Like the rest of the world, I have watched, listened and mused over tale of Harry and Meghan dealing with the life with the Monarchy. Everyone has an opinion of what really happened or didn't.
I empathize with Harry. My life echoes his in many ways. I was the second child. My parents were not happy. I can't remember a single moment of tenderness between them. My father wasn't a family type of man. His life was all about him. My mother worked to support my brother and I. Otherwise we would not have a home or anything.
My brother was nine years older. It was like being an only child. We had nothing in common. He seemed to feel he was superior and chose to treat me as less. My mother didn't seem to see it or was just too tired to deal with it.
My brother barely graduated. My mother paid for college for him. He quit after two weeks. My father was always jealous of my brother. He gave my brother an ultimatum, school or military. He chose to go into the Navy.
This was a turning point. My mother didn't drive. My father couldn't be bothered taking us to work or school. So my mother decided I needed to get my driver's license. I was fourteen. A young fourteen who wasn't allowed to ride my bike more than two blocks from our house. That was the moment I became the caretaker of the family. My childhood was over. It was my duty to be whatever my mother, father and grandmother needed. I was at their beck and call at anytime.
I got a job as soon as I was old enough. I paid for my college. Those were the only times I did anything for my self. I didn't date much. A friend of my brother had been in the military and returned to our hometown. I had known him all my life. He was eight years older. He visited my mother and asked her if he could take me out. She was delighted. We did date. He was looking for a wife. I was only sixteen and overwhelmed. That ended as soon as my brother came back. No way was he going to allow that.
I did get married at nineteen. I married a man who was six years older and who had two children. I married one day and became a stepmother full time the next day. My husband turned out to be much like my father. He lived his life and I ended up adding three more to my caretaking. I worked a job, but had to be available to family to do whatever they needed.
Whenever my brother and his family visited, my mother required me to get her house ready for their visit. Cleaning, mowing whatever. If my family was staying at her house, we had to sleep on the floor or pull out couch. We were not to say or do anything to upset my brother or his family. My brother wasn't to do anything, but just enjoy the visit.
Over the years, anytime I said anything that might upset my brother, my mother accused me of being jealous. When my stepson was ten, he asked me why my mother treated my brother so much better. I broke down crying. I had accepted what I had always been told. It was me being wrong. That it was me being petty. A child knew I was being treated as less.
So I can empathize with Harry. You grow up being told how to be. If you decide to put yourself first for once, others may not respond well. Sometimes you have to do what is best for yourself and refuse to allow yourself to be mistreated.
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