like being torn apart for 2-3 hour staring was an act of love.

In the end, though, I did still quit the drum. I find it funny that the thing that set this off was still something I won about. Yet, I feel like I lost more than I gained from the experience.

I’m not sorry now I quit drum, it wasn’t for me. I’m not even sorry I took singing lesson, I enjoy singing. Granted, I hated taking them for that woman, but I did like learning it and I like knowing a bit about it now.

I do still wish she’d taught me how to sing different styles than she did so I could have used it more widely, but them’s the brakes.

Of course one incident might not have given me a complex about love, though for some people that might be enough to do it, but I’m a reasonable person, and I was even as a teen, though less so then, of course.

Still, I could have probably put together that that wasn’t right, if my dad hadn’t reinforced it over and over again.

But pretty much any time my dad and I were alone for longer than 10 minutes he’d start up on the subject again. Bring up every example they had, remind me that his two friends,and even their family, didn’t like me. Say I was a lot like a narcissist.

The funny part is my dad is the the actual narcissist, or has BPD. One of other or both, maybe. I now know it’s common to project your own toxic traits onto someone else, I don’t know that at 12, of course.

Always though, my dad would end or begin or interject into the middle of these lectures, that this was done in “love.”

I’m a very sensitive woman. I always have been. I won’t say verbal abuse is worse than physical abuse, both suck.

But to a sensitive person, it was devastating to hear this so many times.

I’m not a meek type of girl though. I fought back.

But since fighting back, both the first time,and every time after that, never got my anywhere, it created this complex where I feel like nothing I do will ever change people’s minds about me, and I expected them to dislike me, secretly, even if I’m not aware of doing anything to them to cause it.

I expected that for many years every time I met any new person.

Unfortunately, the world had a lot of touchy people in it, and sometimes, I got proven right. I’m sure my insecurities didn’t help with that, since insecure people tend to do things to tick others off anyway, but sometimes it really just came out of nowhere.

The unlucky times my dad got involved, he would usually agree with whoever it was. Even if it was the Sunday school teacher beefing with me for causing problems just by sitting in her class doing nothing.

My sister was there too. They don’t call her in for questioning. She didn’t even know what I did, to this day, I don’t know. But I know my dad was always ready to agree with anyone who had a problem with his daughter. Didn’t matter how unbalanced that person was to begin with.

All the little things my dad did to sabotage my life, but they added up.

I can’t of course, lay the blame for everything at his feet. Some of it was my fault. Some of it was other people’s besides my dad’s.

But the person who twisted the knife every time by calling it love, that was my dad.

I’ve never had people comment on how little I seem to be able to receive love.

Because when someone says that word, I flinch sometimes, inwardly.

I actually prefer if people use words like “I care about you” or “I appreciate you” because they ton’d set me off the same way. My dad certainly would never use words like that.

But “proud for you” is a trigger too, because he used that also.

It never meant anything. I figured out years in that he didn’t mean it. And I figured out also that even if I had done something to be proud of, he would have meant it. He didn’t think that way.

Pride in us wasn’t about what we did, or even about us being his kids, it was always about what he thought we wanted to hear to do what he wanted.

See, some people just never give love, and that’s bad enough.

Other people use love as reward for good behavior, and that’s just as bad, or maybe worse.

The type of person really talk about is the kid who uses love as a motivation if and when threats aren’t working. Just so you can be both scared, and then feel guilty for being scared.

Gas lighting at another level.

Thanks to this, I can’t feel love easily.

I won’t say it’s impossible. I feel love for other people. It’s easier when it children, people who don’t scare me.

That’s what got me, truth didn’t help. Truth is very important to me. If I assume something about someone, and alt er find out a fact about them that calls that into question, I actually changed my mind. I can’t imagine not doing that. But there are many people who will never change their mind, no matter what the truth is.

It’s hard to realize that when you’re not that kind of person.

But I’ve learned to let it slide off my back more.

I’m not writing this to say that my dad ruined my life. Or even that he ruined my relationships. I have good relationships with some of my family. And I have friends. I’m learning to get better at all this.

I hope one day to have a good marriage–which I will probably get counseling for, but that’s just good sense.

And a good relationship with my own children, if God grants me them like I hope.

But I’m not going to lie about my life and say all this didn’t matter or have some effect. Admitting it mattered actually is part of healing.

So it did matter and it is sad. Even saying that took me years to get to. I’m glad for the people along the way, here and there, who did take my side and tell me that that wasn’t normal to go through that.

I had a very good grandmother who would sympathize with me, she was still there for me when my parents weren’t. I had a good youth leader who helped me see at least some of what my dad did was wrong years before I could go to therapy to her the same thing.

I wasn’t always alone. I was just alone too much for it to be good.

But we take what we get in life, and I see no point complaining about it. I think we get what we need ultimately if we seek it, but not always the way we imagine it.

I’ve still never really had father figure other than God. But God has been enough, I know that will sound weird to the person who’s not a Christian, but it is what it is. Think I’m crazy if you want, I really don’t care. Until you have a better cure for broken hearted and lonely people, I don’t really think I’ll swap out mine.

I hope that I will learn to like the word “love” when people say to me again.

I think all this came to mind not just because of the prompt, but because of a thing one of my friends, who is a very blunt person (too much like me probably) said to me at my birthday party.

She pointed out: “Look how loved you are.”

I was thinking that it was nice of them all to show up. And I thought she was right, they were trying to show love.

Yet, when she said it, I felt nothing expect probably confused.

Like I usually feel when someone says that. Or uncertain. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s just doubt. Maybe they’re the same thing at bottom.

If I accept that, then how will I handle it when they end up doing the wrong thing to me, or leaving me? As everyone will, sooner or later.

Unfortunately for the person who has “avoidant attachment” disorder, as one therapist told me (he was an ass though, but he might have been right about that–he didn’t help me with the problem though), the fact is that being separated from the people you love is inevitable.

It’s hard enough for a healthy person to accept loss and grief. It’s harder if you’re someone like me who has had very little chance to even feel loved at all, so any short stint of it that will be taken away again feels cruel.

I have learned however, that often we’re more loved than we see.

And that the way I interpret love is not always the way people show it. A lot of stuff is just not communicated right.

And recently, I had an ordeal that my friends did not exactly make me feel better about. Doing a lot of the same things that set me off–but I didn’t blow up at them.

I was a bit upset, but I didn’t lash out at them because I knew, at least in my head, that they meant well and were trying to help.

While I would rather actually feel better, I do at least derive some sense of comfort for the fact that I have people who will attempt to help me, even if they don’t succeed. Having grace for people is important.

And that’s a huge stride for me, from where I started from.

So if you related to this post at all, I can tell you that it’s small things like that are along the path to health.

I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I know that at least being able to treat people with some degree of trust, even if you have doubts and anxieties, is the only way to start.

It might take years for me to feel it the way others do. I can be mad about that– or I can accept it and keep trying.

Maybe this is my favorite Naruto characters are Sai and Gaara. Both characters who pretty much embody the journey of learning to feel things again and feel them the right way.

Or my favorite author is C. S. Lewis, who wrote that it was important to be able to feel the right way about things, to be a whole and happy person. [It’s in the “Abolition of Man” book.]

If you met me in person, you might not even guess this about me. My friends have told me they wouldnt’ have before I told them.

I take that good sign. I’ve worked enough on the issues I have are not all obvious. That’s progress. They used to be blatantly obvious to people, based on what they told me.

I’m not a closed off person in every way either.

I guess my point in all this it is to say that these issues don’t define me, and they don’t define you either. You can have issues like this and still be a loving person. So they make you more loving because you over-compensate, in fact.

But I think you can never been too loving, so it’s a win-win. Sometimes broken stuff can be fixed to be stronger than it was naturally. Like when they cut off the trunk of trees to graft in a stronger trunk, but keep the old root system. (They can do that with fruit trees, did you know that?). You gotta know what to keep and what to throw away.

I think that’s in Ecclesiastes actually.

Well this got pretty long for a daily prompt post, so I think I’ll end it here. I hope some of this was encouraging, since it was kind of raw and heavy for this kind of post, but it was where my mind went, as as you know my motto is to keep it honest.

So until next time, stay honest–Natasha.