Chapter One: The early years

I was born Natalie Marie-Rose Whitson, on September 12th 1985, in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. I was named after Natalie Wood, my mothers' favorite actress. I had two older half-sisters, each from my parents' previous marriages. Their names were Tammy and Candace, and they were 14 and 13 at the time of my birth. A year later in 1986 my sister Ameris (who has transitioned and is now my brother) was born, and in 1989 my brother Justin was born. 

Around the time of my birth, my family was immersed in a very comfortable financial situation, though it wouldn't stay that way. Back then, my dad was a successfully practicing lawyer. We lived in a gorgeous, large Tudor style house in an upscale area of Victoria called Oak Bay. My mother was more than pleased to be in a very different position than she had been growing up. My dad, who is originally from Pincher Creek Alberta, was introduced to my mother while he was working in a law firm out east in Canada's capital, Ottawa. My mother was a beautiful, young, petite brunette. A French Canadian Metis woman who was an Ottawa native and the secretary of his colleague. She already had a five year old daughter, Tammy. My dad was smitten with my mom, who was very charming although ten years his junior. Soon after dating they married in 1976 and my dad adopted Tammy. At first, my dad knew very little about my mothers' underlying problems and dark past. 

My parents decided to move out west to Vancouver Island British Columbia soon after they were married. My dad had a job offer.  Furthermore, the weather is much milder and the scenery is beautiful here on the west coast, so my parents though it'd be a good place to raise a family. Tammy was put into an all-girls private school. Around 1980, my dad's daughter from a previous marriage, Candace, came to live with my parents as well. My parents lived a nice comfortable life in the years before we were born and in the earlier years after. They not only owned a nice home but got to travel internationally, dress well, attend fancy restaurants and have lavish parties and get togethers with their circle of professional and well established friends. 

Even in those early days, my mom began to show signs of being difficult. My dad was making good money and my mother became very demanding of material things. She had been denied of that growing up in complete poverty, and it was like she could never get enough. She began to buy and store food excessively and behave as though there was going to be a famine, and she began to gain weight due to compulsive eating. She would have mood swings and a lot of difficulty keeping up with housework, so my dad hired a housekeeper to help. Chores were also assigned to my sisters. My mom was especially hard on Candace, my dad's daughter. She would criticize her and pressure her into a lot of chores and childcare duties for my sister and I. Coincidentally, my dad did not get along well with Tammy, but ironically Candace and Tammy got along well with each other. 

I was born a macrosomic baby. Macrosomic is the term for an overly large baby and any baby over eight pounds is considered macrosomic. I was nearly ten pounds. A common cause of fetal macrosomia is uncontrolled gestational diabetes. My mother did have gestational diabetes, but was only diagnosed as diabetic at the very end of her pregnancy, so it was not managed well. I'm pretty sure that this is the source of my blood sugar problems today. When I came out my dad was alarmed to see that I was blue because the umbilical chord was wrapped around my neck, but it was quickly unraveled, my face developed color and I began to cry. 

I was a quiet, docile baby. I hadn't even moved much in the womb leading my parents to wonder if I was ok. I continued to be fairly quiet as a young infant, apparently not even crying much when I had a fever. As a baby and toddler I was very smart, observant and inquisitive. I spoke early. However, my motor development was a little delayed; I was late to walk and didn't walk until I was about a year and a half. I loved music and the reason why I decided to finally take my first steps is because I wanted to touch a piano at my aunt and uncle's house. 

At age two I could recognize letters and short words. I watched video footage of myself on my second birthday identifying letters and short words like 'man' and 'in.' By age three I could read many of the words in books. I loved books. I especially liked to point out and name all the objects seen in the book's pictures, and I would name as many as possible. Apparently, I could go into a humorous amount of detail on each page. I also had long periods of reticent quietness where I seemed to be in my own world. My speech was often related to directly copying what others said. I was coy and I remember people seeming strange to me; they sometimes intimidated and even scared me when they'd express bigger emotions.. but they fascinated me too. I am told that I did a lot of staring. I watched and listened to what people were doing and saying intently so that I would be able to copy them, to try and communicate my needs. 

Any other little one would do this, but I did it with a peculiar intensity and I parroted people's speech. I sounded oddly formal, by directly copying phrases I'd heard from adults and applying them in the correct context with slightly odd intonations in my voice tone. In the mornings I would go to my sisters' crib and say things like "Good morning Ameris, how are you?" I precociously asked for food by saying things like "I would like to eat, please." The pronounciations didn't always come out so clearly, but these are the kinds of things I would say instead of just "eat" or "num num." I went straight to copying phrases. My parents' friends were charmed by this precocity and would say things like "oh my goodness, she is so smart!" 

My parents' and sisters' friends would gush over me. I was a cute, cherubic tot with fair, soft and doll-like skin, bright hazel eyes, apple cheeks and light golden auburn hair that wisped and curled at the ends. Sometimes they'd call me a Gerber baby, or Baby Boom Baby, because I looked a lot like baby Elizabeth from Baby Boom, a popular movie at the time. People's attentiveness to me had me feeling overwhelmed and bashful at times. I could tell that by watching my expressions in the video footage - but I tried hard to please them with coy smiles and blowing kisses as I was taught to do by my sisters.

Our house would often become busy with my sisters and their activities, my sisters' friends, my parents' friends, get togethers and parties, and so forth. I'd seem to become just too overwhelmed by it all. I'd shut down, and tune everyone out as if I couldn't hear them. I would go once again go into my own world, sitting quietly, arranging my toys. I would no longer look at or answer people talking to me. At those points, it was rightfully assumed that I was 'just tired' and I was often put to bed in my crib or in my room in the playpen. I would also hum to myself a lot, especially tunes that I would hear from the 'Oldies' 900' radio station that my parents liked to play. My dad would be in wonder at how I'd remember all the tunes. At times I would wring my hands, especially to show that I'd had enough. 

As a toddler I spent a lot of time arranging my stuffed animals and dolls in decorative configurations instead of playing with them, though I would sometimes bend over and kiss them. However by preschool age I would play house with my sister. I tended to have a hard time with direct and sustained eye contact, often glancing at a person only briefly and then looking away. My parents thought this was just general bashfulness on my part. I would later learn, from a neuropsychologist who watched my childhood video footage, that my abilities with words and language, contrasted by some odd social and sensory behaviors, were to do with subtly-presenting autism and having an autistic trait called 'Hyperlexia' which produces precocity with language. Autism is often much more subtle in girls, as it was in me.

What many people don't understand is that autism doesn't necessarily equate with being antisocial. I remember genuinely liking people, though they also seemed strange to me and they could be overwhelming. It's hard to explain. It's like they seemed foreign and I felt a little bit like a 'friendly alien.' I didn't quite understand where they were coming from, but I was interested in them and tried to imitate them to understand them better, and to effectively communicate and get my needs met. Movies and TV also helped. I also remember thinking that I spoke more than I actually did, but when I watched my childhood video footage I realized that I didn't say as much as I thought I was saying. I would often hesitate before coming out with a sentence.  I remember sometimes feeling frustrated - wanting to communicate more but not knowing how to go about it. 

I remember being especially fascinated with the non-human world around me and taking in every aspect of things, especially nature. Large or busy groups of people and city environments overwhelmed me, but I loved being out in nature. I remember feeling like mountains were alive and that they had personas and spirits. My earliest 'crush', very strangely, was on a mountain called 'Mount Douglas.' I would take wonder in the fact that I was alive, I'd often look down at my hands and my body, or at my reflection in the window and trip out thinking 'wow, I'm actually here.' It was almost like an out of body, but while in the body kind of experience. I loved it when my dad would take my sister and I on hikes. I loved to gently touch the flowers and plants, but I usually left them alone and would only pick them once and awhile if it was for something special. My dad would tell us about the different flowers and plants - and sometimes we'd play games to name them. I loved to turn over the rocks and see what was underneath. I loved putting my hands in a running stream. When I was at preschool age, I would apparently get sad and even cry a little when we were out hiking and would come across sawed off tree stumps. My dad would try to console me.

When my sister and I were three and four, we began attending an arts and crafts themed preschool and I really enjoyed it. I called it 'Craft Class' and we attended three times a week. Each time we were there we would start with singing, sometimes accompanied by an instrument, practicing our ABCs', reading a book, and then we'd finish with some kind of craft making. Every session we'd come back with a handmade creation of some kind. The buildup must have gotten annoying for our parents. The craft making was my favorite part because we'd get to create something on our own. Tables were always full of paints and brushes, glues and sparkles, pipe cleaners, paper plates, kid friendly scizzors, and other odds and ends to make something with. Groups and circle time was a little overwhelming for me, though when the music would start it was calming and this helped. I didn't interact much with the other kids and stayed close to my sister.  

My reluctance to play with other kids, coupled with peculiar behaviors like when I would shut down and though I was there seem to 'not hear' anyone speaking to me for prolonged periods, propelled my mother to consult our family doctor. However, the doctor merely said to my mother "She is very bright and advanced with her learning, so perhaps she just doesn't relate to other children because of this. Perhaps she just needs time to process in her own head." It was left at that. The doctor wasn't concerned about my odd behaviors being part of a developmental disorder because I was smart and precocious, and it was not as if I didn't speak or interact with people at all. It's often the case that if a child is bright and still seeming to achieve milestones, albeit in their own unique ways, doctors don't take any maladaptive behaviors too seriously. Yes I was smart, and from an early age I remember being smart enough to know that I was different - that I didn't quite fit in with most others, and that I had to find ways to get around that. So I did. However, it was a lot of pressure and only became more stressful as time went on and I grew older, as my parents and teachers became more expectant of me, and as life became more complicated. It was hard on my already sensitive body.

Though I didn't play with most of the other kids at preschool, I was close with my sister, who was also later diagnosed on the autistic spectrum. We were only a year apart and were close almost to the point of being twins, especially before elementary school started. We were both strange children, though we were also quite different from each other. Ameris had a hard time with excess energy and was very hyperactive compared to me. I was more likely to shut down and withdraw when overwhelmed, whereas my sister was more likely to act out. She threw some spirited tantrums especially during transitions, while I would be covering my ears because I hated loud noises. We both had some difficulties with sharing which would sometimes lead to irate bickering and occasionally a physical fight. Ameris and I had our own little language with made up words to describe feelings and people, and how they looked and acted. We were trying to understand people. Our parents and sisters would look very puzzled as we'd use our made up words to each other. 

Even though Ameris was younger than me she was much stronger than me physically, so she would carefully lift me up off the ground for fun. I suffered with getting easily fatigued and lacking in stamina compared to other kids, and I was cautious about getting hurt. Around preschool age, we also used to play house using my dolls and teddy bears as 'sons and daughters' -  Ameris always wanted to be the husband. Ameris would regularly express feeling more like a boy than a girl, and say that one day she would like to become a boy. I remember one funny time Ameris and I got a pair of baby dolls for Christmas which we named 'Baby Jail' and "Baby Government"; The adults said "what? oh stop it - don't be silly, give them people names"  and we giggled thinking we were being defiant and amusing. 

The earlier years before aged five and the start of kindergarten were certainly more pleasant and sheltered compared to my elementary school years. With many others around to support her, my mother was not as heavily involved with my sister and I as one would expect, though she was somewhat involved and 'there.' Caring for us on her own seemed to overwhelm her, so care of my sister and I was often passed off and shared between my sisters, my father when he wasn't working, and my mothers' best friend at the time - a Serbian lady named Saha (pronounced shah-hah)

Saha was often rewarded with fine food, gifts, and sometimes extra funds to stick by my mom and help her around the house fairly often. I remember Saha fondly; She was tall and wiry with long, straight and thin blonde hair, grey blue eyes and her face was somewhat narrow and long, with oily skin than shined and chiseled cheekbones. She had a big smile with big teeth. Though she was a little intimidating looking, she was loving, very warm, and expressive - though sometimes she'd laugh too loud and I'd have to cover my ears. 'Vats' da matter, honey?' she'd say in her accent, and I'd respond 'well Saha your laugh is like a siren so I need to cover my ears' and to that she would only laugh again. Saha also had funny little nicknames for Ameris and I. She would frequently bring us surprises and treats, and we would get very excited every time we knew she was coming. 

Childcare duties were also frequently handed to my teenage sisters, most especially Candace. Tammy was not at home as often, as she was more of a social butterfly and groupie. However, Candace was more quiet and reserved, and often around outside of school. She was sweet looking with a small, slim build, a soft, brown bob like hairstyle, a round button nose, soft hazel blue eyes and rosy cheeks. At that time Tammy was always changing her hairstyle by bleaching, dyeing, streaking, shaving and spiking, but Candace's hair was always the same. Candace would take us to the park and she would often bathe us and read to us before bed. She was very caring and attentive to us, and didn't seem to resent us in spite of being pressured to take care of us more often than she should have been doing. For the time that she was there, I felt very close to Candace. I remember my mother caring for us here and there, but my memories of my sisters, Saha, my dad, and even some of the foreign exchange students that we would periodically host, are stronger. In this we were, earlier on, sheltered from much of my mothers' erratic behavior. 

However, in 1989, the entire family was shaken by the traumatic birth of my brother, Justin. Since my mom had been diabetic in all her pregnancies, her babies grew abnormally large. My brother was more severely macrosomic than my sister and I had been, at nearly 14 pounds. In spite of this the doctor who was delivering him denied my mother of a C section. This resulted in my brother getting stuck for some time, at which point his arm and shoulder was injured, and he was asphyxiated. My brother was very sick in the hospital. He was in a coma for quite some time. However and miraculously, he awoke from his coma, but his arm and shoulder were still damaged and there was no telling of how brain injured he may have been due to the time period of asphyxiation. In spite of this, Justin woke up alert an able to feed, and we was eventually able to come home. At home, he seemed to be functioning very reasonably, almost like a normal baby, except for his shoulder and arm which had been damaged. Only time would tell when it came to the possibility of more subtle brain injuries. My parents then made the decision to file and begin a lawsuit - which would end up being very long and drawn out - against the doctor who delivered my brother. It was due to subtle brain injuries which could affect his learning and life, and the damage to his shoulder and arm.

After Justins' birth and return home my mother was required to spend extra time and care with him beyond what a normal baby would require. She was also advised to breastfeed, something she had not done with my sister or I. My mother was very focused on Justin, became even less available than she had been before, and Ameris and I almost were exclusively in the care of others for awhile. As I was a four year old child and didn't understand the dynamics, I felt hurt, abandoned by my mother, and jealous. Even more childcare than before, and other duties, fell heavily on my sister Candace and we spent a lot of time with her, Saha, and sometimes my dad in the wake of my brothers' birth. My mother did not handle the dynamics too maturely, nearly ignoring Ameris and I while coddling over Justin, often very fearfully. She'd frequently snap at my sister and I to 'be careful, don't touch him!' whenever we would attempt to go over to him, say hello and bond. This only exacerbated my feelings of displacement and abandonment. 

Then, a little under a year after my brother was born, something even more heartbreaking happened. My sister, Candace, left the family home to go live with her boyfriend. Understandably, Candace had grown tired of being treated like a maid, especially with the way my mother was behaving towards her. Candace's childcare duties only increased after my brother was born, due to the situation. She was also trying to hold down a part time job at The Body Shop. Things had reached a boiling point for her. Candace's boyfriend and her close friend, who happened to be her boyfriends' sister, wanted Candace to leave the situation and come stay with them. They strongly encouraged her to do so until one day, she did. This took Ameris and I by complete surprise. Being little kids, we were not aware of the unpleasant situation Candace was in. She never took it out on us personally, and I believe she truly did love us which is perhaps why she hesitated to leave for awhile. However, it just wasn't a good situation for her and when push came to shove she knew that she had to leave. 

The day that my sister Candace left I witnessed it in action. It one of the first major traumas in my life. I remember that I was sitting outside playing in the front yard of the house with Ameris. The house we were in at the time was on a hill and I was standing by a large rock. It was a warm, sunny day and I was in a t shirt and little jeans. I was leaning against the rock just getting some sun when I heard a door slam inside of the house, and my mother yelling something like "Where do you think you are going, huh?" and then there was a quieter response from Candace's voice which I couldn't make out. Then, I noticed a small white car on the side of the road near the driveway. Through the window I could see Candace's boyfriend, the guy who had taught me how to blow bubbles with bubblegum, in the drivers' seat. He was not friendly looking this time. He looked serious and angry, and it scared me. His sister was sitting at the far end of the back and she too looked very stern. They looked like they were waiting for something. 

Then, Candace came out of the front door, looking tense and nervous. She was carrying a backpack and another large duffel bag. She looked like she was trying to pretend not to see my sister and I, but then I shouted to her "Hi Candace! Where are you going?" Candace quickly glanced back at me "Hi - Hi sweetie.." she sort of mumbled, with a guilty and kind of ashamed look on her face. Then she quickly looked away and kept hurrying down the driveway towards the white car. 'Get in, get in' the girl in the back seat insisted to her, while opening the door. Candace quickly got in. I shouted to her again "but - where are you going, Candace?" This time, she didn't answer me, and tried not to look at me. Candace turned her head forward and away from our direction. I remember knowing she was consciously trying to ignore me and feeling hurt. The car started and then drove away. Candace was gone. I felt heartbroken. I sat down and quietly cried there on the edge of the front lawn, leaning against the dried moss laden rock.  

Candace's leaving home was painful enough, but just as painful was my mothers' fury in the wake of it. After Candace left I could feel my mothers' anger through my bones. She proceeded to cut Candace out of all our family pictures. I mean literally, she took scizzors and cut her image out, and then placed the pictures back in the photo albums or frames with these giant holes in them. It was a distressing image to see. I remember feeling bad wondering about my role in why Candace left. I knew deep down it was more to do with my mother, and I felt resentment toward my mother for not only making Candace leave but making her not want to see us anymore. I felt a sense of shame. There were a couple instances where Candace was sighted in the mall where she worked after she'd left. I only caught a glimpse of her before she'd take off. She clearly wanted to avoid us. It hurt. Today, I certainly understand the position Candace was in, but back then I didn't understand it as deeply. However, my mothers' rage towards Candace after she left revealed to me a little about why Candace had left in the first place. I saw more of a side to my mother that I hadn't seen before. Then, it became more directed at me.  

 After Candace was gone, and though Tammy would take me out to the park with her friends sometimes and at first Saha was still around too, I had more direct contact with my mother. She began to notice my reticence in social situations and would get quite irritated by it. "Why can't you look at someone when they're talking to you?" she'd scold "you need to look at and answer people when they're talking to you, if you don't, you are being rude!" As I neared five years old, and because of my mother, I gained the concept of the duty to socially reciprocate. Especially as a female; we are expected to 'nurture.' I was not previously as aware of this, but I now realized the importance of it. I struggled to obey. I was internally anxious, as I would answer and converse with people politely on que. Sometimes I would hesitate and not know what to say, and my mother would look at me like 'well, go on then' so I would force myself to say something. Even just 'okay, thank you' and even if it was slightly out of context. Around the same time as this I began to bite my nails or the skin on my lips, which would chap easily in response to cold or windy weather. 

On top of picking on me for my lack of appropriate social reciprocity, my mother added further pressure, even when she was in a good mood. She would say "I named you after my favorite actress, Natalie Wood, look at how pretty you are! you even look like Natalie Wood what a coincidence! You should be an actress when you grow up. You would make a beautiful actress, don't you think?" "Yes, I guess I could!" I would respond with innocent enthusiasm. My mother glamourized the idea that I could be an actress. She paid attention to my looks and I started responding by brushing my hair in the mirror and putting little barettes in it to 'look pretty.' Before then I'd hated getting my hair brushed. I was then enrolled in some drama classes for kids. Admittedly, the acting classes helped me learn more about people, and conversation, and thus gain social skills. For that I am thankful. 

Due to my mothers' influence, I became quite fascinated in acting, the theatre, and the idea of being an actress. My mother had given me a picture book of my namesake Natalie Wood for my fourth birthday. Coincidentally, Natalie Wood and I did bear some resemblance, so I would look at her pictures and feel like it was another version of me. It was a little bit confusing for my identity, but somewhere in this came the idea of being an actress. I also loved music, and would fantasize about being a big, glamourous music artist. I would gaudily dress up in my moms' or sisters' dress up clothes and use a hairbrush for a microphone while awkwardly lip synching to Madonna songs and other pop hits by female artists at the time. I would sometimes even make up my own little tunes. I was artistic and creative, and looking for ways to express myself. However, I was also quite shy and self conscious, and even though I wanted to perform I also feared it. The ideas I got in my head about being a big actress and music artist were initially more of a fantasy than anything else. Internally, I felt kind of like an awkward wallflower. I began to notice I was a bit different, perhaps weird, and I was looking to create another more impressive outer persona, I think.

What complicated my sense of self and development is that when my mother was in a bad mood, she would put me down. Yes, she would say nice things to me when she was being pleasant, like I was pretty, sweet, smart, artistic, and could be a lovely actress or singer, but when she was down she would put me down too. She would tell me I was not pleasant to be around because I was not socially pleasing enough and therefore was rude, and she would tell me that I was 'selfish - just like your father' because I needed my own space and would go into my own world. This would cause me to wonder if I was a bad person. She was also very overly protective of my brother, and she seemed to be a lot easier on him. This would make me feel jealous and angry. I would then pick on my brother which only got me into further trouble. 

My mother began to do a lot of comparing between us siblings like "look at your sister, she's being so good but you - you're being very awful and naughty!" One day someone was the good one, and the other was the bad one, and it'd change depending on the day. This began to cause a fair bit of competition and conflict between us siblings, especially between our brother. I had a lot of jealousy issues with my brother which were sometimes hard to control because I was only four or five years old myself. When I would lose my temper with him, boy would I get it. My mother would come after me in a rage, and I would try to run away from her, but if she caught me she would hit me back, and hard. With Candace not being around and Tammy usually being busy, we were more at the mercy of our mothers' 'parenting.' While she could at times be a good, and even fun mom, there were a lot of double edged swords to contend with. 

For about a year or so after Candace left, Saha was still around a fair bit. However, with my mother becoming increasingly difficult especially after Candace left, Saha began to tire of her toxic and demanding behavior. Saha had been a very dutiful friend to my mother and close aunt figure especially to my sister and I, but she was beginning to burn out in that role. She met a man named Bob and started dating him. I remember him well because he looked like the character Bob from Sesame Street, but he was not warm and friendly like the Sesame Street Bob, he was stern faced. The reason for that is because he disapproved of Saha's frequent favors to my mother. I called him the 'Bad Bob' because from my perspective, he was taking Saha away from us. My mother, of course, strongly disliked the man. When I reflect on the situation now I can say that I don't blame him, and that he was right. My mother was indeed using Saha. 

Saha needed a break, and to move on with her own life. Bob helped her do that, and that was what was best for her though it was hard on Ameris and I. As time went on, Saha came around less and less often. We had felt safer and more secure around my sisters and Saha then we did my mother, and we felt better around my dad though he was busy with work often. It was like my mother knew that, which is why she had pushed her childcare duties onto other sources while they were available. However, with people burning out from being around her, she was left with no choice but to manage her children. She would have to do that in addition to managing mental health issues that she refused to consciously acknowledge. Ameris and I had been given a relatively pleasant, loving and mostly carefree first few years of our lives thanks to our sisters, Saha, my dad when he wasn't working, and even my mom when she was in her 'better' states - but by the time I was about to begin kindergarten we came to be almost exclusively in our mothers' care. As for where my dad was, I would later learn that not only was he busy with work but he used work as an excuse to avoid my mother.

My mother had come from a very poor and difficult background. She was the fourth of nine children. They were Francophone and Metis; they spoke French in the home and her mother was part Mohawk. Her biological father was a sweet, gentle and sensitive man - but he had a drinking problem. He was violently kicked out by her mother due to his depression and drinking when my mom was eight years old. She apparently witnessed the upsetting event which involved a lot of harsh name calling and yelling. She had been very close with her father and his leaving under those circumstances hurt her deeply. She wouldn't see him again for many years. After that her mother remarried another man and had five more boys. My mothers' stepfather was abusive and hard on his step children especially. He also had an inappropriately wandering eye for his two step daughters; my mother and my aunt Annette. My mother has always refused to speak of any details over what he did, but her sister once indicated that he had definitely crossed the line with his step daughters. My nannie (grandma) was a tough woman with a fierce temper that she would lose frequently at which point she would physically discipline her kids harshly. She would also frequently withhold food as punishment, and they also didn't have much food as it was. This must have lead to my moms' food trauma. Sometime when my mom was a preteen she ended up in foster care due to factors of neglect and abuse, though the foster families weren't great either. From there she worked her way into graduating high school. 

My mother grew into a beautiful young woman who looked like Catherine Zeta-Jones. At 17 she fell in love with a charming German man who swept her off her feet, but then when she fell pregnant, he quickly fled back to Germany breaking her heart. In spite of that she was able to have her baby and complete a Secretarial course. She had a talent for typing very quickly, and also for being charming. Her mom, who had calmed down a lot by that point, would help watch the baby for her as she participated in the course. Once my mom completed the course, she used her new credentials coupled with her charm and physical beauty as an in to getting a good job. She had it made once she and her then 5 year old little girl met my dad, a dashing young and successful lawyer, and moved out west. My mother worked her way up and out of a bad situation, but never did anything to deal with her trauma, so it always came back to haunt her - and the family at her mercy. 

I do love my mother so it's hard for me to have to write about her like this, she was not an entirely bad person. However, I feel I need to disclose the truth about my upbringing. My mom could be very loving and caring at times - but she was also overbearing and giving for some kind of self gratification, at least in part. She was conflicted. She had various unhealthy behavior patterns. She lived in her own world and had her own world view of things, and believed it. She could be quite controlling and rejection-sensitive, and if she perceived that you had crossed her in any way you would have to endure her 'wrath.' It was very difficult, traumatic and confusing growing up being raised by her. I know for a fact that this is what caused a lot of my mental health and even developmental problems. Though I am on the autistic spectrum and that caused a lot of problems in itself, being raised by my mother really complicated that. I think I was perhaps even more vulnerable to narcissistic and abusive parenting than I otherwise would have been, due to being on the spectrum. I was very impressionable. Then, I was misunderstood so badly in part because my mother had been a main social role model, and she wasn't a good one. 

By the time I was entering kindergarten, we had moved into a four bedroom rental home in a neighborhood called Gordon Head, which was adjacent to my favorite Mount Douglas and the Mount Douglas forest and park. My parents' financial situation was still alright, but it had dwindled since the earlier days of owning their big, beautiful house in Oak Bay. With three young children to care for, coupled with my mothers' spending habits, the financial situation was growing tighter. Candace was gone and Saha was barely coming around anymore, so when my dad was at work it was mostly us kids with my mom. Tammy was busy with her own life changes, she was pregnant by her longtime boyfriend James aka 'Ski'. She gave birth to Shayla in 1990, and I was very excited to become an auntie to a baby girl. I really bonded with baby Shayla and loved to play with her and make her laugh. However, some months after Shayla was born Tammy and Ski moved to Vancouver. I was quite close with Tammy and now baby Shayla, so I was very sad to see them go. "Do you have to go to Vancouver? Why can't you just live here?" I would whine to Tammy, "I'm sorry sweetheart, we have to go - but we will visit" she'd solemnly respond. We would visit periodically over the years but now, our house was empty of any extra adult occupants and nobody really came around anymore. My parents did not hold their once renowned social gatherings nearly as often. I felt that sense of isolation, like we - as a family - were different and set apart. It was just us,  The 'Weird Whitsons', against the world.