My mom told me that she heard my soon-to-be-wife say some really horrible things about her and my kids behind my back.

Whatever she thought that would accomplish didn’t work, because I had already told my wife to start recording her interactions with my mom. (Clearly not my first rodeo)

Mom wasn’t real happy when I told her I’d listen to the audio.

When I was 15 or so I get home from school and get a AIM message from an account I don’t know claiming to be a girl at my school who has a crush on me, but too shy to reveal who she is. Which was weird all by itself because I didn’t use AIM often.

At first I’m delighted, but she quickly becomes sexual. Talking about masturbating to me in very explicit detail. I get freaked out and stop responding. Which prompts an angry phone call from my Dad saying the account is messaging him now and bothering him at work. How she got my account info wss confusing, but i didn’t even know my dad had an account.

So I respond a few more times, and very quickly “she” starts sending me porn, which then turns to sending CSAM saying I need to masturbate to it too. I’m freaking tf out and block the account. Which prompts another angry phone call. I tell my dad I don’t know this person and tell him to just block the account to stop him getting bothered. He calls me a pussy and hangs up.

When he gets home, I tell him that the account was sending me freaky stuff. He stomps over to the computer, opens an terminal and typed a long string of characters that returns our IP address. “If it happens again, do this and we can catch this freak”. He then abruptly closes the window before I can even read what he typed, much less remember it. He slams his bedroom door and that’s the last I see of him for the night.

Took me a long time to fully understand and accept what happened that night, but I never looked at my dad the same again. There were a few more odd situations where he put CSAM in front of me or sent it to my step-dad getting him fired. But he died before I gathered the courage to confront him.

This feels quite minor compared to most of the stuff here, but something that has stuck with me.

I was on holiday with my parents when I was younger - maybe around 12 or 13. We were on a short boat trip, and I noticed my dad was wearing a baseball cap. In my mind I had this cute scene of me taking the hat off his head and putting it on myself, and all of us laughing. Kinda wholesome. But the second I reach for the hat he whacks me hard around the back of my head. I was more confused than anything - why did he instantly resort to violence? I hated the injustice of it; the image in my mind of doing something fun, something you’d see other families doing, but then the actual result being the complete opposite. I never understood it, but then I’ve never had much in common with my dad.

Used the fact that he named me after himself to commit fraud using my name.

Called my partner a gold digging whore (hilarious, considering she was earning 3x as much as I was at the time) and outright said I should marry the woman (daughter of a family friend) that they liked for me and keep my partner around as a side piece because “a real man knows how to make everyone happy”.

I don’t speak to them any more.

I’m gay but like, the kind that almost got murdered in the 90s for coming out in a rural high school (I know Judy Shepard well). Fast forward to my mom telling me she’s conservative in every way “except she belongs to the log cabin republicans” and I just lost it. “God gave you a gay kid so you could realize everything else they’re saying is a lie, too, but you’re too stupid to get that.”

And that’s when I suddenly realized she had been outright abusive and manipulative my whole life, and it was just this idea of a perfect mom that clouded my vision on it. She weaponized her kids against our dad, his family, anyone she didn’t like. Because she was too much of a victim to fight her own fights. Emotional incest. Lots of therapy fodder.

For context: I had an uncle who was an alcoholic/addict, with his addiction being the result of immense trauma he suffered as a kid. He was fired from his job in the medical field after writing himself scripts, and made a genuine effort to turn his life around. He went to AA and other therapy, brought his sponsor/buddy to events where there would be alcohol, and generally took it seriously and worked to improve.

A few years later, we got a call in the early morning. He had overdosed and died after an argument with my aunt. It’s unclear whether it was a relapse or if the overdose was intentional, and to be honest it didn’t matter. My aunt was distraught, he was dead, and their kids now had no father. It was a horrific tragedy.

When I got up to ask what the phone call was for, my mother had a huge smile on her face. She thought his addiction was a moral failing that automatically made him a bad person, but she also judged him badly for needing AA and the buddy syatem to stay on track. She told us, with glee in her voice, that he had “finally killed himself”.

It took everything in my power to not lay into her, which I didn’t do only because I knew she would never change her mind. It was just the latest and worst example of her horrid behavior. I never told my aunt, but I did tell other members of my extended family when they asked why I didn’t talk to them anymore.

Told my friend that he’s like the son he never had, in front of me.

Remembering all the times growing up when teachers suggested I get tested for ADHD and my mom would refuse because she “wanted me to be me, not a zombie” but was wildly disastrous for my future. Now she claims she has it too.

Then she voted for trump 3X.

My father controlling me up to the age of 18, and preventing me from doing anything I wanted at home or at school (it was a prison, not the regular “school is boring”). The result is that I did nothing at school because I had anxiety 24 hours a day.

When I became an adult, I didn’t knew what money or taxes were, I didn’t knew that I had to take showers (because homework is more important), and I didn’t knew how to use toilet paper. I used to take a bath once every two weeks because why not instead of taking daily showers. It took me 10 years to learn basic stuff like cooking or washing my ass.

Now that he’s old and dying, he wants me to listen to his advice and help him with his phone and computer. I don’t answer to such demands. And I’m pretty sure that when he dies, I’ll only be sad for my mother, not him.

Choosing to invite my Jan 6er uncle to family events knowing I would never break break with an insurrectionist traitor.

First, I stopped attending family events. Eventually went no contact. Now my happiest recent memory of my mom is when my daughter couldn’t remember her name.

I adopted a baby from a different race and my father only talks about the white one, refused to meet the other kid.

father in law posted KKK shit on his Facebook page.

we’ll just prune those two branches now…

I already had a rocky relationship with my dad after he made some questionable statements concerning COVID, but there are 2 distinct memories that just keep popping up.

No 1 was him helping me move into my own apartment while my maternal grandfather was dying in the hospital. We were talking about vaccinations (a requirement to visit patients) and how me and my brother got one, he started tearing up and said something about how kids shouldn’t die before their parents, how egotistical we were for getting vaccinated, and how we’ll die in 2 years.

No 2 was a few years later, we were standing on the sidewalk after having watched a movie, and someone had hung a pride flag from their balcony across the street. And while I’m not part of the LGBTQ community, I have good friends that are, and am firmly of the opinion that people should be allowed to do who and whatever they want to, as long as everyone involved consents. However, my dad apparently felt important enough to complain about how that’s just “gay propaganda” and how he “isn’t against it but they shouldn’t force it into everyone’s face” and so on.
My guy, it’s a flag. On a balcony. On the 4th fucking floor!? Chill out.

Refused to acknowledge cystic fibrosis is actually a real difficult struggle that I needed help and support with

There are so many things.

After I was in a car accident in college, my mom convinced me that it was too risky to take my car to a shop in the city where I lived, so I let her take it to her own mechanic.

Months went by, and every time I asked about it, she claimed it was still at the shop and she had no idea why it was taking so long.

After I lost both my jobs because I didn’t have reliable transportation, I found out that my mom hadn’t taken my car to the shop.

She had been letting my younger brother, who still lived at home, drive my (unrepaired!) car to community college so she didn’t have to give him a ride.