Marisa
The sun is hiding and the wind is blowing and the grey clouds out my window tell me today is a good day for reflection. I’d say I have a much better penchant for deflection, but I’ll let you be the judge of that
I’m always in a hunt, a desperate search to see what makes others tick. It’s a genuine desire of mine to see and feel and connect with people – to know what’s real. Most people that I encounter share with me their tales of strength, their stories, and I am humbled by every sadly intricate detail.
What’s funny (okay, not funny at all — see what I mean about deflection?) is that for all the countless hours I’ve spent relating to people, I never really related back. Oh, I’ve shared a few blips here and there, but I never truly felt it was noteworthy.
So what if my dad beat me with the buckled end of his belt when I was five-years-old? Parents spank bad children and it was my own stubborn fault for refusing to cry anyway, right?
So what if he kicked the door down when I was seven and beat up my mom after they separated? He just wanted to see his little girl, it’s not like he hit me. Should I really still be whining about one hour of my life that happened 23 years ago?
So what if he walked me down the aisle with a drunken death grip on my arm that left bruises? It’s not like he hit me in the face or threatened to kill me or that anyone else even knew.
I’m doubting I should be writing you now. Maybe my memories are more about emotional abuse and you requested things about violence and sexual assault. I should just delete this email and move on, I’m wasting your time. SEE?
I’ve heard so many serious and extreme stories of survival that I felt like giving myself a voice would make the voices of those who deserved to be heard less clear.
I blogged a few poignant memories recently. About knowing, even at the age of seven, that my daddy was an asshole. Running away from home into the pasture with my birdcage in one arm and a sleeping bag in the other. The time he robbed our house (even though we sometimes didn’t have enough money to eat) with a stolen key he’d grabbed when I’d innocently let him in one day. The day he beat mom with a frying pan and I was forced to call 911 on my own father, and the guilt that followed. The way he locked me in the car when he was inside the bar. How he hit me with an opened-up wire hanger, and always tickled me when I cried. How I can’t stand to be tickled today.
I was overcome with the heaviness of what little I recalled and it took me several days to shake those feelings.
I don’t claim to be a good writer, I certainly don’t think I have a noteworthy story, and I definitely don’t want to be thought of as a victim.
However, for all of the women who don’t give themselves enough credit, for those of us who have subconsciously silenced ourselves, I felt the need to say something to you.
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Marisa blogs at It’s Worth Recording.
37 Responses to “Marisa”
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Marisa,
I absolutely understand where you’re coming from.
I watched my mother get the crap kicked out of her, and the physical violence towards me was so small in comparison that it’s really hard to say “yeah, I was a victim of abuse.” And a part of me feels like saying that dishonors all the work my mother did to give us a childhood in spite of the horrible man she was married to.
But I can tell you that the parent he was to me is not the parent I want to be to my child.
That, at least, I can admit.
-Britt
Honey, I don’t know how you think you can NOT “qualify.” It’s certainly a club no one wants to be a member of but that plenty of people are dying — literally — to get out of.
There’s no sliding scale here by which anyone grades anyone’s experiences as being better or worse than any others. We’ve all (or most of the readers and commenters here) got stories whether we’ve shared them or not. What I’ve found though is that the “sharing” part IS important. (Like you, I thought “whining” about things that happened decades ago was pointless. How wrong I was. It actually uncovered feelings I didn’t even know I had.)
It sounds like you’ve still got a great deal of hurt and other emotions kicking around. Here’s hoping that the sharing will be a valuable first step in helping you get past it. That’s the one way I know to be free of it.
Wishing you much peace and happiness.
Thank you.
I grew up in a family where I was my brother’s target for violence and I remember the helplessness of it being bad but not bad “enough” when compared to those “made for TV movies” meant to take the lid off of violence in the home.
There are degrees in everything and every bit of violence needs to be ferretted out. Not just the big stuff, but the finer degrees because they matter too. Your story matters.
Thank you for telling it.
From the time VU began, the question that keeps coming up is “Does this ‘count’?” And every time it does, I shake my head in wonder. I think about the absolute control that abusers have over their victims. I see how they’ve been conditioned to believe that this treatment is “normal”, that “they can’t do any better”, that “nobody wants to listen to them whine”.
Does this count? Are you wasting our time? Does it really matter when so many are “so much worse off”?
I’ll tell you when it starts to “count”. When it becomes “real”. It becomes real when someone tries to make you believe you’re “less than”. That you’re getting the treatment “you deserve”. It becomes real in that moment when you are moved from the category of “person” to that of “property”.
And it doesn’t become any less real, any less legitimate, because someone else’s story is “more horrible” or “more graphic” or “more shocking”. Every.single.story told here, or told elsewhere, or never told at all is valid. And by adding your voice to the chorus, you absolutely do not dim the voices of “those who deserve to be heard”. Quite the contrary, by adding your voice to the collective one you make that voice stronger, not weaker.
Because all of those voices cry out for the same justice, the same freedom, the same respect. And it’s the courage of those like you who step off the curb and stand up to be counted that make that voice loud enough to be heard in every dark corner where someone else is living the life you escaped.
Does it count? Does it matter? You bet your ass it matters.
Because you matter.
You count.
And you deserve to be heard.
Your blog? It’s Worth Recording.
Your story? Also worth recording.
Those are scary, scary things for a child to live. And they are scary things for an adult to sort through.
And the tickling thing. I get that. I hate being tickled, too.
I hear you and want you to know I’m supporting you.
I think so many people do this: feel like their story isn’t extraordinary, isn’t really that bad, doesn’t mater. But it is and it does. And thank you for sharing it.
thank you so much for sharing. violence has recently touched a person very near and dear to me, and though any objective observer would clearly recognize what happened as wrong, wrong, wrong, i have already observed (and felt myself) the urge to wish/ignore/rationalize it away. your story reminds me how important it is not to do that. it happened, it’s wrong, let’s go from there.
Whether you think it was worthy or not, I’m glad you shared. There are many people in the same spot as you, and you are certainly helping them.
You are amazing. So brave.
And you have made me stronger.
You’ve given me the strength to write it.. and write it ALL. I don’t know if anyone will be allowed to read it.. but I will write it.
Thank you.
Marisa,
Thank you for writing. Yes, some people have horrific stories to tell. Mine doesn’t seem so horrific, either.
Yet, the emotional scars left by emotional abuse can affect us for a lifetime; they can affect our ability to relate to others, to see things as they really are, to enjoy emotional health, to be the type of parent, husband, wife, sister, brother, daughter, son we may desire to be; etc.
And healing can sometimes take years. But, yes, I do believe healing can come: with guidance, a willingness to introspect, courage to face the pain so the tears can salve horrible memory. It takes strength, honesty, bravery and so much more. But, it can happen
To me, this validates the importance of your story. In my humble opinion, your story is no less important than others. Thank you for having the guts to share.
Any atmosphere of controlling, abusive behaviour leaves its mark on our souls. I don’t believe it is a matter of degree, or frequency. It is the living it, day after day, year after year that chips away at us. The hyper-vigilance, the guilt at not being the prime target, the helplessness at not being able to protect another, all of these become our wounds.
Thank you for sharing yours with us.
You are in my heart.
Your story is essential! Its important, its everything all of the other stories are, EXCEPT, its YOUR story. It matters. Your voice counts. Because you are speaking out, others will identify and see themselves and hopefully speak out too.
Thank you for your courage and coming forth!
Your story is no less important or less poignant than any other. Thank you for sharing, because it IS important, and because you ARE a survivor, and you deserve a voice.
Marisa, thank you for telling your story – a valuable, worthy one only you can give voice to.
I love the way you wrote this, even though I hear in it so much pain.
You’ve shown other people – and I know they’re out there, wondering, keeping secrets – that EVERY INSTANCE, every moment, every form of abuse is hurtful and damaging and *valid.* Your story no less than anyone else’s.
Again: thank you for speaking out. And peace to you.
I think a lot of people feel the way you describe. Thank you for sharing your feelings. I know it will help others.
Thank you for sharing this.
Every story I read, I relate to, and yours too. Your story matters. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to write my story, but for now, I will keep finding strength in everyone else’s story. Thank you for sharing yours! It matters.
Violence is violence is violence. When someone tries to break our spirit, it doesn’t matter if the blows come with fists or words, the damage is done. Only by educating others, sharing stories like yours, can we begin to teach the world that just because you didn’t die doesn’t mean you didn’t bleed. Thank you for sharing your story, you give a voice to those who think that their story doesn’t matter, and it really, REALLY does.
It was a violent and ugly childhood. You can’t kid yourself about that dear friend, or silence that kind of pain. No child should even have to go throught what you did. Even if you only ever saw your mother abused that in itself would of been traumatic enough to mark you for life.
You had a story that needed to be heard, you were just as much of a victim as any of us were. Your courage in finally finding the words to describe what happened all those years ago, hopefully gives something back to you your father stole. Your dignity and self worth. Nothing you ever did excuses the man.
Thank you for sharing this with us, thank you for letting me read your story. (Hugs)Indigo
I feel like you do. Constantly. Thank you for telling me that this is okay and that I’m not alone.
Thank you for having the courage to share your story.
I think that you touch others when you relate. You may have not been threatened within inches of your life, but your story is just as poignant and just as relevant to others. Thank you for having the courage to share it.
Thank you for sharing. What you went through counts as abuse, and I’m sorry it happened to you. No-one has the right to mistreat someone else like that.
you are a very good writer, actually
Thank you. For sharing. For giving yourself credit. For not being silenced anymore. YOU are important, as is your story, and every other story that is abusive. Thank you.
I’m glad you wrote this. Thank you.
For many of us, part of having grown up in an abusive environment left us feeling like we don’t have a right to our feelings, our words, our pain. We are left feeling we have no right to have a story to tell. None of that is true. Each of us matters. Each of our stories matter. You matter. To speak the truth isn’t asking to be treated like a victim. To speak the truth is to declare yourself a survivor!
It is certainly worth posting. I think in the end it’s the effects of the abuse, and not the acts themselves, that matter. My husband tells me about things he’s heard that he thinks are worse than what happened to him. I don’t think they are. I guess that’s just because I know him, while the people whose stories he relates are impersonal entities to me. Everyone has their threshold. And if the people around you are doing right, that threshold will not be crossed. Abuse is abuse.
I think that this was worth writing about. I think that in our hypermacho culture (even for women) its hard to admit that you have been a victim for fear it makes you weak.
But going out and giving what has happened to you its rightful name and talking about it is brave and may inspire someone else to put the proper name to what is happening to them and get out that much sooner.
WOW… Thank you all so much for your encouraging words. I don’t know what I expected by writing this, but secretly I didn’t think the after effects of something horrible could be so wonderful.
I’m honored that you took the time to comment and I’m struggling to find the right combination or words to properly convey my appreciation for the kindness you’ve shown me and strength you’ve given me to keep moving forward with positivity and grace.
Oh, Marisa. How could you think that the abuse you suffered wasn’t “bad enough” to count? I feel so sad for the little scared child you were. This is a remarkable story, and you are a remarkable writer.
well said.
As so many have said violence and control are what they are. I think just about anyone can find someone who has been through “worse” situations. It is not the situation but the outcome on a person that makes it worth sharing!
I am glad you shared.
Oh M – your story and your experience is definitely worth sharing; your voice and your struggles definitely worthy of being heard.
Thank you for sharing. (((hugs))) to you, my internet friend.
Thank you for sharing. I have moments in my past, too, that I’ve never thought of as abuse. But when you say them out loud . . .
Wishing you all the best,
Liz
I think we ALL do that – assume that our stories somehow don’t measure up to everyone else’s stories.
I hope that hearing from other survivors telling you that your story DOES measure up, that you belong here right along with the rest of us, helps you see clearly that you’re a survivor just like everyone else.
Thank you so much for sharing your story – and I hope that writing it helped you.