What she went through was nothing compared to what she did to me. But who is keeping the score? This question gets to the heart of what I’ve come to call “the uneven ledger” the biased way we account for our relationships. People tend to forget what they do to others, but they never forget what’s done to them. It’s a simple statement, yet it speaks to a profound and often painful truth about human relationships.This concept feels especially true when the person who hurt you is a parent. My mother, who subjected me to significant emotional and physical abuse, now lives in a world where those actions seem to have faded from her memory. When I try to address the past, I am met with denial or minimization. It’s as if those events exist solely on my side of the ledger, while hers remains blank.Yet, she expects me, and others, to remember every hardship she has faced. Her narrative focuses intently on her own struggles, her sacrifices, and the pain she has endured throughout her life. She wants her ledger to be acknowledged, validated, and remembered. This creates a devastating imbalance. It’s not that her experiences don’t matter, but the implication is clear: her pain takes precedence, while mine is dismissed or forgotten. It begs the question: whose pain truly counts in this equation?

The Score I Keep

This is where the weight of the “uneven ledger” becomes unbearable. For me, the score is not a matter of petty disagreements or hurt feelings. It’s a record of a specific, life-altering moment. At the age of 12, I was beaten by my mother to the point of almost death because of a false accusation that I had lost my virginity. That act led to me being put into a foster home, and ultimately, to a life of homelessness on the streets. My ledger isn’t just a tally of negative events; it’s a measure of the emotional and physical trauma that I carry. It’s the record of an act that took my childhood from me and forced me to become a survivor on my own at far too young an age.While she never openly shared her story, I knew her struggles from a distance, a drug addict with a series of multiple boyfriends. Her life was chaotic, and her choices created an environment that was unstable and dangerous. It’s a truth I had to come to understand on my own: her actions were rooted in her own pain and choices, but their consequences became a part of my story. Perhaps she genuinely doesn’t remember the extent of her behavior. Perhaps it’s a form of self-preservation. But the impact remains. In the absence of acknowledgment, the burden of keeping the score falls squarely on my shoulders. This blog is a part of that score-keeping. It’s a way of validating my own experiences when the person who should be doing so refuses. It’s a way of saying, “This happened. This is real. “Ultimately, the goal isn’t to engage in a painful competition of whose suffering was greater. It’s about acknowledging the truth of what occurred and finding a way to move forward, even when the ledger remains stubbornly uneven. It’s about recognizing that the score I keep is valid, and it matters.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9 “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”