People have a bad habit of calling men and women in my position (having moved out of their fundie parents’ and started talking about their experiences) “bitter”. Because, you know, talking about your life is NOT what you do in therapy, either, but somehow you’re not bitter there. Whatever.
If you want bitter, I’ll give you bitter. I’m bitter and hurt and upset that the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally, had conditions on their “love”. I’m upset that I can’t see any of my siblings’ birthdays and they are growing up without me. I’m bitter that thanks to my asshole dad, it’s now not a big thing in my family to just cut off parts of the family tree…and that not only did he cut me off, but his brother and family did too (because I was right in leaving my dad’s version of Christianity, but it was bad bad bad if I left THEIR version of Christianity).
I’m bitter, hurt, and upset that my paternal grandparents (who haven’t exactly cut me off but just don’t talk to me or have much to do with me) are moving in with my family, guaranteeing I’ll never see them again. I think cynically about how they just picked the family with the most grandkids (instead of my brother or I, me having one great-grandkid and him having two).
I’m angry that my dad splintered the family because of his goddamn pride and fucked-up beliefs, all the while claiming family is the most important thing.
Who cares if I’m bitter? I think I have the right to be angry. Do I let it rule my life? Of course not, that’s just stupid. But I think I’ve definitely earned the right to be bitter sometimes. Anyone who endured years of abuse, told they were the problem, and then left and is being told they are just “bitter” has definitely earned the right to be bitter sometimes.