Muffled yelling and large thuds were echoing within a single-family 1950’s yellow house. The house was built on the east side of Mankato, Minnesota – a college town of approximately 50,000 people. This house was owned by the government and rented out to lower-income families (section-8 houses). When the house was originally built, it wasn’t intended for low-income families, so it didn’t have the basic, boxy, and cheap appearance that most section-8 homes do. This was simply a house that was constructed and intended for any family to live in. That’s what a house is for, right? It’s funny though how semantically there is a big difference between the words house and home.
Let’s imagine TLC decided to film a slimy reality TV show inside this yellow house around the years of 2004 to 2008 – let’s say for even just a month. Would the viewers consider this house a home? A home usually contains a loving family inside it – full of traditions, cohesion, and even just routines. I believe an unbiased third party would watch that reality TV show and say, “No. From what I saw, I wouldn’t really label it a home. It’s not warm. It’s a house with a family that lives together in it though. A house where the children feel wronged, angry, depressed, lost, and bored – while the mom, a struggling single parent, feels burdened, wronged, overwhelmed, depressed, anxious, and apathetic all at once. Everyone seems to be in some sort of pain, and everyone tends to lash out at one another with little warning. There are no holiday traditions, family dinners, routines, or structure. It’s chaos and everyone is worrying about themselves and their own wants and needs. Each person is trying to treat their own pain by meeting their own needs and feeling put out if they do something for others. Sure, at times there is there some form of love, but a lot of moments of hate and anger, too.
The mixed bowl of love and hate tends to condition humans to think the two feelings should be intertwined and even cancel each other out. You can love each other and hate each other all at the same time. It’s just normal to have moments of extreme, unpredictable overreactions and fighting and then say, “I love you.” You later can laugh about something surface-level and trivial together – pretending the hate and anger never were there…Burying the dysfunction and confusion subconsciously every day.
In the spirit of thinking of how to define conditional love and find true happiness in life, sometimes I think it’s worth looking at the past – only for growth though. In the spirit of this, I’d like to start out with a memory that has always flooded me with guilt, shame, and confusing pain. It’s just one of the many highlights that I know shaped a passive-aggressive, shameful, anxious, guilty, depressed, and unpredictably angry adult.
Getting back to the house though… On that day, after coming home from skateboarding with some friends, I swung open the front door while gripping my skateboard under my forearm. My 14-year-old brown, greasy skater hair hung over my green eyes. After entering, my mom and I began arguing almost immediately. I complained to her about how I wanted a video camera for Christmas, and she explained that she couldn’t afford it, and I was getting something else for Christmas. Yikes. Yep. I was totally an ungrateful teenager that demanded and complained that I wasn’t getting a video camera – which back in 2004 was fairly expensive. My family lived in affordable, low-income housing, and my mom borderline minimum wage as a retail manager. I didn’t realize at the time how difficult that sort of present would be for my mom to afford. I wish I could jump into a time machine, sit down with my teenage-self and straighten me out in that moment. It is a shameful memory of mine that I continue to carry in my bag of many, many faults. Man, teenagers are total shit bags sometimes.
stood at the bottom of the staircase that led up to my attic bedroom. I complained, yelled, and bitched that I wasn’t getting what I wanted. My exasperated mother finally snaps during my yelling and shouts up the stairs to me, “YOU are the child, and I am the parent! You do not make the rules, I DO!” She gritted her teeth while spitting this out at me in rage – a common sign she’s either about to explode or already is exploding.
Now… what happens next gets burry, but I recall running up the stairs into my bedroom while my mother chased after me. She continued to yell and cornered me into a small walk-in closet. I was lying on the ground on top of a pile of old shoes in the back of the closet as she yelled over me – her legs split over my torso – towering over me. Her body was blocking my exit. She yelled down at me, and I eventually slipped around on the ground and wiggled between her legs – running out of my bedroom closet – towards the stairway. The yelling and chasing continued down the stairs where we both ended up in the kitchen. Again, things get blurry I admit, but I recall a struggle between us that involved us face-to-face holding a broom stick trying to over-power the other person. It was some sort of bizarre strength contest. I fell to the ground after a shove from my mom. In response to me falling, my mom rolled her eyes and screeched out, “Oh my god! Get up! You didn’t fall. Cut it out!” In retrospect, it was likely a way to dismiss responsibility in the situation by acting like it was some form of intentional dramatic “act” or “show” that I fell. As we continued to squabble, she grabbed the dark-gray corded house phone in the kitchen and called 911. I found this confusing at the time and thought to myself, “Well, we will both go to jail because we’re both fighting. Why would she call them?”
As she spoke to the 911 Dispatcher, she described my out-of-control behavior. I came up behind her with one thing in mind, “I need to get her off the phone. I can’t get in trouble with the law again.” I thrusted my foot up and kicked her square in the crotch. Yep, classy stuff. A 14-year-old teenager kicks his mom in the crotch. Sounds like I should probably be on the Maury show, right?
She dropped to her knees onto the sticky tiled floor and cried to the dispatcher, “He just kicked me in the crotch! Ooooh… Oh god!!!” The emotion in her cry was a mix of actual pain and some dramatization. The same dramatization that I was just accused of acting out moments before. Hmm… I’m connecting the dots now! If I was in fact being a little dramatic when I fell over, I would probably bet money on where I learned that type of behavior.
I ran towards the corded phone connected to the wall and yanked the cord right out of the phone jack. Again, blurriness seeps in. I remember running into the backyard, breathing heavily, thinking I could maybe run away to my grandpa’s house somehow – even though he lived all the way over in North Mankato – miles away. Could he pick me up and the cops would simply talk to my mom? Maybe I won’t get in trouble. I was racing with adrenaline as I thought about the police on their way and still unsure of what had just happened. Shortly after, I saw the police lights out front and barely remember the interaction with the police, but it resulted in me being arrested. Yep. You read that all correctly. There are really bad things I did. I absolutely admit it. There is no hiding that. I’m guilty of doing all the bad things you just read about.
Imagine though that the reality TV show I mentioned earlier didn’t start until this altercation. This is just the opening scene. The beginning of the episode starts right when I walked in that front door and began complaining. You’d probably say, “Man. That kid is a little shitbag. I don’t blame his mom for doing anything. What spoiled, rotten brat.”
That was the response from many adults – including the police officers who arrested me that day. Unfortunately, it’s difficult at times for people to zoom out and look at something in totality – maybe to consider that there is a lot of unedited footage left in the studio. At least it’s difficult for me at times. I’ll admit that. I constantly wish I could maybe give those officers that day some context about everything in our lives that had happened before I did that. Perhaps seeing years of negligence, emotional abuse, and unpredictable, angry outbursts from my mom, may have changed their strong opinions about me. I don’t know, but I can tell you, there was a lot more that led up to that incident than what this clip shows. There’s a story that a lot of people don’t get to see, unfortunately. The full-length reality TV show has actors that won’t consent to the unedited version being released to anyone else. The ongoing story hardly ever took place in a home. It took place in many insignificant houses and apartments – all over Minnesota and Wisconsin. These were hollow residential structures that contained fragments of a home. These fragments were scattered throughout the house. You had to tiptoe around to avoid stepping on the wrong broken shard. If you stepped on the wrong shard, you’d be overwhelmed with dormant emotions of depression, anger, and a negative sense of self-worth.
With my hands behind my back and in handcuffs, I sat angrily in the back of the Mankato Police car. We headed about 30 miles northeast to the New Ulm Juvenile Detention Center. The officer driving the vehicle provided me some contradictory information as I was still breathing heavily from the incident, “You know, you’ll come to find that police officers are very neutral when it comes to these situations… We don’t take sides, but if you were my kid and you were complaining about Christmas presents, I would have beat the living shit out of you.”
After doing naked jumping jacks behind a shower curtain while repeating my name for some officers (If you’re wondering, that’s how they ensure you’re not smuggling contraband in your mouth and/or asshole.), I curled up in brand new cell and eventually slept on a concrete bed with a 2-inch sleeping pad and scratchy gray blanket (that probably could have given me crabs). I didn’t eat the surprisingly decent dinner presented, and I remember complaining to the guards that my mom didn’t get arrested, but I did. I kept asking them why. “She fought me too! Why was I the only one who got in trouble?” It made no sense to me. For decades, I forgot it was a fight, and I reimagined it as something I had solely done on my own. I took full responsibility for that event occurring and did not tell many about this event – including very close family and friends. I had to be the only one responsible. I had a lot of shame. I wouldn’t want my grandpa to know what I had done. Why would my mom have gotten to stay home and not be charged? The officers surely would hold both parties accountable if she had any accountability in the matter. Must’ve been me. I must be bad. The common things my mom would hear from supporting, equally emotionally immature parents consisted of advice such as, “That boy needs a dad.”
I guess I just needed more fear to respect my mother. It took me decades to feel confident in stating that I lacked respect for my mom because she was dissociated, apathetic, angry, and often treated me as “in the way.” When, quite honestly, I never asked to be born. There was always a distinct aurora of “You owe me for being born” in the room when my mom was annoyed with something I did or was doing. In fact, she said variations of that to me several times growing up… Again though, this is the problem. If you don’t zoom out for that stuff, you don’t get that context or see the entire story. You miss the why. You miss the lead up. How did I end up in this cold, depressing cell?
Thankfully, the next day, we regrouped and had a little family reunion in Blue Earth County courthouse where I was charged with a Gross Misdemeanor for disconnecting a 911 call and a Misdemeanor charge of domestic abuse. Nobody questioned what was going on at home to lead to that situation. You don’t have anyone evaluating the conditions of your home life. You’re just labeled a bad kid, you get community service, a probation sentence, a shiny enhanced criminal record, and you pay fines (which come from your parents’ pockets because you’re a teenager that doesn’t make money…which only makes the parent(s) more upset.).
Imagine a person in this hypothetical reality TV show just grabbed the camera, erased context-setting footage, and made sure that audiences could only watch the clips that fit their narrative. They were one of the lead producers and editors. You were a star actor, but you were too young and stupid to realize that you could have written in your contract that you had a say in editing and producing. You could have raised your hand during editing and said, “Wait, but I want that part included, too! I don’t think the full story is being told. This is kind of deceptive editing, isn’t it? Am I supposed to be the villain or what’s this edit about?” You didn’t realize you had a voice at all. *Sad trombone noise* The other person found a way to just show the footage that alleviates any of their personal feelings of wrongdoing or responsibility.
Alright, I know I’m totally running this reality TV show metaphor into the ground, but you do get the point, right? TLC can just edit 90 Day Fiancé couples and create villainous characters by splicing certain clips together in a deceptive fashion and people can do that with stories in life, too. It’s human nature to want to only highlight and hold onto the events that make you feel better about yourself and your actions. It’s self-soothing, and it helps us cope with life. Nobody wants to feel like they’re bad – especially if most of their life they’ve been conditioned to feel not worthwhile.
I was reminded of my actions a lot throughout my life without favorable context included. Discussing this event in detail was not okay or acceptable to my mom. It was dismissed and met with eye rolls if you tried to zoom out at all. The truth is, while there was very clearly a brat, delinquent teenager in this story, there actually was another person involved: the parent. The parent who has the onus to diffuse situations like this. They have more responsibility than the teenager to remain the emotionally mature party. I’d often hear my mom tell people, “Ryan kicked me in the crotch!” I’d find myself unable to defend myself at all because, well, how can you defend that kind of action? I didn’t comprehend that what lead up to that point was important. I was being continually provoked by an adult – up and down the stairs and dared to fight back. The adult in a situation has a responsibility to not instigate physical altercations, corner teenagers in a closet, chase teenagers, and stoop to their level of emotional immaturity. While I still am embarrassed by my behavior in this event in my life, I can now look back at it and say it’s not always nature. There is a nurture component that led to that embarrassing scene in my life. I wasn’t a “bad kid.” I was a kid who didn’t wake up and decide to act out for no reason. The explosive behavior was conditioned within me because it was what I saw growing up. It was typical for reactions and emotions to not match the situation.
Children and teenagers who are neglected and not given attention will do anything that gains the attention of the parent. It goes all the way back to being a small child and hitting another child because you’ve seen that type of action get an adult’s attention before. If it’s difficult for someone to pay attention and spend time with you, you’re going to resort to whatever DOES get their attention. Hitting, yelling, complaining, acting out, etc. And if you treat a kid or teenager as an equal party in certain instances, such as parentifying children and having them take on any emotional, social, and financial burdens of your own, you’re not going to be seen as a parent in their eyes. You’re seen as an equal.
When there is so much emotional pain in a parent and the child is mostly making it harder for the parent to heal from their own trauma, it creates a very dysfunctional, toxic relationship that could lead to events like this. Everybody shares responsibility in the situation and blame should not be the focus. Though, in all fairness as I said before, the parents are adults and must steer the ship. They can’t offload responsibility to their children when they directly are involved in the child or adolescent’s wrongdoing. I’m not a doctor, therapist, and I’m probably of average intelligence at best, but I do think I’ve made logical connections between my upbringing and my adult-self with the help of a therapist, EMDR, and various psychological books/audiobooks focused on emotional maturity. I am beginning to understand why I am the way I am.
This story, starting with this chapter, is intended to be an objective narrative that hopefully can help others who are struggling with guilt, shame, and low self-esteem-based emotions. Maybe reading this sheds some light on events you couldn’t highlight growing up. Maybe you forgot about some erased footage in your life, and this jogs your memory. I hope you can recover it, dust it off, and realize there are many things you may feel guilty about that you shouldn’t feel guilty about. I think if I put things in words, it’ll help me heal, too. Look, maybe this whole “story” will be boring as shit to many of you. At the very least, I’m going to put some of this “on paper” and try to heal. I’ve read other stories, and it’s helped, but now I need to regain the editor and producer rights. I need to be able to make a few edits and zoom out. I want to showcase that it’s not black and white – it’s gray. It’s very gray. And people aren’t just “bad” or “good.” The focus of this first chapter is to make sure people know they can regain control of their story. My intention is to be as objective as possible, but I am obviously going to have some biases writing this. I will 100% try my best to ensure that nobody is to “blame” for anything that occurred in my life. Just like others – I’ve done a lot of bad things, but I’m not a bad person. I’m a person trying to grow and do more good things than bad. I also prioritize things differently than I have in the past – including my mental health. So, what about it? Do you want some watered-down Maury show content or what?