Nadezhda S. (LIE) — Lessons from a Strict Upbringing

Affection and Family Dynamics

As a child, I constantly felt unloved.

I wasn't shown much affection in my childhood. Though my dad would hug me sometimes. I loved my grandfather most of all. He always told me fairy tales and called me affectionate names. I remember he would secretly give me money for ice cream, always spoiled me, and I would always hug him. Until the age of six, I lived with my grandparents.

My loved ones are very dear to me. Once a year, my mom would leave for treatment in Belokurikha, and I would sleep hugging her nightgown or bathrobe, eagerly waiting for her return.

Maybe my parents just didn't have enough time for me—my brother and sister were born. But from an early age, I wanted to be held and squeezed tight, but it had to be done without being fake. When someone hugs you just to go through the motions, it's disgusting. It really has to come from within. When my granddad picked me up, I felt that he loved me.

By six years old, I was already doing all the housework; by eight, I was picking up my brother and sister from kindergarten. When my sister was born, I instantly became an adult—childhood ended quickly. I always took the brunt of the blame because the younger ones would cry; I would pick on them, even though it was their fault and they provoked me.

Fear of Being Alone

I remember I was afraid of staying home alone. I would wake up and check if my parents were home, just so I wouldn't be left alone, God forbid. Once I climbed out the window in the middle of the night and started screaming, "Good people, help!" I woke up the whole house—I was terrified of being home alone, though when I turned on the light, I realized there was nothing scary at all.

Strict Upbringing and Hidden Resistance

Once, we got caught and spanked. They wouldn't give us money themselves and wouldn't explain why, but we wanted it—we always craved sweets.

I was raised very strictly; dad would put me in the corner. I remember spending my entire childhood standing in the corner waiting for 8:00 PM when mom would come home from work.

I didn't understand why I annoyed him—probably with my independence, getting into everything.

Once, I was eating snow outside; it was so white and fluffy. Dad saw me from the window, came out with a plate, scooped up some snow, and said, "Let's go inside." We went in, and he said, "It’ll melt now, and then we’ll eat it." Later he called me over, I looked, and there was dirty water in the plate with a hair floating in it—that was it! I didn't want snow anymore.

Rejection and Unreasonableness at Home

When I was a kid, I’d go up to my dad: "Dad, give me money for a chocolate bar!" He’d say, "No, I won't." "Why?" "Because I said so." "But I want it!" "You'll get over it." That outraged me so much! It hurt me. He could have said, for example: "We won't buy a chocolate bar because we don't have money for it today," or "Chocolate is bad for you—look, you have a pimple." But when they tell you that "you'll get over it"...

My grandmother was the same: "Gram, give me money for cookies!" "Eat a bun." "But the bun isn't tasty." "Eat it with jam." This always infuriated and hurt me. Especially since there was money... So my sister and I stole money from our grandmother and dad to buy ourselves chocolate bars, and we felt no shame about it.

Food Control and Food Trauma

In childhood, I was always forced to finish everything on my plate. In our family, we had a full meal: first course, second course, and compote. I didn't want to eat, but dad would say, "Why aren't you finishing? We don't have pigs here! Eat up." I wasn't allowed to pour it out. I got used to finishing everything, and even now I finish my food even if I don't want to. That's why I sometimes gain weight now, and it's harmful to me. You shouldn't force a child to finish their food if they don't want to.

Another thing was dinner at seven o'clock, and no food allowed afterward, even though I was hungry. So I ate candy and apples under the blanket. I got scolded for it, which was another restriction of freedom. We ate at seven, but I wanted to eat later, yet it felt like I wasn't treated as a human—it was forbidden.

And sometimes at lunch, I didn't want the lunch provided—I wanted a sausage sandwich, not fish soup. But it was either eat the soup or leave—you're free to go!

Our family had strict rules. When we sat down for lunch, everyone ate soup. Eat the soup first, then the cutlets. But after the soup, I didn't need cutlets anymore—my stomach was full.

A child like that needs to eat when they want and what they want. Then they won't be drawn to candy and snacking as much. If they want rice, let them eat rice. I adapted as best I could: I dragged food under the blanket and ate there. So people wouldn't pick on me, I'd go eat on the sly, and that was that.

Sneaking Sweets

I did everything on the sly. I remember there was a vase of chocolates, which was a rarity for us because all the candy in the house was usually eaten quickly. In that vase were "Clumsy Bear" chocolates. You could smooth out their wrappers so you couldn't tell right away if there was candy inside or not. I asked, "Mom, can I have a candy?" "Yes, you can." I ate one, then another—I couldn't stop, I couldn't help myself. I ended up eating almost the whole vase, about two or three hundred grams. Then guests arrived, dad set out the vase, and I ran outside to play.

When I came back, everyone looked so serious, and dad was deeply embarrassed. My parents pulled out a huge bag of candies—there were "Barbaris," "Cheburashka," various caramels, and "Karakum." Dad said, "Alright, since you're so hungry, sit down and eat until you're full!" I devoured the "Karakum" completely and ate half of the "Cheburashkas" too. But then mom stepped in and said, "Enough! She's going to get sick."

That didn't teach me anything though; I kept eating candies anyway. I can't live without sweets. If they didn't give them to me, I took them secretly. It would have been better if it were out in the open and not restricted so much. I asked for it, which meant I needed it.

A child's requests need to be taken seriously. A child always looks for logic and reasonableness in adults' answers. When my dad didn't give me money for a chocolate bar, I didn't understand the reason. Why not?! It should have been explained somehow, based on common sense.

Praise, Punishment, and Rebellion

If a child like this accomplishes something, you shouldn't praise them directly. Direct praise is perceived more as flattery. You can say, "Oh, look how clean it is in here." And I'll know that I was the one who did it.

When I washed the floor, dad would take a handkerchief and check the corners, and then I'd have to wash it all over again. He'd say, "That's not how you clean."

To me, it felt like I cleaned fine. Then again, sometimes I was in the mood—I'd move everything: armchairs, sofas, wash everywhere; but other times I didn't feel like moving things, so I'd just create the appearance of having cleaned.

I was constantly disobedient, and my mom always told me she would send me to an orphanage if I kept acting like that.

I drove my mom crazy, to the point where I even ran away from home. I remember running away once, but I had to come back because it was cold. If it had been summer, I probably would have sat on a bench all night.

Confrontation with Parents and Guilt

Once, my mom went to a sanatorium when I was about thirteen. I went out to walk the dog, and my dad told me to be home at nine o'clock. We got carried away, and I arrived at ten-thirty. He let the dog in and told me, "And you can go back where you came from." I stood there dumbfounded and then went to my mom's friend's house. I took a stance too: "Oh, you think if you don't let me in, I'll sit under the door and whine?"

My dad searched for me, ran through the streets, and went to all my friends' houses. I didn't feel guilty. First of all, I apologized for being late, but since the door was slammed in my face, I decided I wouldn't sit under the door—I decided to teach him a lesson. Later, I regretted leaving when I found out he had been looking for me. I didn't think he would search for me and stay awake half the night. If I had known that, I wouldn't have left. There weren't many dramatic moments like that, but I still remember them to this day.

My conscience rarely bothered me. I forged grades in my report card because I got scolded for them. I felt no shame—why should I feel ashamed if I was forced to forge those grades? They didn't want to accept reality as it was. So I have a "3" (C grade) in art. So what, who cares about that "3"? So what if my behavior grade is satisfactory? But they scolded me, scolded me badly. And to avoid getting scolded, I forged the grades.

I didn't feel ashamed stealing money either. I stole money from dad for chocolate bars. Well, why didn't they just give it to me? If a child wants ice cream, where are they supposed to get the money? If they gave it to me, would I have stolen it? All my pleasures were connected to food.

Childhood Isolation and Kindergarten

I didn’t have friends in kindergarten. I wanted to be friends with one girl, but to be her friend, you had to bring her candy every morning. I refused—what kind of friendship is built on candy? She was like a princess, and I was somehow rough around the edges.

I was kicked out of summer camp once. I was a know-it-all show-off, and the camp counselor disliked me. One of the girls in our four-person room had allergies, and out of pure good intentions, I dragged a bunch of dandelions into the room. Naturally, the girl got sick, and I got scolded severely. After that, the entire squad boycotted me.

School Rebel

In school, I was a troublemaker. Sometimes a whole class would wait for me in the yard to beat me up, but of course, nobody ever hit me—I always managed to run away. Up until the eighth grade, people didn’t like me; I was often called to the principal's office. I don’t remember exactly what I did, but I must have done something. I drove teachers crazy and hit other kids.

My best friend sat right behind me in class. She tells a story about how she asked me something once, and I turned around and hit her with a ruler.

The kids called me names. My last name was Bokach, so they teased me with "bochka" (barrel). Until the seventh grade, I fought with boys and didn't have a single girl friend.

Classroom Dynamics and Being a "Problem" Kid

At school, I was always a show-off, and sometimes I’d be kicked out of the classroom during lessons. We had a troubled class. The boys were troublemakers, and I was just like them.

I was accepted into the Pioneers only on the third attempt, along with all the failing students—I had an unsatisfactory grade in behavior. But I didn't care which attempt it was, as long as I was accepted. Everyone who had bad grades and misbehaved was moved into one class. It became a sort of "class of idiots."

Struggles with School Subjects

Academic-wise, I always did fine, except for art, where I got a failing grade for the semester. I couldn’t draw at all; my mom had to draw for me. I didn't understand why I had to draw if I couldn't do it. Why did I have to draw or buy those paints at all? Why suffer? Mom would draw some random stuff for me, and I’d turn it in. I didn't see the point—if something isn't interesting, why do it?

I knew I’d never learn how to draw. But as for STEM subjects and PE, I was fine.

Clashing with Authority

I respected teachers who asked us to recite lessons, but I had no respect for those who let us get away with everything. I liked teachers who didn't shout or constantly pick on us.

Once, our whole class was punished and forced to stand. We were standing there like idiots, and since I had my key on an elastic band, I started swinging it around. The teacher said, "Stop swinging it," but I kept doing it anyway because I didn't understand why we were being punished. I was kicked out of the class; I walked out and slammed the door. I refused to submit.

If a teacher found an approach to me—treated me with respect, with soul, showing they actually liked me—I would sit quietly in their class and not cause trouble. But with others, I resisted fiercely.

Fights and Finding a True Friend

Looking back, my actions were probably a reaction to provocations. Smarter kids did things sneakily, but I wouldn’t do things behind people's backs. I didn’t really make friends with anyone, and no one wanted to be friends with me. Once, a girl called me names, so I chased her under a bed and started jumping on the metal bedsprings.

In the seventh grade, I finally made a friend. We had dogs from the same litter, and she lived in the neighboring yard. We shared all kinds of feelings, and I loved her dearly, like a sister.

Body Awareness and Childhood Habits

In my childhood, I was very active: I climbed a lot and fell a lot. I'm not always in touch with my body's physical sensations. Before going outside, I always check how people out there are dressed. Air temperature isn't much of an indicator for me, but if people are wearing hats, I'll put on a hat; if they aren't, I'll go without one. My grandmother bundled me up my entire childhood, so my head was sweaty all the time.

Clothes, Appearance, and Self-Image

When I was in the eighth grade, I wanted to dress nicely, but I didn't have good clothes. My mom had jeans, but she wouldn't let me wear them. I begged her on my knees to let me wear those jeans, but she refused because dad said my nose was still too wet to wear jeans. Then, after three days of tears, they bought me a pair. I cried so hard that they finally bought them for me. Mom wouldn't give me her clothes, and those items just stayed in the closet, lying there to this day.

I wanted to dress up, I wanted to be pretty, to have people look at me. I suffered if I was poorly dressed. I love dressing up and wearing bright things.

In high school, I felt like I looked like a boy, so dressing me like a girl back then was very important. I felt I wasn't very attractive; I didn't like myself. Later, I grew out of it. After tenth grade, I moved away from my parents and started dressing up on my own. Separated from my parents, I cried every day for six months. I missed my mom and dad terribly, but then I got used to it.

When you refuse children, you have to explain why. When they don't explain, it becomes deeply hurtful, extremely so.

Sports

A child like this needs sports where they can run around and bump into each other: basketball, rugby, American football. I always liked team games—you can become a leader here, prove yourself, and become an authority figure for the group.

In a team game, I can become a star.

A child like this might not stick with a sports section right away. If someone says something rude to them, they might quit and go to another section. I stayed in basketball only on my fourth try. Parents need to be patient and help the child adjust to the team.

Reading

I read a lot. I loved historical books about kings and tsars.

Autonomy in Planning

We had a big dog, a shepherd, and in the evening I cooked porridge for her. And my dad always scolded me: “What, you couldn’t do this during the day?” I thought: “Why cook it during the day if she eats in the evening? Does this pot really bother and annoy everyone that much?”

A LIE needs to be told what they must do around the house for the day—but the order in which they should do it and the timing—they must decide themselves. They need to plan their own day. I plan my day myself, and when someone interferes with my order, I’m like: “I won’t do it, that’s it!” even though I understand I need to, and I’m not even against it.

My parents didn’t find the right approach with me in childhood—they forced me to do everything—and now I don’t like washing dishes or anything else.

To make such a child study well, you need to make it interesting for them. In history class, the teacher always told us a little bit more than the curriculum required. She’d add something from a movie or share extra facts, while the textbook was something I could read on my own anyway. It was interesting. History was always interesting to me.

The LIE Approach to Tasks and Freedom

A LIE always sets a goal. For example, right now I need to clean out the refrigerator. I clean it out—checkmark. Or I run to work and see everything is a mess—immediately a plan of action. I do one thing—checkmark, another—checkmark, and at the end there’s satisfaction from having done it. I like when a task is nearing completion, and afterward you can start another one.

LIEs are willing to help their parents with household chores, but when they’re ordered: “Go wash the dishes!” — “Mom, in ten minutes.” “No, go wash them now!” And you don’t want to go; deep down you know it’s your job, but when someone pressures you and takes control of your time—right now—it’s stressful.

You should not address such children with commands, but with a request. I was always ready to help if asked: “Wash the dishes, my hand hurts...” If you evoke compassion, then you run and do three times more than you otherwise would. Such a child always responds to a request for help. In the request they must feel needed—that their help truly matters. As for timing, you can say: “When I come back from work, please tidy up,” instead of “Right now.”

The Need for Leadership and Control

People at school still remember me—first as crazy, but later they grew to love me because I matured in the eighth to tenth grades. I think I annoyed people because I challenged the adult's leadership in the group. I drew attention to myself and tried to stand out. When I wasn't allowed to be a normal leader, I became an abnormal one. It didn't matter to me what kind I was, as long as I was noticed. I needed people to listen to me, to be in command, and to be an authority figure.

I didn't need people to blindly worship me; it was important that the group respected me both as a person and as a leader. It’s the same at work now: deep down, they might doubt I'm right, but I walk in and say, "We’re doing it this way because I said so, and because I know what’s best." If I say, "We’re doing this right now," I need people to agree or stay silent. My subordinates must drop everything and do it, otherwise I get nervous. My orders can be disputed later, but first, you have to agree or state why not.

Independence

I'm always ready to help people when I feel my help is needed. I can carry an old lady's bag—easily. But I can't ask for help myself; I feel ashamed.

I can do everything myself! I can't ask friends to do something for me. I can ask for someone else, but not for myself.

In relationships, it can be hard for me. Some things are easier for me to write than to say. Like, it's easier to text my sister, "I love you." It's easier for me to build relationships through text messages.

Authenticity

To me, people are generally good in life, and it takes a real act of betrayal for me to turn my back on someone. I dislike insincerity, when people flatter me. I can sense insincerity.

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina