CW: Childhood Trauma, Narcissistic Abuse
When I was little, I couldn't read or write until I was 10. The only thing I could write coherently was my birthday.
This was because of a maid, who my parents hired as young parents, embroidering my name and birthday to my baby blanket.
Nichole Price 🇵🇸🌺
34.5K posts
null | she/they | non-professional standpoint epistemologist
00:00Bisan also confirmed on tiktok live that there are & have been US soldiers fighting & killing Palestinians in Gaza. Again, they’ve been saying this for months. It shouldn’t have taken a (2nd) self immolation for people to finally wake up & realize how active the US is in this.Readers added contextThere are no US soldiers fighting in the Gaza Strip. Fact checkers from AFP, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, BBC Verify, and Snopes have shown most footage claiming to be US troops in Gaza to have been repurposed & manipulated. factcheck.afp.com/doc.afp.com.34…- Replying to @nichole_nullMy mother did not like the blanket. She did not like how it comforted me. She did not like the fact that it was from a gift from a worker she hired. She did not like the fact that her wage slave cared more about their child than her.
- Replying to @nichole_nullI didn't leave that blanket anywhere.
- I need people to understand that this isn't a fringe stance or analysis.FOLKS— The United States is the pinnacle of the white supremacist colonial project. The genocide of Indigenous Americans, US segregation laws & American fascism all influenced the Nazis. Hurt feelings, denialism & a wikipedia link in community notes don’t alter this truth.
- Replying to @nichole_nullMy mother's repression of others is what soothed her. I do not know the name of this maid that had a profound impact on my childhood due to memory loss and severe trauma. She succeeded in severing those early connections, but she failed to ultimately connect with me.
- Replying to @nichole_nullWhen my family did a big move from Commerce, TX to the mid-cities of DFW, my mother did a lot to reshape my understanding of the world. She took away what soothed me. Although she complained how she raised me, she continued to repress me throughout my time living with her.
- Replying to @nichole_nullI felt seen by this *object* given by the unknown. This gifted baby blanket saved me. This feeling was heavily reinforced because both my mother and father forgot my birthday when I was little.
- Replying to @nichole_nullI reasoned from an early age that if my parents decided to have us on a Catholic terms (we were all planned), then they should have enough energy for all of us. Forgetting my birthday became a performance of their values. I was persistent in the recognition of myself.
- Replying to @nichole_nullI had to remind her that my birthday was three days after my oldest sibling. I gave memory aids of my birthday by the time I was 7. (No coincidence that this was the time I started to learn easy division)
- Replying to @nichole_nullMy mother tore my blanket to shreds when I "came of age." She said "You did this, like the rat you are". She kept the scraps of my blanket in her nightstand for the next decade. I never thought I did that once.
- Replying to @nichole_nullAnyways, you don't think my autism has any effect on the ramifications of these experiences? /s
- Replying to @nichole_null"What's in a name?" ffs I think more about my name because of my baby blanket than my parents or my family.







