About the Blogger

About the Blogger

Why “Ramona’s Rage”?

I rage. I rage against stupid, ignorant, self-centred, insensitive, thoughtless, careless and terribly unequipped Parents. Just like my own…in particular My dear “Mother”.

I grew as a scared, anxious and self-doubting child, and grew into a anxious, self-loathing, confused and angry young adult. I always felt like an inconvenience to my parents as a child, and because I didn’t know any better I thought it was my fault. I wasn’t good enough.

And then one day in my early thirties my dearest “Mother” and I were having a chilled lunch…and out of the blue she says to me “I never wanted to have children”

I remember every detail of that lunch. The restaurant we went, where we sat and that it was a beautiful sunny day. I remember just thinking to myself WOW! Thanks for that….that makes me feel so special!

All those years I felt like an inconvenience was because she subconsciously projected her “never wanting children” through her actions, the lack thereof, her comments and her behaviour onto me. An innocent child. A child that should have been made to feel safe and secure, happy and carefree, and loved unconditionally.

Instead I grew up into a young adult with absolutely no sense of self-worth or self-esteem.

All because this woman had babies because her husband wanted them. But she didn’t.

I hated her for years after this revelation. I hated her for telling me this. I couldn’t understand why she told me this. At the time, I could only see it as her being her usual self-centred self. I knew very well by then she had very little self-awareness…but still. I couldn’t help but feel anger and a deep sense of disappointment in her as a mother, and as a person. How dare she! What kind of mother does that? It was beyond my comprehension.

And then the pieces of my childhood and my later years, filled with pain and guilt, shame and loneliness, self-harm and so much self hate, starting falling into place…

It wasn’t ME! It was all her.

So I had a choice. Right then. Keep hating her or spend my time and energy on MYSELF.

200111. That’s a tattoo I have on my wrist. It’s the date when I, for the first time in my life at the age of 36, that I realised and believed I mattered!

I might not matter to anyone else. But I matter to myself! And that was the start of my road to recovery in becoming a strong, independent woman.

So that’s just a small but significant part of my big life story. A story I want to share with you in the hopes I help someone with their own…be it a confused teenager, a lost young adult, a mother to be, or parents that haven’t a clue and equally important, any person out there that hasn’t quite figured out if being a Mom or Dad is for them.

Love, R.

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