I expected to be writing a mega-post about PTSD, but today I need to rant on about a well-meaning phrase (in truth, I hope this is much more than a rant—I hope there’s something insightful and helpful by the end). You all know this phrase. It makes me want to scream whenever I hear it, these days at least: They did the best they could.
I just asked my spouse what he thought of the term, what it really means, and he said, “That someone failed, but not for the lack of trying.” (Trying, sure. But, their “best”?!)
To me the phrase suggests, “They didn’t mean to hurt you—not on purpose.”
I’m sure that when I first heard that phrase, I felt relief as a result. There was comfort in it, in some odd, twisted way. I bet that I heard ‘their best’ at my first therapist’s office, when I was in my second year of college. I suspect that, back then, I felt relief because I’d understood the phrase to mean, “You’re not as bad off as you feel like you are” or “Your parents loved you even when they made mistakes,” or just to mean very simply, “There’s hope for you.”
But isn’t the phrase too trite for its own good? To my mind, ‘their best’ lacks significant meaning because it’s over-used, misused, and all its original power has drained out. And, isn’t the phrase just a bit too rhetorical? (Rhetorical questions and children of dysfunctional parents don’t mix well.) I mean, I don’t exactly feel invited to disagree when someone uses that phrase, even if inside my mind I’m thinking, “Their ‘best”? How could I ever know if they did?”
It’s entirely likely that the phrase wasn’t intended for people who had terrible childhoods and dysfunctional parents. Certainly I wouldn’t expect a child of incest to acknowledge that their parents did the best they could! Which makes one wonder—where do we draw the line? How less-than-terrible does my childhood have to be in order for me to willingly agree that my parents did the best they could? Little-to-no physical abuse? Infrequent verbal manipulation? That they belittled me, but paid for my school photos? And what do I gain, in terms of my healing process, by giving my parents the benefit of the doubt in understanding that they did the best they could?
You all know that I took issue with the label adult children of alcoholics because it defines me in terms of someone else (the alcoholic), and after an entire childhood spent focused on everyone but me (here’s that post), I don’t want to continue living beneath their umbrella. I want to be defined in terms of what and who I am, not another person’s limitations or illness.
Back to this other-focused phrase: They did the best they could (note underlines). The focus is, twice in one phrase, placed on them. Where am I in the concept of they did the best they could? Um?! Nowhere. Thanks for nothing, you rhetorical phrase! (I also feel the word “best” is awfully generous. Their “best,” really? Based on what I know of my own personal best and the effort involved in parenting, I totally disagree.) Essentially, the phrase is a closed-looped system that circles around “best.” I reject that. Completely.
Why not say the truth? They didn’t do their best! I got the shaft!
This is the place to which I’ve come in my personhood work: I want the truth. It seems like I’m ripping away denial and lies and justifications like wallpaper (that is, it doesn’t rip off easily and it requires steam and scraping away at it, muscle, sweat…tears). And yet, I want the pure wall beneath. Show me Panavision color, please dear Universe. Thinking that they did their best was some kind of comfort, way back when—back when I couldn’t handle the truth of admitting that my parents had mishandled me completely. Now, however, I can handle—and need—the plain truth. Because I’ve gotten to a place where my excuse-making for my parents isn’t at all working for me. It’s preventing me from moving forward to the next ring up in the circle of my healing and freedom.
The truth isn’t that my parents did the best they could. The truth is that my parents were selfish, childish, and prioritized addictions and chaos to parenting me with effort and thought. I was badly served by my parents.
My parents didn’t do their best.
I had selfish parents.
I had addict parents.
And I got the really, really, really short end of the stick.
That hurts to see, to say, to admit. It’s hard to know that reality. It cuts deep. But that truth also has a clean feeling to it because none of that was my doing, none of it was my fault.
So—now what?
The next step is understand this: My life is mine to do with it all that I can, without justification—and there is no one to whom I owe concealment.
It’s for me to run off, run wildly—in full, silly glee—out into the fields under the sky and to feel safe in my skin and to explore this world, not hide from it.
We—you, me, all of us—deserve to take in simple joys and there’s nothing we ought to say about what we’re doing while squatting down and inspecting a rogue caterpillar on a rock, other than, “I’m looking at a caterpillar.”
That is all. I’m taking in life. I’m here in this moment. I’ll be with you in a minute.
Shhhh.
I found this post very arresting. It literally halted my thoughts for a nano-second.
I can intellectualize all of what you said, of the cleanliness of truth, that the damage of our respective parents was so great and complete, and that I bear no fault, but inside, at my core, I struggle with the nexus of that truth. Somewhere, somehow, I’m so wounded by the abuse and malignant neglect on all axis that my emotional mind seeks without fail to find reason in in the unreasonable. And it that search for truth, like so many of us, my inner monologue has decided that I must have deserved some part of this.
I soldier on.
Thanks for this,
Punch
Excellent. I so appreciate your view. As the French say, “Les grands esprits se rencontrent.” (Great minds think alike). I share your view as well. Knowing the truth about your identity v. the persona given to you by others and your experiences/trauma is the narrow road to recovery and restoration. Bravo and blessings to you as your sojourn.
Punch, yeah, it’s a real, real painful popping of the balloon.
Your comment about your inner monologue deciding that you must somehow deserve some part is so insightful. And it leads me to think again about the ‘they did their best’ phrase and see that there’s some shaming in it, in addition to it being rhetorical and all the rest, as if the phrase implies, “They did their best, so you cannot blame them for your hurt,” on some level.
I found that I couldn’t write “you” for this post, I felt I had to put it all in terms of where I’m at, me, because this is tough stuff. And it’s taken me a long time to come to it, years. And even now I’m at the edge of the lake in this awareness of the senseless but oh-so-real damage done by my parents.
Thanks for the comment!
amy
Another thought – one reason why I have been so resistant to face the question here, my parents disregard for me, is because I have spent my entire life defending my father in my mind — no, in my heart — and because I so deeply fear abandonment, that I have resisted thinking the truth. That’s all an imagined thing, of course (the abandonment). (But, oh! The power of the imagination!) Also, I have to ask myself this question: If I realize, truly realize on a deep level, that my life is mine and that what happened to me isn’t something I’ll ever make sense of…then, well, aren’t I then forced to face my life and take responsibility for it, charge of it? How scary is that?! (But wonderful, too, in the end.)
I’ve actually said this to both my parents (not recently!), to make them feel better about the crappy, unsafe childhood that they gave me. ARGH.
I don’t have any wise words or reassuring thoughts to share right this moment. Just frustration…
I think it’s important to remember that “best” is a relative term — “best” does not exist except by comparison to something else, specifically, something that is *lacking* by comparison. There is no one, singular standard for what constitutes an person’s “best,” and one’s “best” can change from day to day depending on a variety of factors that are not always within a person’s ability to control (for example, illness or lack of sleep can strongly & negatively affect my ability to do and be my best).
While I find no comfort in the phrase, “they did their best,” the phrase can still hold truth. One’s “best” might be wholly inadequate for the situation, but that doesn’t mean it’s not that person’s “best.” (Unlike one’s best, one’s adequacy to perform a given task *is* rated against a singular standard — performance of the task is either adequate or it’s not.)
It is unfortunate that the phrase is often used to sugar-coat a bad situation. Perhaps it would be better, or would make the truth of the phrase more obvious, if the expression were expanded to recognize the given situation more fully, such as “they did their best, but their best was inadequate for my needs.” For me, that is an easier jumping-off point to move forward in providing for myself and meeting my own needs. And in moving forward, I experience growth.
I know, that I cannot shove a dvd into a VHS player and expect to be able to watch the movie on the DVD, but can i say the VHS did the best it could? I don’t really know.
My dad and I have no relationship. It got worse when he divorced my mom to marry her best friend of 30 years. It blew the lid off on my repressed rage at him for not trying to know me.
He is a simple farmer/blue collar man who doesn’t really question the big meanings of life. He was a great provider. I did not know the power could be cut off if you didn’t pay the bill, we had too much to eat and I always had a car to drive. The money stuff was taken care of.
I’ll even give him some credit that after discovering his little boy was from another planet compared to the only world he knew of, he still provided. He didn’t however bother to figure out some way to bridge the gap. Neither of my parents really saw me. They didn’t see that I was so terrified that I couldn’t sleep at night or that I had created a double life of trying to be what they wanted and in secret stolen moments was able to be myself.
I have a hard time saying I DID the best I could do with what I had. Maybe when I find an acceptable amount of self forgiveness I can believe they too did their best. For now, it is lip service and willingness on my part. The willingness to do will provide the ability to do.
The kicker is, had I not been raised in terror (afraid of everything and everyone) and if I had not been so lonely and sad, I wouldn’t have my very VERY real capacity to love others who are affected with fear, sadness and loneliness. My greast life long pain actually has given me my greatest strength or “super power”, which is compassion, tolerance and patience.
If I don’t know how to do something or approach something I start digging and researching for solution.
My parents didn’t do that. They just accepted their short comings and hoped. They hoped they had done enough to make a successful adult, sadly they didn’t. I’ve earned my place here all on my own, but I am better for the lack of comfort I got as a kid.
If I hold on to resentments it is like “me drinking poison expecting them to die”. I let go of it 20 times a day sometimes and I believe that one day, forgiveness with stick.
I’m excited about all these thoughts!
Nice.
Clinton, are you saying you’re a better parent than you might have been because you had a dysfunctional upbringing? That’s a silver lining indeed. There’s also some acceptance, implicit, in that assertion
The ‘drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die’ comment is SO apt (it’s a saying of Malachy McCourt’s about resentment). It’s interesting to compare the two sayings….there are similarities between the ‘they did the best they could’ idea and the resentment/poison idea. Both speak to emotional dynamics that don’t serve us well, not at all. And both are very hard to let go of. I started to feel a much greater freedom and ownership of my own life when I disengaged from resentment (because it shifted my focus from them back to me) and when I can say that my parents were selfish addicts who didn’t place much value on my needs as a child, it’s…fair and it somehow works to pull my focus from them back onto me–probably because it isn’t making any excuses or allowances. It’s just saying it like it is. I feel like ‘they did their best’ is a value judgment (like one commenter said, it’s a relative term, that requires comparisons to things)–it’s really hard to ever agree what’s “best” or not because the scale is a moving entity. But to say that I wasn’t well-served by them is, for me, an opportunity to accurately evaluate the situation. To say they were addicts is accurate. To say that they prioritized their addictions is also accurate. Somehow it means that I can move on.
It’s like the difference between, “That fire wasn’t your fault,” and “The house burned down.” One suggest connection between the fire and me, but is just plain and simple, accurate.
But, right — it’s not a one-time realization. It requires a lot of lather. rinse. repeat. repeat. repeat, for best results. Results being healing.
This post really spoke to me…in fact I was outraged, because no, I DON’T THINK MY PARENTS DID THE BEST THEY COULD…unfortunately life has a way of kicking your ass when you get high and mighty…I am a mother of a teenage girl whom I haven’t been getting along with for 2 years now, we had the mother of all fights last night and things were said and done that very definitely shouldn’t have been. Afterwards I thought about this post and had to ask myself- AM I DOING THE BEST I CAN PARENTING? And my answer would have to be NO, I am not. I have been in recovery for years, have worked the steps more than once, am concious of my patterns and I STILL am powerless over them. I could do better I think, so now I am second guessing my anger at my parents for their harms….And wondering just how much I am screwing up my daughters life while I am at it.
I have had the same issues as you with regard to “they did the best they could” something about it leaves me feeling secondary and cheated.
I have found that the phrase that I use most is “My parents had good intentions.”
As we all know, “intent” is very different from actuality. They failed miserably at their ability to raise me. I, through a great deal of therapy, have had to raise myself, validate myself, teach myself self-love and healthy coping skills.
But, over time, I have come to realize and accept that their intentions were good. They didn’t start out saying “lets have kids and screw them up.” They were selfish and immature and were not capable of being good parents… but in their own sick and twisted minds, they were trying to be good parents. So the intent was there, even if the execution was lacking.
For some reason, I feel a difference in these two phrases, it makes sense to me. It allows me to relase some anger and express a sense of forgiveness without giving undue credit.
I hope that one day you too will find the phrase that fits you best. Good luck!
Alissa thanks for being so honest. That is really very cool of you.
But you can say your bit, for your own clearing up of things, and to set the example for her that people do lose their cool, but that they can reflect on it and say what happened (and that doesn’t mean taking back everything that you said, just saying, admitting, that composure was lost).
Do you think there might be one small but impactful thing that you could do, or change, that might have a positive impact on being able to feel like a more effective parent? (Reading about teenagers, taking more time to yourself, a new therapist…?)
I’m sorry that you’re frustrated. This stuff is HARD!
For me, one aspect of my childhood that creeped me out the most was the missing piece of Talking About things after a fight or flare up or whatever. It was that we all ‘pretended’ that what had happened hadn’t. Do you feel like you have the space and wherewithall to approach things from that place, a kind of postmortem with your daughter? Not that she’ll hear you, of cousre! Not for, like, another ten or so years
Anyway, I’m sorry if this sounds advice-y, I just wanted to throw out some questions that came to mind when I read your comment over again.
You reminded me that I’m really wanting to write some posts on parenting…although I’m not sure how much I’ll have to offer as the parent of just a two year old (I haven’t lived through those challenging teen years as you are…)
Thanks for putting this out there!
Thanks for the “advice” Amy, I appreciate it
. It’s funny because your suggestion of talking about things afterwards is the only thing that makes me feel like I am a somewhat decent parent. I do actually talk with my daughter, admit my wrongs and apologize when I have done wrong. We had a 2 hour discussion last night about the latest fight. I also try to let her know why I act/react the way I do and what may trigger me (she is aware that I am “in recovery” and knows a little bit about my childhood, but is so far removed from that sort of childhood I don’t think she can really understand the whole concept). I actually think that I clean up the messes pretty good…I just wish that I could, in the midst of a mess, stop myself and figure how to be “my best parent”, instead of always having to clean up afterwards (and harbour guilt and regret). Your are right, this stuff is HARD, but thanks to little things like your blog, there is hope that things may get easier. So thank you, I enjoy very much reading your posts. 
Keep them coming 
That’s pretty terrific that you can talk about it afterwards and admit where you felt you were out of line – that’s not easy! At least you can do that. You’ll figure out a way to stop and chill in the midst of it, somehow…not perfectly, but you will. It’ll be a decade before I have a teenager on my hands, and I cannot EVEN imagine what that will bring…what kinds of tests lie ahead. I admitted to a friend recently that while I haven’t lost my cool yet with my child (and my 2 year old is starting to really embody the hallmarks of a 2 year old (as he should and as is necessary for his development))…I admitted that I’ve noticed inside myself a kind of internalized fear that my family history (if it were a being, a mean-hearted being) is waiting in the wings, waiting for me to lose my composure and do something I’ll regret, something that’s “bad parenting,” or worse–sounding like my FATHER. I don’t know if that will happen, or not. But while you may relate to that fear, it sounds like you’ve done work to make a difference in your daughter’s life such that she won’t live with that same fear. Because as you say, she has had a different childhood from you. That’s huge. Sometimes I think we hold ourselves to an expectation of “100% not repeating our childhoods” and maybe we expect too much–because we SO want to break the chain. There’s ideal, then there’s real. That you’re in recovery counts towards breaking the chain and family inheritance, as does discussing fights later, as does taking care of yourself, nurturing your daughter’s separate sense of self, and all the rest you’ve done in your life – and will do!
Couldn’t agree with you more on this one. I’ve always hated that phrase and I believe most people can do A LOT better than they think. Thanks again for your awesome blog.
Love this post. That blasted excuse…the “best they could” has infuriated me more times than I can count.
I’m older now, and the last few weeks I have been teaching myself to do a handstand. Don’t tell anyone;) but I’m sporting fresh bruises and having so much silly fun. Friends are laughing at my antics, we all laugh but the truth…I’m a 40+ woman who was not allowed to play as a child. Literally. I never threw a ball, rode a bike….its ridiculous in a way, but I give myself the liberty today, I’m right there checking out that pretty little caterpillar! And these days, I have a beautiful red bike 
On the other hand, I have come to realize those that often utter the phrase…they simply cannot relate to a childhood like mine. Its too painful and uncomfortable for them. When I recognize that, it helps me manage my reaction. And I wouldn’t wish my experience on anyone.
Sigh
Life may not be fair, but I’m still here, so its also not too late for a second childhood.
Thank you for posting, I’m off to my antics, I hope you are as well, Cheers, Kira
Kira, a red bike? I love it! I hope you have a bell too.
You’ve inspired me to try handstands…
So glad the post resonated.
You’re right – people who haven’t had a traumatic childhood or dysfunctional parents really can’t get it, and are uncomfortable with painful childhood stories; they may hope that pointing out a rainbow in the sky will do the trick. “See that? All better now.”
Tee hee.
I have an absent father and a NPD, alcoholic mother. I hate the phrase they did the best they could. I agree it is trite. I also took some comfort from this when I was younger. I used it to excuse their lack of parenting and bad decisions. If I thought they just couldn’t do any better, then their mistreatment didn’t hurt so much.
I have three children and I am doing my best. Doing my best has meant some very challenging moments.
I went to therapy before having kids to get some of the fundamental tools for living that I had not been given by my parents.
I learned everything I could on attached parenting and other modes so that I could develop the ability to give my children the love, care and emotional support that I never had.
When I have parenting moments that make me cringe, or make me think I am like her, I do the repair work of talking to my kids, I assess how I might have handled it better without shaming myself and I try to put things into play so I will recognize what went wrong and avoid it the next time.
When my relationship with my mother was making me feel unstable, distracted and angry, I spent the money and the time on weekly therapy and reading everything I could get my hands on to make sure that I was present for my kids. I did not medicate my feelings even though I really wanted to and I worked through(still working) on taking care of myself and setting boundaries with my mother.
I don’t do everything right and I know that my children will have their own hurts. But if and when they come to me and need me to acknowledge them, I will say:
First, What do you need from me? What can I do?
Then, I did the best I could with the tools I had and I actively went to acquire the ones I didn’t. I had some successes, some failures. I went through some very difficult times with my parents and I am so sorry that I wasn’t always there for you, or I was anxious, distracted, demanding…I never looked at any of the three of you and thought, good enough. I saw the most important reasons to do better and I worked at it everyday.
I will probably change my mind on this about a hundred times as I learn more but even this is a million miles away from how my parents did it.
Alissa, Thank you for initiating this blog. I think you are 100% 0n target. “They did their best” is some psychologist’s way of making all of the parties feel better and sleep well at night. I think it’s a bunch of BS!! I’m going to turn 50 next year and have been suffering my entire life, due to both of my parent’s NPDs. I was able to raise 2 exceptionaly well-adjusted kids (now 19 and 16), simply by understanding what I didn’t get from my parents, and making sure that my kids DID get those things from me. My parenting prescription was, and still is, very simple: make sure your kids know that you love them and make them feel secure and loved unconditionally (but, with reasonable expectations at the same time–no free pass just because I was raised by dysfunctional parents. Why didn’t my parents break the chain (if they were also raised by dysfunctional parents–if, in fact, this unfortunate event has been passed down from previous generation(s)? I attribute my parent’s actions. to laziness, lack of self discipline, lack of caring, selfishness or the like. At least my children haven’t had to suffer, and in all likelihood their children will escape this plight as well. Maybe, this has been my purpose in life (to date). Now….I will continue to march forward, and make every effort to reach my full potential!!!
Thanks so much for this post, it’s really insightful and helpful to those of us who have had to come to terms with a less-than-ideal childhood. As many other commenters here I have struggled to make sense of my dysfunctional parent (still working on that to some extent, to tell the truth). Because I needed a reason that would explain away all the painful memories, I went through a phase where I told myself that my dad could not have done better. It felt like without a reason, the suffering was senseless, or maybe even *my* fault somehow.
As Amy so aptly described, I chose that explanation because it was a less painful answer than admitting that my parent choose not to put the care and effort into parenting that he should have, that he *could* have.
My dysfunctional parent is a rare case I think, in that he came to realize the error of his ways and has made drastic changes in his life, including deep apologies for the way he treated us a children! This is a blessing that many dream of, but it’s also a deep challenge. I cannot write him off as an abuser who will never change. I have to make peace, and it’s hard because those childhood wounds heal slowly.
I’ll never forget a conversation I had with my dad where he was expressing his regret and apologies for how he’d treated me as a child. It was quite intense and painful, and I struggled to neatly tie it up. I said, “Dad, you must have been wounded somehow, you must have just not been able to do any better because of something you were going through back then.” His answer hurt and disturbed me, though until I read this blog I am not sure I could have articulated exactly why. He said, “No, I would like to say that, but the truth is that I was just selfish. I could have done better and I didn’t. I will always regret that and feel sad about it.” OMG! I wanted to cry, I had wanted to badly for him to tell me that he did his best. And Amy is right: I wanted that because it hurt so much less if it wasn’t his choice to treat me that way.
Thanks for the food for thought. Also love all of the comments here!
Couldn’t have said it better myself! Bravo! Thank you for putting into words what I have wanted to scream for so long! I get it if your parents were stuck in some horrible warn torn situation that was beyond their control and life sucked. However, your parents and it seems like a lot of other people’s parents were just selfish assholes who only thought of themselves and what they wanted at that moment. I am pregnant and not even an actual parent yet and I already am thinking of what kind of impact I am going to have on my child, I can’t imagine treating her or him like they are a burden or a pain in the ass that I have to escape. It blows me aways as I approach parenthood that anyone could treat their own children like this. You got shafted and so did I, but despite it we are doing alright which is more than I can say for a lot of people in this world.
Thank you again for your words!
Thank YOU. Wow, you said it right-on in your own words — “just selfish assholes.”
I can hear your scream!
I think we have the potential to be not just better parents, but amazingly sensitive parents because we are so keenly aware of the damage that selfish, narcissistic parenting can do.
You might like a book called “Your Child’s Self Esteem” (by Briggs), which is readable and all about nurturing that separate ego and allowing a child to grow in a safe, nurtured and mindful way. (If you can find it, email me. I bought my copy used, so it might be hard to get now…it’s from ’88.) Reading the book helped me think about parenting but it also underscored for me the why and how of the damage done to me… hard not to see that all the while.
Whoa. So happy to find your blog, and particularly this entry. Am just starting coming to terms with the narcissism and selfishness of my parents, and “did they best they could” just didn’t make me feel any better. It seems like a cop-out. Being a new(ish) mother to a 21 mo old, I can’t imagine not looking back at the dysfunction from which I come and not wanting to create something new, better, and present with my daughter and husband. It feels a bit like I’m just making things up as I go along, since there’s no solid foundation to look back at for reference, but I’m realizing that I’m not the only one who’s “guessing what normal is”, and that, in and of itself, is very reassuring. Thank you for your blog…
Thank you for this. Just…thank you.
Love your honest, insightful article, Amy! As I type this reply, my mother’s funeral service is being held 3,000 miles away. What kind of son doesn’t attend his own mother’s funeral, you might ask. Well, the kind of son that had the kind of mother that told him his presence wasn’t necessary several months ago. My parents never drank, but excelled at raising troubled children. My younger sister drank herself to death in 2002, at age 42, as a direct result of the emotional abuse she suffered at the hands of my parents. An older sister never chose to drink, but chain smoked her way to emphysema and remains bitter, hostile and neurotic to this day. I was the middle child and only son – turned to alcohol and drugs during my early teens, in a conscious attempt to escape the insanity of living with our parents. It took 20 years of self-abuse, rehab and a spiritual miracle to quit beating myself up because of my parents’ behavior, but managed to break free 18 years ago.
My parents never once accepted responsibility for their own part in the problems between themselves and their children. Instead, they took an “us against them” stance. Disowned us, wrote us out of their will, and my mother replaced us with 3 new, “adopted kids”, as she called them. She found 2 adopted daughters and 1 adopted son to replace her own 2 daughters and 1 son. No coincidence there – she wanted to punish and humiliate us for daring to speak against the abuse she and my father laid on us AND for not kissing her ass and making her the center of attention. Fortunately for her, she found 3 people that were more than willing to call her mom, in exchange for promises of an inheritance, so long as they played their cards right.
Am I embittered by my parents’ cold rejection towards my sisters and me? A little, perhaps… but I forgave them 16 years ago, as part of my addiction recovery. I chose to forgive them in order to release the bottled up anger and resentments I carried for half my life for myself, not for them. They had every reason to ask for forgiveness and ample opportunity to do so, but never chose it. Frustrated would be a better word to describe how I feel. I’d told them 20 years ago that they should will their estate to whomever they chose, so it never was about money or a house. It was about trust and love – something which they deprived all 3 of us of from almost as long as I can remember. I’d never done anything NOT to deserve their love and trust, which is where the frustration lies. It’s also about their denial, to the end, about the shitty way they treated us, and how they turned the tables and blamed us for the broken relationships they created in the first place. And it’s about the self-centered, selfish way they viewed the world, and their unwillingness to make any type of amends with their own kids.
Did they do the best they could? Absolutely – they did their best to abuse, punish and humiliate their 3 children, while making themselves appear to be the poor, unappreciated victims of worthless, rotten children. My mother was especially good in that role, which she relished and exploited until the end. I sent flowers to her funeral. The florist asked if I’d like the banner to say Mom or Mother. I had to go with Mother, as Mom is an affectionate label reserved for those that share a bond between mother and child. My sisters and I had a mother and a father, not a mom and dad.