Read this depressing but illuminating account by JudgyBitch recalling her wicked mother alienating her and her siblings from their father, and how it affected the children. At the end, a redemption and the victory of truth will lift your spirits, because this is one sad tale that is repeated all too many times in post-America.
There are two pills to swallow from this story. A Red Pill on the divorce industrial complex and how it effectively shields bad mothers and wives from punishment while shafting fathers and husbands with extreme prejudice, and a Crimson Pill on the primal sexual nature of even good-hearted, well-meaning women.
First, you take the Red Pill:
[My father] met my mother when she was just nineteen years old and he was considerably older. He never told her about his family back in Germany, and they married and had four children by the time my mother was 25 years old. My three brothers, and me.
And they were fucking horrible parents. There is no nice way to spin it. They embraced a religion that encouraged extreme violence against children. Their philosophy was that a child’s will must be completely broken so that the child will then accept the will of God. My mother was ecstatically violent, and my father less so, but they were both culpable. Their particular brand of religious violence continues in America to this day.
And then….my mother discovered feminism. She exchanged one violent, irrational, dehumanizing ideology for another, and she soon decided that she needed a man like a fish needed a bicycle. After countless physically violent arguments with my father, including one episode where she hit him in the head with a cast iron frying pan and left him for dead on the front porch, he turned his back and walked away from us, just like his first family.
One day we woke up and he was gone. My mother was quick to inform us that he simply walked away, and left us to starve in the streets, and that she alone would be the sole reason we survived and prospered. She never missed an opportunity to curse him. She told us about his first family, and how she did not need to divorce him, because they were never married in the first place. She hated him and hated all men and our daily lives were filled with her anger and vitriol and violence. She never gave a moment’s thought to what her hatred of men and our father was doing to her sons. She gave us daily rations of rage and blame and every bad thing that happened was always his fault.
Being a child, I believed it. So did my brothers.
And we loathed him for it. How could he leave us with such an evil woman? My mother once held a knife to my throat and made me beg for my life. When I was eleven. And I remember going to bed, thinking not how much I hated her, but how much I hated HIM for leaving us to her devices.
Turning children against fathers has been a female specialty since forever, but only the post-industrial man-hating femcunt dystopia we know as the progressive West institutionalized and weaponized this malevolent female predilection, by removing moral culpability from women and adding a presumption of guilt to men.
The Red Pill payoff (you knew this was coming):
And then I received a phone call. It was my father, calling to tell me that my mother’s mother had passed away, and that I should let her know. So much of the pain had seeped away that I felt confident confronting my father, and I asked him why he had done it.
Why did you just turn your back and walk away?
And then the truth came to light. He hadn’t walked away. He certainly had not left us to starve. My mother had filed for an annulment and requested a restraining order, which she was granted. When I finally saw my father again, he had two boxes with him. One was filled with income tax returns showing that he had never missed a child support payment, and court orders preventing him from seeing us based on his violence towards my mother, along with supervised visitations that were all scheduled for when he was overseas, working to meet his child support payments.
The other box contained cards and letters. Birthday cards and so many letters. All returned. By my mother. He never stopped sending them, hoping one of us would one day get the key and fetch the mail, but my mother was always adamant that the mail was her business.
As an adult, it makes so much sense. How did we continue to live in our house? How was my mother able to afford food and clothing and YMCA memberships for four children without my father’s support? Of course she had his support. But she hid it from us, and poisoned our minds against our father. It’s called parental alienation, and she is not the first, nor the last woman to destroy her children in this way.
It’s a special kind of evil.
In the end, she meets her father, he asks her forgiveness for the way he raised her before her mother excised him from his kids’ lives, she forgives him and welcomes him into her family, he gratefully becomes a much better grandfather to her kids than he was a father to her. As for the awful mother, JudgyBitch did to her what mom did to her dad: removed her from her life.
Nestled in the middle of this story is a Crimson Pill so big it’s a choking hazard.
Interestingly enough, I was never attracted to men who behaved badly. I never sought to enmesh myself in relationships that replicated the worst of my father. Quite the opposite. I didn’t seek out pain in an effort to work through what I had suffered. I had a lovely boyfriend who was all kindness and sympathy. He was the gentlest man I have ever known. And I cannot adequately articulate how his gentleness and caring healed me.
He proposed marriage, but ultimately, he was far too compliant and mild, and I was disconcerted by his willingness to acquiesce to what I wanted, even though I never wanted anything bad. I could trust him to treat me with the utmost kindness and care, but I could not lean on him. That was impossible. I declined his proposal and moved on.
Appeasing, supplicating niceguys turn off women, because women perceive their niceness for weakness. And sometimes, the women are right. Very nice men who give women what they say they want, and who dutifully parrot feminist boilerplate and share the household chores under the false assumption that equality out of the bedroom is carnality in the bedroom, sow distrust in women.
Women trust the jerk because they know the jerk won’t tell them whatever he thinks will win their approval. And THAT’S how the jerk, ironically, wins their approval. By not trying for it.
A big reason women are attracted to jerkboys is the aversion jerkboys have for acquiescing to anyone’s demands, let alone women’s demands. That delightfully novel and romantically exhilarating jerkboy self-regard leaves a potent impression on women, who see refracted in the trait a forthrightness and strength of character and purpose that is lacking in niceguys.
Recall the CH Poon Commandments: You are the oak tree, immoveable and solid, under which she frolics and runs to when the rains come. She senses this strength in jerkboys because she can trust them not to bend to her whim, unlike niceguys who do nothing but bend and bend until they’re licking girls’ boots. And no tingle ever gushered for a polite lackey.
Interestingly enough, I was never attracted to men who behaved badly. I never sought to enmesh myself in relationships that replicated the worst of my father. Quite the opposite…
I had a lovely boyfriend who was all kindness and sympathy. He was the gentlest man I have ever known. And I cannot adequately articulate how his gentleness and caring healed me.
He proposed marriage, but ultimately, he was far too compliant and mild, and I was disconcerted by his willingness to bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit logic bullshit logic bullshit I declined his proposal and moved on.
Heh. The Tingle is Synthesis. And Syllojizzm.