won
Whack!
Across my face it swept. Didn’t see it coming. But then I rarely did. It was as if there were a draft in the room. Cold air seeping. Energy being sucked out. That is how I remember the bloody wound on my young face. I knew going to look in a mirror was out of the question. I brought my hand up to my face to examine it that way. When I pulled my hand down toward my belly, my eyes focused on the red, oozing blood spattered across my hand.
In her hand, half of the wooden pizza board remained. The other half (minus a few bits still embedded in my face), on the floor in shards. She looked surprised before walking away. When she came back she handed me a cold, wet cloth-instructing me to put it on the bridge of my nose where the majority of the blood was coming from. I tried to listen to her. I always tried to listen to her.
But I could not feel my face where the whack had just landed. The impact had left me numb. I did not manage to place the cloth on the specific spot spewing blood quickly enough for her.
No matter how much I wanted to be a good girl, no matter how I strove for her approval… this time would be no different. I wouldn’t have it, never could. Not even as I sat there in that chair wounded. But what she did next surprised even me.
She walked away and I sat there in terror. When she returned, she had a roll of duct tape and scissors. I remember the panic; I knew this could get real scary real fast. Frantically, I searched her face for a clue and all I saw was the all too familiar furrowed brow and angry eyes of this cold woman. She unrolled a fair sized piece of tape before cutting it. She then told me to put the cloth back up to my nose. She had little patience for my fumbling as she guided my hand to the spot before plastering the duct tape horizontally across my face and hair. Now the cloth was where she intended it to be, and it would remain there. It was at that moment my sister came home.
I thought now this might end. She might feel accountable to someone. My sister might question her. Instead, my sister questioned me. Her questions were not ones of my welfare. Her questions were ones of “why is my shirt on you? Did I say you could wear it — I don’t think so!”
“Mom…” she whined next.
And this woman who may have been her mother and may have birthed me, but certainly was not my mother, told her to “go ahead… let me have it.” All because I had picked her shirt up and had the audacity to put it on my body that they wanted me to believe was unlovable and unworthy. And with that, I felt another thud.
*
There were many moments before, and many after. This one stands out for me. It felt more like a “two against one” war, crossing the threshold of being an angry mother in an out of control moment. And it was a damn pizza board, you know? Those things don’t just break across someone’s face without an extra helping of rage and anger. She no remorse. If she had done it and immediately thought a human, motherly thought like “Oh my God, what have I done here?” I would never have had to tell you about the duct tape and my sister. I would never have memories of her beating my head against the wall, or pulling handfuls of my hair out. I would not fight the verbal assaults echoing inside with her comments of ”shit for brains, that’s all you’ll ever have” or similarly degrading comments of “you will never amount to anything!” or the other memories that I just know are there, but in a self protective mode my mind won’t even allow me to recall.
That moment I sat there duct taped and bleeding was the moment I began to feel less than. This was the moment she clearly announced to me, to herself and my sister that I was not worthy nor was I lovable. And I struggled with that for many years. Still do. An abuser need only hit you once to leave impressions that last a lifetime. Every time you see or hear something, or connect with the powerful memory stimulator of smell, you can be taken back to the darkness in an instant.
*
I haven’t yet mentioned her husband. The moments he bonded with me the most (in his eyes at least), happened in front of only his eyes. I always kept mine shut, pretending to still be sleeping. That way I did not have to face it, literally speaking of course. I’d always have to face it — silently, alone and in the darkness that made it hard to breathe. I’d cringe as his hands explored my body in ways that are vilely etched in my memory.
What gives one human being the right to inflict their own selfish fetishes or rage against another? It is my body, my space, my place. There is a boundary. There is a limit.
Violence: abusive or unjust exercise of power.
*
Every time her skin violently attacked mine, his skin violently touched mine, her words violently echoed, I reminded myself it was not me who had the problem. It was them. I tried like hell to keep the messages from encroaching upon my soul. Intellectually, I knew better. But in matters such as these, logic becomes secondary and try as I may some of it gets past the filter, past the barrier I’d built to remain strong. On some level I began to believe them, that I was less than.
In moments of clarity, I knew. I knew it was their problem and theirs alone. I reminded myself that whatever they did, I would just do the opposite when I had children one day. Hell yes! I would break this cycle of abuse and insanity. Nobody should have to live like this. Nobody.
I don’t think I ever fully got mad until I gave birth. As I watched my newborn daughter lay there helplessly, I began to feel the full gamut of it. How could anyone hurt their own child? Oh I was even more pissed at her then. How could she do the things to me she did? How could she not have protected me?!
I knew two things: if ever someone hurt my child, I would hurt them first and ask questions later. Also, I knew what love was, for the first time ever… as a single mother.
Finally, I knew love.
*
Little did I know in the cruelest blow ever felt in my life, that love would be cut short. As my daughter later lay dying, she mirrored back the love I had given her for the previous 11 years and 49 weeks. She would tell me “Don’t worry momma, it’ll be okay. Just breathe in the light, and blow out the darkness.” The cancer had invaded her brain, but her heart was far too big for it to even try. Her heart, full of love and purity.
As I said about smells and memories, this is one of the reasons I keep breathing. In and out, like my daughter told me. It keeps the smells constantly changing. One memory will not linger too long. Some days, that’s all I can do. And some days, that is all I need to do. In and out… slowly, and with intent. In doing so, I stay alive.
I haven’t spoken to either one of my abusers in many a years. People ask if it’s hard not speaking to them. The answer to that is no. It was hard sticking around, hoping they’d change and allowing them to continue inflicting pain in the process. What happens now is predictable for the most part. Now I have a simple appreciation for the predictability in my day, and that is a blessing.
***
Won blogs at Single, Bereaved, Broken and Tenacious.
48 Responses to “won”
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You suffered such cruelty! I hope that you are able to care for that little girl inside you now that you’re away from them. And I am so sorry that you lost your precious daughter. Thank you for sharing your story.
I think it’s always cruelest when these attacks come from “blood” — after all, aren’t these the people who are SUPPOSED to love us because we are a part of them? It has that extra-added air of worthlessness to it, because how can your own family NOT want you?
But you know what? They didn’t deserve you! So glad that you were able to get away without any more damage than you had already suffered. Very sorry about your daughter. That seems to be compounding the damage and so unfair.
I hope you can find some joy. God knows you deserve it as I know this has been unbelievably hard on you. Big hugs for sharing.
I’ve speculated before that the mind has a threshold for horror that it just won’t go beyond. Once that threshold is reached, it just won’t process any more.
I may have been right. Because I really don’t know how to respond to this story. This kind of betrayal is something my mind just can’t process. Not at this level. It’s unfathomable. Cruelty doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m not sure there’s a word in any language that does.
I really don’t know how you came through it all and have managed to live in this world without hating everything and everyone in it. I’m not sure I’d have that kind of strength.
I would weep for the young girl you introduced us to at the beginning of this piece, but I’m simply too awed by the woman we met at the end of it for that. Simply too awed.
Your story gave me chills. Im sorry you had to go through this and had no one (mother, sister) to turn to for help. How horrible. I just hope now you are doing better and surrounded by “true” loved ones.
What you have been through…. I cannot even imagine. I’m sitting here crying for you and I wish I could reach through my computer screen and give you a hug. Thank you so much for sharing your story.
there is such strength and growth in your voice.
the pain you have endured is immense and inexcusable.
the words you share are enormous.
I don’t think I’ve exhaled yet. I am amazed at your strength and your ability to overcome such unspeakable abuse. While I am so sad that you lost your daughter, I am so happy that you were able to know real love. I hope you get to have that again.
Oh my goodness, you are a brave and resilient soul. I am so sorry you had to go through so much horror; I am beyond sorry you lost your daughter. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope you can find peace and happiness and forget the pain someday.
My gosh. I don’t even know what to say. I am so incredibly sorry what all has happened to you. You sound like you made it through to the other side though. Thank you for sharing.
I am awed by your bravery and your resilience and your dignity in the face of such compounded pain.
I have not enough words to tell you, except to say BRAVA that you rose from the fire and became Sombody’s Hero—for eleven years and forty-nine weeks.
And today, you’re ours, as well.
Stunned. Just stunned. You are the epitome of the word survivor.
You are an incredible woman.
I always thought I’d understand my parents once I had children, that I’d see something that would excuse what they did to me. When my babies were born, I only grew angrier. I haven’t spoken to my mother in 17 year. And I’m really happy about that.
Thank you for writing this. It was exceptionally hard to read, because there were so many shocking similarities to my own story, but saying it out loud is important. For you, and for us. Thank you.
“just breathe in the light and blow out the darkness!”
Wow, such strong words, and ones that brought tears to my eyes..
I am so sorry for your loss, and so thankful you shared your heart and memories with all of us.
You will join the ranks of many people I’ve met over the years where upon hearing their story I stop and stand in awe that they are even still standing – even able to get out of bed in the morning and put one foot in front of the other. Perseverance personified.
In as much as violence can sometimes be multi-generational, it’s true too that parents can make the choice to not pass that violence on to their children; as a son of parents who both suffered abuse, and yet had the wisdom to be loving parents to their children, I assure you your son will become very aware as he grows up how blessed he is to have you for a mom; clearly, your daughter, even at her young age, was already aware.
Thank you for your candor and tenacity.
More than any other post so far, this one breaks my heart. Thank you for having the courage to share your story.
When I read stories like this, I am amazed beyond words at the resiliency of the human soul. To overcome what you’ve overcome? Stunning. God bless you.
I am so, so sorry. You’ve come out the other side, and that’s admirable.
Such a sad story, with an even more tragic ending.
But, you beat them. You beat them by breaking that cycle of cold, malicious violence. You loved your daughter, you filled her short precious life with love. You won.
You are amazing.
This post made me cry. Thank you for sharing.
My God. No matter how many times I hear it, I will never cease to be shocked at the thought of a mother brutally assaulting her own child. I’m so glad there are people like you in the world, who work to break these cycles. You’re the only ones who keep the world livable.
the greatest proof that you are not like them was your daughters abiding love.
you won.
I’m just so, so, sorry. For everything.
I am so sorry for all that you have suffered.
Like so many others have stated, I am amazed by your strength and resilience.
Although my story is a bit different than yours, becoming a parent myself also made me angry…angry and saddened.
You TRULY did beat them though…the love between you and your precious daughter is proof of that.
I am so sorry. So very sorry. I wish I could say something more wise.
Thank you for speaking out.
oh, sweetheart. where do they live? when you are ready to confront them, email me. we’ll go together.
Thank you for telling your story.
It’s courageous for you to tell your story, I admire your strength to do so.
No one should ever have to endure so much pain. Here’s hoping the rest of your adulthood more than makes up for your stolen childhood. Much love to you.
So, so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine losing a child. And the cruelty you suffered at the hands of your own family leaves me literally without words.
Thank you so much for sharing. I will keep your story with me.
I am so sorry you had to suffer such pain and indignities. What horrible darkness lives inside some people and a mother no less. I hope your
future is brighter and full of hope and that you gain strengths and
securities that surely must be rightfully be yours.
Eaton.
Oh, my heart.
I am blown away by what you have endured, and will continue to experience in memory for the rest of your life, to the point that no words i can think of to say here don’t sound trite or easy to me.
But you must know that I am just as blown away that you had enough strength to resist even then, to carry you to this point of your own life without spewing back all the hate poured into you. For you to even be able to write this all out with the kind of observations you included shows a healthy perspective that delightfully defies these monsters.
People like you, braver people than most, are the ones who break these epic, multi-generational cycles of violence and terror and set free people who never know they would have been imprisoned. Thank you for that, and thank you for sharing your story. You have my sympathy and my admiration.
Took me several tries at your story to get throught it. FIrst, I was angry. Second, Furious. Third, Fourth, etc, I was so very sad.
Lastly, I am amazed. You are amazing. Thank you for telling your story.
HOLY SHIT. I don’t even know what to say. I am so sorry that you have had to go through this all. I truly wish I could kick someone in the head for you. Not sure who, but somebody.
I am sending you love in the hopes that it helps someday. I will be thinking of you.
so sorry you endured this, thanks for sharing your story, I am glad you don’t see your abusers any more, I wish I could give you a hug and make it all go away I hope you feel the virtual one, you deserve better, and I believe you will get it. You will be in my thoughts and prayers. Pamela
Reading this, my heart was breaking.(Sounds like we were raised by similar creatures.) Too much pain for one life.
I’m so glad you told your story.
…
I have nothing to add but my thanks that you’re alive, strong, and caring – and horror at the people who were anything but.
Thank you for sharing…
Thank you for sharing your story ‘out loud’.
wow. thank you so much for sharing. that seems so small, but really. thank you for sharing. you are brave and strong to have survived that and to give and accept love.
Thank you for sharing your story. I feel as if there are some difficult things that have made me a stronger person. I am grateful for what I’ve learned. What I hate is being different. I hate knowing that it’s obvious there’s no extended family around. Even my oldest son feels the loss and doesn’t understand it’s for his safety. People who don’t know us, don’t get it. I know that people who don’t get it aren’t worth our time. Sometimes, I just wish I could be as innocent as others. I wish I could think life is simple and a bad day is every light is red on the way to work not something like worrying about restraining orders or whether or not my children’s lives are in danger or if they’ve found me. Your daughter sounds like a precious gift for you and your son. I’m sorry for the losses you’ve experienced in your life.
Because you Live, the world is a better place. Namaste.
I can’t add anything, but to echo Flutter’s comment.
Don’t even have words. Never really do when reading these posts. But I couldn’t not write something after reading this one. But words fail me. Miigwech. Thank you.
I don’t know what to say. But I want to say something about how strong you are, courageous and that you’re being heard.
I’m absolutely speechless at the horrific story that you’ve shared with us. You are so amazing and so strong!!
I am left speechless at the horrific degree of cruelty humans can inflict on others. On their own. I am so, so sorry for the pain you’ve endured and the loss of your sweet daughter. Your strength is inspiring. Thank you for telling your story.
It makes me sick to think what they did to you… It wasn’t your fault. There was something wrong with your ‘mother’, the man, and your sister too. Empathy, just completely missing. And cruelty and selfishness in its place.
I wish I could make things better. We’ll never meet, and there’s only so much words can do, but know that your courage, your love for your own daughter, will stay with me. Know that I respect and admire you for your ability to break the cycle of violence. Thank you for sharing your story.