I finished Hillbilly Elegy over the weekend, and it was a book I was prepared to dislike. I’d read a lot of reviews from people who read the book soon after the 2016 election and were disappointed that the book didn’t offer a real answer to the results of that election. Or that they were expecting more of a social commentary on the state of working-class Middle America.
But that’s not what Hillbilly Elegy is about. Instead, it’s a memoir. It’s one person’s experience growing up poor in Middle America, and escaping that life to become Ivy League educated and living comfortably in the middle class.
And while I can’t say I agreed with everything J.D. Vance had to say, especially when it comes to his politics, there was a whole lot I could relate to. Because you see, J.D. and I had very similar upbringings.
Like him, I grew up poor. My father was in and out of jail my entire life, due to his drug addiction, anger problems, and gambling addiction. My mom did the best she could to reduce his jail time by working with a Galveston drug manufacturing defense lawyer. She tried her best to give my brother and me a good life. She never had a bad word to say against my father, even when he was skipping out on child support and leaving threatening messages on our answering machine.
It was because of my father that we were poor. With his contribution, we could have done fine as a family. Maybe not at a level where we were going on lavish vacations or had a college savings fund, but our bills would have been paid and we wouldn’t have been evicted from multiple apartments. But instead, my father chose to gamble away his paycheck. And when that was gone, he’d pawn off our belongings (including my mom’s wedding ring, which he then blamed her for losing) or force my mom to give him part of her paycheck.
In Hillbilly Elegy, J.D. has a different experience as he had a revolving door of stepfathers and a mother who had a drug problem. His only saving grace was his grandparents, who made sure he attended school, studied hard, and made something of himself. It was because of them that he was able to escape the cycle of poverty and abuse, just like it was my mom who made sure I did the same.
She left my father because she didn’t want me growing up thinking the way my father treated her was the way men treat women. She didn’t want me to think that it was okay for a man to yell at you, demean you, call you names. She wanted more for me. And, because of that, I want more for myself when it comes to my relationships and I’m not settling until I get it.
In the book, J.D. talks about a concept called Adverse Childhood Experiences, or ACEs. He writes: “ACEs are traumatic childhood events, and their consequences reach far into adulthood … Children with multiple ACEs are more likely to struggle with anxiety and depression, to suffer from heart disease and obesity, and to contract certain types of cancers. They’re also more likely to underperform in school and suffer from relationship instability as adults. Even excessive shouting can damage a kid’s sense of security and contribute to mental health and behavioral issues down the road.”
J.D. and his sister Lindsay scored a six on their ACEs test. J.D.’s aunt scored a seven. Those without traumatic childhoods often score a zero, as is the case of J.D.’s aunt’s husband, who grew up in a normal home environment. I took the test myself. It’s 10 questions and you just answer yes or no to the questions. My ACE score was a six.
It wasn’t totally surprising to see that number staring back at me after I took the test. I knew my childhood was a rough one. There was domestic abuse, screaming matches, times when I curled into a ball under my bed with a pillow over my ears to drown out the fighting. There was a father who never gave me the love and attention I desperately craved. There was divorce and food stamps and never feeling like there was enough money. There was depression and insomnia and anxiety. That was my childhood.
It reverberates to this day, as I still get uncomfortable if my mom hassles my stepdad about something. My stepdad has never once raised his voice or his hand to my mom (or to anyone, I’m sure) and has the most low-key disposition of anyone I know, and I’m still worried that one wrong word from my mom, and he’s about to go off on her.
It’s also why I just find it easier not to date because I’m just too worried about becoming the woman my mom never wanted me to be. The woman who acquiesces to her husband’s demands and doesn’t let her opinion known. I’ve seen myself doing that in relationships, and it manifested itself greatly in the only successful relationship I’ve ever had. I let him walk right the fuck over me, saying yes to things I wasn’t comfortable with and giving up all of my free time to be with him because that’s what he wanted. Never mind what I wanted. Never mind that we never did what I wanted to do. (Which isn’t totally on him – it’s also on me for not feeling like I could voice my opinion. Because if I did, I would lose him. And I desperately didn’t want to lose him.)
And that brings me to this quote from the book, which resonated with me greatly: “For kids like me, the part of the brain that deals with stress and conflict is always activated – the switch flipped indefinitely. We are constantly ready to fight or flee … We become hardwired for conflict. And that wiring remains, even when there’s no more conflict to be had.”
I’m a very non-confrontational person, and I am this way because I’m constantly worried that the people I love are going to leave me. It’s hard for me to express a dissenting opinion because I don’t want someone to realize that this is the reason we should not be friends anymore. I’ve spent my whole life making sure everyone around me is happy and satisfied, that their needs are always being met. Because what my childhood taught me is that conflict is always on the horizon. One wrong word to my dad, one small slip-up, and he was enraged and all of his anger was taken out on me. So, it makes sense that I just eliminate conflict altogether, hence the way I’ve acted in my romantic relationships. But in doing so, I’ve forgotten that my needs also matter. That it’s okay to have a different opinion. That the beauty of a relationship isn’t everyone loving the same things in the same way, but us coming together with different opinions, likes, and dislikes. It’s a daily battle of recognizing that conflict isn’t always bad and that it doesn’t always cause people to jump off the deep end into anger.
When I think about my childhood, my ACE score, and the way the deck was completely stacked against me, I can’t help but feel so damn proud of myself. Sure, I’ve got some stuff to work out and it’s why I’m seeking therapy so that I can learn how to get past my childhood trauma and actually be able to function in a healthy relationship, but all in all, I’m not doing half bad. I have a great, steady, well-paying job. I have my own apartment. I am financially independent. I took care of a dog in the last years of his life and did a damn good job at it. I have friends and an active social life. I have a brother who has stuck by my side throughout everything and even stood up for me to my father time and again. He’s shown me what a true man looks like.
And I have my mom. Every kid with a traumatic childhood has to have someone watching out for them, and I am so grateful that she was that person for me. She got us out of a volatile home environment and into one filled with love and happiness and hope. She dated one man from the time she left my father to the time she started online dating in my mid-twenties – because to her, it was important that she gave her full attention to us and kept us happy and healthy. (But, boy, sometimes I wish she had met Robert much earlier!) My childhood wasn’t ideal, that’s for sure, but I got through it, and I got through it because of my mom’s deep love and persistent expectations for me.
I could not separate Vance’s political opinions enough to like Hillbilly Elegy, even though I had a similarly terrible childhood. I felt he looked down on the poor for staying poor instead of wanting to be part of the solution.
I definitely think it helped that I read this book two years after the election, not immediately afterward, because it helped to have a bit of distance from it. (And, thankfully, there were only a few pages about politics in the whole book, but even those few pages were upsetting to read. Argh!)
I didn’t really get a vibe that he looked down on the poor, but I do wonder what he’s really doing to help the poor now that he has a platform and money. I understand that he’s formed a nonprofit to focus on the opioid crisis in Ohio, but that a lot of what he does seems to be helping those already pretty fortunate. So maybe you’re not off base there! I think, for me, it was just so healing to read a book that mirrored my growing-up years so much and to learn how it can affect me even today.
It sounds like you DO have a lot to be proud of. I loved this post, how thoughtfully it examined your reaction to the book. And honestly, it makes me want to read the book more than any of the other (many) posts I’ve read about it. Thanks for your candor.
Thank you! I have a different perspective of the book, but I think if you look at it as a memoir, it’s an enjoyable (if heartbreaking at times) read. It’s not meant to be the sole text about what it’s like to be a poor person in America, but just his experience living in poverty and getting out of it.
Thanks for being brave enough to share your story. I hate that you experienced such trauma from a young age. It’s hard to undo the damage that was done but you should be super proud of what you have accomplished! And I think that therapy will really really help you sort through everything you’ve been through. And it will help you establish new thought patterns.
Thanks, Lisa! It wasn’t the ideal childhood that many people experience, but it did make me who I am today. And I can look back and see how much I was able to accomplish in spite of all the odds against me. There’s something so cool in that!
Thank you so much for sharing your story. I always knew you’d overcome/come through a lot, but reading it here, like this, just makes me so damn proud of you. You should *absolutely* be proud of yourself.
Thanks so much for this sweet comment, Kate! Sometimes, laying it out there like this helps me to understand just how far I’ve come.
This is a really brave post. From one childhood trauma survivor to another, thank you for sharing. You are correct: you have a lot to be proud of (and three cheers for the strong adult role models who help us pull through). I know you have mentioned looking into therapy – I hope that provides an avenue for further healing as you continue your journey.
Thank you so much, Tara. I’m sorry you also had a rough childhood. But we made it through and are better for it. And yes to therapy – I actually scheduled an appointment for early September!
I can imagine that this must have been a tough read for you, but I am also glad you can see that you’re not alone and that you have overcome so much. It’s not surprising that you’re wired to feel on edge (hence your anxiety?) and that you’re trying to conflict because of that. There is so much that we learn/absorb when we’re young and why these first few years of childhood are so critical. It’s amazing what you have accomplished, Stephany.
Yes – I believe part of my anxiety stems from what I experienced during my childhood years, hence why I believe therapy would be really helpful in helping me to mitigate some of my anxiety symptoms. It’s amazing how the ramifications of a traumatic childhood can reverberate so much throughout a person’s life.
I really enjoyed reading your take on this book! It’s been over a year since I read this book, so I don’t remember it too intimately, but I do remember thinking it was a great memoir but didn’t really add much in terms of political discourse (in my opinion).
I’m so glad you have your mom <3
I expected for there to be more about politics in this book, but he only had a few pages about it (but those few pages made my blood boil, ha, so I’m glad he didn’t). I think it was really just focused on his childhood and how he escaped poverty, which is an engaging story all on its own.
Out of curiosity, I had to check out my own ACE score and it’s a 6 as well. Which isn’t surprising really, but does make me feel a few things in seeing it. I talked about a few of my childhood experiences with a coworker once and he said, oh, wow, how are you not totally effed up? And it made me proud of all the things I’ve managed to accomplish, just like you said. Despite the odds, we’re doing better than statistics would ever suggest.
I was searching for how much information was in JD’s book about ACE’s and came accross this. I did the ACE test and scored an 8. I try to use my experiences to help me know that I can withstand just about anything and have. I quit letting people push me around when I was in my 30’s, and quit being a “yes man” in my 40’s. I do find I sometimes avoid conflict and stressful situations and get stressed over sometimes very mundane details. I just go forward, don’t play the victim card and instead of thinking of how much I have accomplished considering the ACE’s score I have and how I could have ended up because of it, I just look back and feel I can be so much more by than I am at this point and get motivated, a little angry with myself (not self hate or anything) and do more of what I should be doing. Best wishes everyone!