My Mothers childhood was dysfunctional, hurtful and sometimes suicidal, and this is what I was told when I have a tantrum about not having something new, but when   I hear the sadness in her voice, the distance in her eyes about her childhood, I told myself that I wasn’t allowed to complain.

“ My childhood unlike yours, was horrible having your mother being beaten black and blue by your father because of doing the slightest thing   out of line,   hearing the yelling and shouting, those hurtful words that would tear your world right apart.
This was my bed time story each night, listening and hoping that it would stop before   it turned into an on going nightmare, but this was not so”
My mother said with tears rolling down her face one by one, until they fell off her face and onto her dress leaving a tear mark stain , but that was nothing compared to the emotional scares, physical scares that her family had left behind on her.

As my mum and I sat there on the lounge facing each other, I felt a sinking feeling that, my mum had given me the childhood that she had only wished for,   I realised that I had no real reason to complain about something that I   didn’t have because my mum had every single reason to complain, but when she did, she was to pay the consequences.

“Night after night, I would hear the pain staking cry of my mum being hit, I would lay in my bed alone in a house full of noise with no one to talk too, other than the odd teddy bear who too also had a bit of a rough time.
I went to school every day, i left very early in the hope i wouldn’t have to talk to mum and dad, i would make my own lunch and i would have a piece of toast on the way.   My teachers would notice the scars and the bruises and ask me “ What have you done now? Fallen down the stairs?” I would generally burst out crying as they didn’t believe a word i said.. It was my word a young 12 year olds..against the mind of an adult in the 30’s.   All the kids in my class ignored me, i was...