Actually, I'm not fine… blog

Part 1: Growing up in a Man- Hating Home

I grew up in a home where the rules were clear, but the lessons were twisted. My mother was a woman who carried her own anger, her own pain, and it shaped the way she saw men and by extension, the way I was taught to see them. From the earliest age, I was absorbing messages about distrust, hatred, and survival. Men were cheaters, liars, and unreliable. Love? A dangerous misconception.
Independence? The only path to safety.

As a child, I watched her rage unfold. I watched how resentment and bitterness could dominate a household, shaping the dynamics between siblings, parents, and even me. I didn’t just witness it, I was part of it, often scapegoated, blamed, and forced to navigate the tension between survival and compliance. My sisters and I were shaped differently, but all of us carried a version of the same pain, even if it expressed itself in silent rage or loud confrontation. We were raised under the same roof.

I was labeled “like my dad” from an early age, though my father was absent in ways that hurt deeply. He cheated, he left, and I was coached by him to lie for his benefit, a terrible introduction to trust and honesty. But the blame for his actions often landed solely on my shoulders. I was, in some way, the devil in my mother’s eyes.

It wasn’t just the lessons about men that shaped me. It was also the way I was expected to navigate life on my own terms without guidance or protection. My mother, controlling and judgmental, would pit my sisters and I against each other, creating wedges between us that left lasting scars that no one will ever see. There was constant comparison: who was responsible, who could handle more, who deserved more attention. I learned quickly that my survival depended on being independent, resourceful, and careful, not just with my actions but with my emotions.

Even small things were lessons in control. I learned to save money, to make my own decisions, to find creative ways to build the life I wanted because I could trust no one else to do it for me. But these skills came at a cost. The lessons of self-sufficiency were deeply tied to the lessons of distrust. I learned to see men as threats, and to see my own independence as the only shield against harm.

Yet here’s the tension: though I was taught to hate men, I also had to navigate a world where understanding them was necessary. Even as a child, I realized that surviving in a man-hating household didn’t give me insight into men: it gave me caution, wariness, and a complicated view of relationships that would take decades to unpack.

Growing up in that environment created a lens I would carry into my adult life: a lens of control, caution, and independence. But it also gave me an unshakable determination to protect myself, and later, my child.

Closing Reflection:

Have you ever noticed how the pain of your upbringing shows up in the way you see others?

How much of who we become is taught to us by example, even if the lessons are twisted and doesn’t make sense?