Call for stories: childhood

childhoodIf you haven’t already heard, I am attempting to write a book on love addiction. And so, I am currently reaching out to fellow love addicts (in recovery or not) and asking for their “childhood story.” It doesn’t have to be very long, in fact, the shorter the better (under 1000 words, please), and I am not looking for worst case scenarios either. I am looking for TRUE tales of childhood. So, whether you were abused and ignored as a child, or loved and well cared for, I would like to hear from you. I will be selecting about three of these stories for my book and you would have to agree to having your story published, of course. But I will only publish first name, last initial, and you are free to give me an alias in order to remain anonymous.

A few more tips:

  • 1000 words or less
  • Please do not include any full names, locations, addresses, or information. If you do, I will most likely omit them.
  • Don’t be afraid to describe your caretakers, as well as your siblings, their jobs, behaviors, care-taking abilities, addictions, positives and negatives, etc.
  •  Tell me how you “felt” most of the time as a child. For example, were you afraid, happy, confused, spoiled, alone?
  • Be as descriptive as possible, but know that I am not looking for in depth details of actual abuse.
  • Finally, be as honest as possible. Your story, dramatic or mundane, might help someone someday.

You can post your story right here in a comment if you’d like to share with others (recommended),  or you can send it to

The deadline is April 1, 2015. THANKS SO MUCH!!!

3 thoughts on “Call for stories: childhood

  1. Hi, I’m a love, drug, and relationship addict. I’m also healing from the effects of childhood, emotional, verbal, physical and sexual abuse. My parents were divorced by the time I was 1 , and I was an only child. My dad was an alcoholic, my mom a narcissist. I never felt a bond with my mom and felt that she never really liked me. If I didn’t act the way she thought I should, I would get the silent treatment, and she could go for weeks completely ignoring my existence. When I was 5, that I started spending every other weekend at my dad’s where he lived with my step mom and her 2 kids. My step mom verbally abused me as she frequently raged at all 3 of us and she physically abused her own. It was a very chaotic household and continued to get worse until my dad died when I was 23. At my mom’s, life was different, she re married when I was 11 and had my baby sister when I was 13. before then it was just her and I, a very silent and cold place to be. I fell in love with my sister the moment I laid eyes on her. At 13, I was already sneaking out of the house, smoking cigarrettes and marijuana, and refused to do anything my mom said to do.My sister’s birth and my relationship with her kept me from really going off the deep end. I felt lonely, worthless, ugly, and unwanted. I was fearful most of the time as living with either parent was never predictable. A family member began to sexually abuse me at age 10, and my self esteem plummeted. I bounced from house to house until my dad finally drew the line and made me stay with him until I was 18. I did listen to him and felt he hung the moon. Though, I always felt second to him and wanted to be first. I was fighting with alcohol to get his attention. I felt I deerved it as I was his only child. This began my love and relationship addiction, which was the foundation for all of the others. There’s a hunger for love inside of me that never really goes away. My addiction has taken me to places I never thought I would go, do things I never imagined I would do, and am working on forgiving myself for the things I did for love. My dad died when I was 23, my baby sister when I was 34. I am a single parent and have been married and divorced twice. I ended up extremely depressed, homeless, addicted to drugs and the men that did them. I had been beaten, broken, and almost gave up. I’m now 3 years and 38 days in recovery and my love and relationship addiction is the hardest one. I’m aware that IT is what I’ve been feeding for many years. I’m just beginning to understand it and this site has helped me a lot. I have struggled with panjic attacks since I was 10, today they aren’t as debilitating. I was so unaware of the coping mechanims I naturally did as a child to protect myself. They had become serious issues as an adult.


    1. This is an amazing story, and very well written. I’m so glad to hear that you’ve been in recovery for 3 years and 38 days though. It shows me that there is something inside you (perhaps the spirit of your baby sister?) that is determined to recognize your value and your worth. The love addiction part is just a matter of time before you have it under control. 🙂 Thanks for sharing.


  2. I have never heard my father say to me, “I love you.” I am almost 39 years old. He has never told me I am beautiful. I got my first hug from him when I was 21 years old. And so I’ve used men since I was 14 to mend that wound and predictably, it hasn’t worked. In fact, it’s been an unfettered disaster.

    I grew up in a somewhat urban area, in a small, modest house with my parents and my older brother. My father was what they call today a “rage-aholic” – he only drank one gin and tonic each night and he’s probably never touched an illegal drug in his life, but his anger was as unpredictable and as violent as that of an alcoholic’s. And he hit. Boy, did he hit hard. Infractions included: breaking my first watch because I got it wet, losing a piece to a new puzzle, and spilling my milk. My brother got it worse but we both got it good.

    My mother stood by, unsure what to do, begging him to stop, but mired in codependency, as her own father had been imprisoned when she was a teenager, and my father was much older than she was. Her self-esteem was poor and she knew she had no place to go without my father. Or rather, that was the lie she believed.

    And so I craved love, stability, and validation. By the time I hit my teenage years I was ripe to start abusing alcohol and to begin using relationships and sex to feel “okay.” But I never felt okay. I was anxious and paranoid and full of the self-loathing and shame that is imposed upon a child who is abused. That legacy followed me well into my thirties, until I hit a bottom and had no choice but to heal.


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