What childhood “achievement” are you now ashamed of?
The Quiet Points System and the Collapse
My mother locked me in a soundproof closet and poisoned me into silence, then blamed what she did on mental health. I exposed her, got her convicted, and moved on. She just reached out after five years.
Growing up, my mom had misophonia. For those who don’t know, it’s where you genuinely just cannot stand any loud sounds. And in my mom’s case, they made her sewers lidle.
My first memory is when I was six years old and my mom stuffed a dirty dish towel in my mouth because, in her defense, I was crying my eyes out after a simple fall. If I ever snored too loudly, she would play a very loud sound horn in my room until I woke up. This was to negatively reinforce my bad behavior so that I would have an easier time not doing it. So, I ought to thank her.
On my ninth birthday, she got me a gift. It was a homemade report card with rows that were completely empty.
She called it the quiet points system. Suddenly, everything clicked because for the weeks leading up to this moment, she had labeled all the food in the kitchen with a sticky note that had a number on it.
Bread was two points, while all the meat was at least ten points or higher. You earned points through being quiet, and the times I found it hardest were the ones that earned more. For example, being quiet while I showered was only three points, while not snoring was given eight. She could never take points away for no reason, but I would have to spend it on food, meaning I’d always have to do something to earn it.
At the time, I was just a nine-year-old with big brown eyes filled with light and a heart that loved her mommy. So, I just shrugged and wrapped my arms around her, not saying a word so as to not trigger her misophonia. Plus, I was used to being quiet anyway, so I didn’t think this would change anything.
The next morning, when I woke up, I followed my usual routine. Slowly drew back the curtains, waited until I arrived at the school bathrooms to get changed out of my pajamas, all whilst having an overly grimaced face. All in the name of keeping the house quiet.
Apparently this pleased my mom a lot because when I got home from school, she handed me the report card she had gotten me for my birthday. In big bold lettering, it said 30 points, followed by multiple smiley faces and hearts.
Before I could say anything, she opened the fridge and showed me the selection I had to pick from for dinner. I could pretty much afford everything except my favorite ice cream. So, I chose my favorite steak and we enjoyed it together like any other healthy family.
She made the steak extremely overcooked, so I couldn’t swallow it without chewing super hard. As a misophonic person, mouth sounds are deadly to my mother. I tried to chew extremely slowly, producing as much saliva as possible to help break down the meat. After five minutes of painfully slow chewing one piece, I couldn’t take it anymore. I discreetly spit it out into a tissue, deciding I would eat nothing that day.
But she still wasn’t happy.
” What the f are you doing? ”
My mom yelled.
” A cow died for you today,”. ” The least you can do is eat it all,”. ” Put it back in your mouth now.”
My tiny fingers immediately unraveled the white tissue and shoved it back into my mouth. On the way in, I had my mouth open and my tongue smacked against the roof of my mouth. I immediately went completely still, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but I was too late.
The room was silent as she banged both her fists against the flowery tablecloth.
” You disgraceful beach! ” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
She grabbed the report card back from me and burned it on the stove.
” You think I can’t make you suffer the same way you make me suffer? ” ” Think again.”
I was already in a lot of fear, but that’s when she grabbed my hands and shoved them towards the stove.
” The burning pain you feel is only 20% of how I feel when you make noise,”. ” Remember that.”
Luckily, she never actually put my hand in the fire, and I didn’t burst into tears. Heck, it didn’t even make me cry. Not because I didn’t feel upset; I did. And not because I didn’t want to; I absolutely did. But because I didn’t want my mom to punish me for making noise while crying.
So, I quietly tiptoed to bed and ended up having oxygen for dinner and breakfast and lunch and dinner again. You see, that one moment had made me go into the minus zone on my meal points. So, I had nothing to buy my meals with.
But my mom was a good person. She wasn’t like other abusive parents that keep you healthy enough so as to not raise alarm bells. So, after three days of pure starvation, I fainted in school.
It was only for 20 seconds. But everyone was really worried, especially since the first thing I said when I woke up was,
” I’m sorry,”. ” I didn’t mean to fall so loudly,”. ” Please don’t starve me anymore.”
The guidance counselor pulled me into her room and handed me a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar, a banana, and a Kind bar. I chewed them so quickly I was gagging. When I was done, I looked back up at her and her eyes were filled with tears while her face went ghost white.
She didn’t even ask or say anything, just told me they were calling CPS. The guidance counselor’s hands shook as she reached for her phone. She kept glancing at me between pressing buttons like she was checking I wouldn’t disappear.
” Yes, this is Mrs. Henderson at Oakwood Elementary,”. ” I need to report a case of suspected child abuse and neglect.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She gave them our address, my name, my mother’s name. Each detail felt like another nail in a coffin I couldn’t identify yet.
While she talked, I sat completely still. My body had learned that stillness meant safety. That movement created sound, and sound created pain.
Even with my stomach finally full, the habit remained. I counted my breath silently, making sure each inhale and exhale made no noise. Mrs. Henderson hung up and turned back to me.
” Sweetie, some people are going to come talk to you,”. ” They just want to make sure you’re safe.”
She pulled her chair closer and the scraping sound made me flinch.
” Can you tell me more about what’s been happening at home? ”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The words felt too loud before I even spoke them. But Mrs. Henderson waited, her face patient and kind in a way that made my chest hurt.
” My mom has misophonia,” I whispered so quietly she had to lean forward. ” Sounds make her want to to hurt herself, so I have to be quiet.” ” And the food tell me about not being able to eat.”
I explained the point system. How I earned quiet points for not making sounds. How each food cost points, how I’d gone negative after making a mouth sound while eating. Mrs. Henderson’s face got paler with each detail.
” She made me put the chewed- up meat back in my mouth from the tissue,” I added. The memory making my stomach turn. ” Then she held my hands near the stove,”. ” She said the burning was only 20% of how sounds made her feel.”
Mrs. Henderson wrote everything down, her pen moving fast across the paper.
” How long has this been happening? ”
” The point system started on my birthday, but the being quiet,”. I tried to think back. ” Always.” ” She put a dish towel in my mouth when I was six because I cried after falling,”. ” And she uses a sound horn when I snore.”
The door opened and Principal Morrison walked in with two people I didn’t recognize.
