For those who had a calm or supportive environment as a child

When I was adopted, it was very odd...and even before then, when I was staying with them because they were our neighbors the next farm over...and they always smiled and waved even though I would run and hide. They always had food! Fruit trees, and they left their barn unlocked. There was a fridge inside and it always had something fresh in there for me to eat. There was a cot in there I thought how lazy he (daddy) must be to sleep in the barn all day long. There were blankets and clothes that just happened to be my size. Obviously, they were taking care of me. They left notes but I could not read them. But after I was theirs (I demanded that they be my parents...to the judge). He knew my adoptive parents well and told me I made a fine choice. They of course had given him the nod and in rural Texas, that's how things got done.

I knew I was safe but I was still skittish and shy. Daddy just acted like I had always been there and would read his paper and go out to the barn. I would follow, watching everything he did. He asked me if we could be friends, and of course, I agreed. He always treated me like I was his best friend. After we settled a little disagreement a few months later about my going into town with him every morning...we were inseparable. Mom was the pragmatic one and she had such a presence that when she asked me to do something, I said yes ma'am, and did it. Not out of fear, but because for the first time in my life, I had somebody to love. About 3 seconds after that I realized I could lose them and so I watched them like a hawk to protect them from anything bad. I slept on the floor outside their door at night because I worried about them so. When my PTSD kicked in a year later, Daddy only said he was wondering when it would show up. He was a retired Marine officer and had served in combat many times and had seen what PTSD was and instinctively knew how to deal with it. He was such a comfort.

When the nightmares began, I was horrified and couldn't sleep unless he sat in my room with his old shotgun, to protect me. To his credit he spent many a night on guard duty, watching over me. Finally, he and Momma had an idea and they got me a bear and mom made it uniform from Daddy's old fatigues. It had a bit Sargent emblem on its back (Gunnery Sargent) and his name was Gunny Bear. Daddy informed me he was the meanest *%#!@ #!%$# on this side of hell and would destroy all monsters if they were stupid enough to bother me while I slept. Daddy was a very tall man and he barked his orders at my bear and told me Gunny was now on duty. It worked! I still had nightmares, but I would wake up and hug my bear and go back to sleep.

Mom was a retired college professor, she had doctorates in English and Philosophy. She was the least philosophical woman I have ever known 😉. But she and her collective gaggle of professors could not wait to get their mits on me academically speaking. Because I was illiterate at 11 I posed a great challenge for them. They homeschooled me because even then public school was a joke. They found I was dyslexic and between them taught me. I had school every day, 365. On weekends and holidays, I had reading, or writing reports, or poetry to memorize. The praise and the flash in Momma's eyes when I did well made me want to do well all the time. I worked with Daddy in the fields a lot, lots of time reading in the corner of the tractor cab as he plowed or in the restaurant booth while they played dominos. But between them and all their friends, I became someone that could make her way in the world. They showed me what life was about, and the love and kindness they showed me then are still in my heart now. All of their words of wisdom are now being passed on to my kids. They got to meet my husband. He actually drove out there and asked my Daddy for permission to marry me. My husband said Daddy was so proud in that moment. Momma of course cried and asked if he knew about my PTSD and how he was going to handle that. Before he left they were elated he was going to be my husband and called me to tell me so. I had no idea he had done any of that.

I owe everything to them. Absolutely Everything. I could not have been luckier than when I decided to steal a watermelon from them because I was hungry as a little girl.

🥹

I was treated as a human being capable of understanding things if they were explained to me both at home and at school. While at school it never occurred to me that life could be any different other than in some distant abstract way that was surely in the past. The only negative I can remember about school and then only up to the age of nine or ten was a small amount of corporal punishment. This never happened at home, my parents had a conscious policy to never hit us.

It was only when I left home to go to university that I discovered that other people had parents or schools, or both, that didn't treat them with respect.

In retrospect I can see that it allowed me to have my own opinions and argue for them with anyone, schoolfriends, my parents, teachers. I mean argue in the technical sense of presenting my views and any evidence I had and being willing to be persuaded by the opposing argument, not in the sense of a violent disagreement. It also made me willing to assume that people generally act in good faith, and I believe this has served me well.

I was treated fairly with respect and always pushed to do better in all things I did. No matter the accomplishment, I was congratulated and then we'd explore if there was room for improvement.

Rules of behavior were clear and consequences spelled out.

I don't recall ever not feeling safe at home. Home, whether with Mom & Dad or with my grandparents, was always the most excellent place.

As an adult, I'm definitely a rule follower. I very rarely push back against guidelines unless they are clearly biased or unfair. If they are simply difficult then the problem is me not the rule.

Sometimes you don't question how or why "at the time" but my parents always had my back,a lot of laughter and hijinx in everyday living and home was always a good place ...I rather imagine it did. Me in a candid shot⬆️

The middle child on the end

Mine was somewhat in the middle. My dad wasn't the supportive type and when he would get mad he would just give everyone the silent treatment. So I consider that much more pleasant than being screamed at or beaten.
It probably did contribute to my personality because I like the quiet. Probably because I was always used to that. Now I can't take a lot of chaotic noise, drama, screaming, yelling and or anger. I'm just too used to things being calm.