Personal Narrative: My Stepmother Archetype

My journey began when my mother gave birth to me in the final year of the 90's. She and everyone around us raised me as the archetypal image of a perfect child. I was quiet, kind, and like many of my peers, my outstanding intelligence of that time set high standards that I struggle to reach to today. In the early years of my life, nothing too impacting on myself happened that is not too personal to record. My mother and I would move often, but until the first time I had transferred schools because of it, it did not affect me.

When I was eight years old, my mother met the man who would one day become my brother's father. It was not long after that we moved into his home. I could not have been more upset. Being torn away from my old friends, my distant cousins that I finally had gotten close to, and dealing with separation anxiety, I took most of my anger out on my mother's new boyfriend. He was not perfect, but looking back and knowing that he was mean to me is probably not enough to deserve the label of a modern male version of an evil stepmother archetype. Now, years after my mother became pregnant and left him, the frustration I had with him as a child has disappeared.

By now, I have lived in more houses than the number of my age and each represents a new part of my life with every new neighbor, housemate, and street. With the constant change in my life, I neglected to notice some of the awful things around me until I was a teenager. Secrets and betrayal ran among addiction and depression throughout the majority of my family. Almost every member could represent a different self-destructive archetype. Thankfully, little of this managed to harm me growing up so I was only subjected to desolation brought on by