Zoey Jane
The following survivor story was written by Zoey Jane. She blogs at Mommy is Moody.
***
“I never thought it was okay to hit a woman, until I met your mother.”
I remember my father saying these words to me and my reaction, half nervous chuckle and internal disgust shaped out of fear of him and nausea that any one person could deserve that. I could only assume at the time that my mother had gotten as much, if not worse, than I had. I was 14 and had already fractured two ribs, chipped a cheek- and brow-bone and dodged intervention by child protection representatives four times.
When I was 16, I got into a heated argument with my boyfriend. We were sitting in his car outside my home, a small basement suite I lived in alone. I refused to go in and he refused to drive away with me still in the car. I believe it’d already been a couple of hours, or was verging on it, that we’d sat there, with me needling at him and his verbage downgrading to just get me to shut the fuck up and let him leave.
I was good at blocking doors. I’d start an argument and as the crescendo rose, I’d get closer and meaner and harsher and before you knew it, I was going too far and then when seeing the metaphoric slap in the face, daring them to slap me back literally. I deserved it, I knew, and worse than that, if he really loved me, he would feel strong enough to need to hit me.
In this case, I was soon admitting that I’d had a miscarriage I’d never told him about because I knew it’d just make him feel and cry and I was tired of him crying so easily, the constant reminder of how he was softer than other boys. Truthfully, it was more the fact that I was the one often making him cry, not that he did cry, that I hated. He reacted by seethingly making an accusation that amounted to the label Slut.
Now, I know that this is one of my triggers. That Slut can make me think and visualize and rationalize all kinds of aggression into fairness.
Then, I warned him. I told him that I would lose it if I heard Slut one more time, and that I might not be able to control myself. He called my bluff. And I fantasized about backhanding him across his beautiful, tear-stained face.
Then, he was out of the car and running away from me, choking back tears. When I caught up to him, he said that I’d hit him, but I knew it wasn’t so. It couldn’t be so. I didn’t actually move, I just thought it.
Flash forward nine years and I’m living with a man who cannot cry. An alcoholic who only lets feelings out into the open whence enough has been drunk to make it possible to erase their meaning and the pain they might have inflicted with blackout. He’s yelling at me that my father, whose been dead for only ten days, would slap me if he were alive and I would deserve it. That I’m the stupidest cunt he’s ever met. That I’m disgusting in my neediness and inability to just not let someone fuck me. I’m a Slut.
Because I’m having this man’s baby.
He never hit me. There were reactions to me hitting him. Fingers pressed too hard into flesh as I was thrown onto a bed and straddled with a fist raised over my face. Most women would shake in fear, it occurs, and a fucked up side of me, shook in excitement. Finally. He never did hit me, just shoved and poked those needle-like fingers into my easy-to-bruise skin.
That fist was raised at least another four times in the next year, but he never hit me. I hit him twice.
Once, it was a backhand delivered while he smoked a joint out our apartment’s window, looking away from where I stood behind him. He was telling me to go fuck myself because I told him he wasn’t allowed to smoke up – I was going out, leaving our sleeping daughter under his watch. I pictured throwing him out the window, but instead I asked him, even-voiced and calm-in-mind, “what was that?” and he repeated, turning.
It was a Hollywood moment, when my hand connected to his cheek as he enunciated Fuck yourself perfectly.
The next time, we were wrestling over the phone.
I was hemorrhaging, in the process of losing (another one of) his babies. I had been to the hospital the week before, having passed out after losing half of my blood. This night, he yelled at me that I was fucking ridiculous for just lying on the floor after momentarily losing consciousness, because I wasn’t taking a taxi to the hospital.
Our daughter was screaming in her bedroom, because he’d had to put her to bed for the first time in a year and she didn’t agree with that. He was done taking care of her every five minutes or so, giving him the opportunity to smoke and scream obscenities at me.
Because I was doing absolutely nothing to help him and she was only screaming, refusing to sleep, wanting me. He suggested at one point that I rock her to sleep while he stood behind me, in case I passed out while doing it. I insisted that he take care of her and once she was fine, I’d go to the hospital.
Why he never called an ambulance or suggested it, I wondered. I eventually crawled to the bed, navy seal style.
Later, he brought her to bed to sleep with me after proclaiming that he was definitely done taking care of her and she could scream all night – he had to work in the morning. I wasn’t going to get to the hospital and I pretty much yelled every What kind of a fucking person, Father, are you? at him. I wouldn’t let him set the alarm clock because if my daughter and I were just getting to sleep, we weren’t being woken in four hours. He tried to grab it, and I tried to keep it away from him, barely being able to move without becoming light-headed. He tried to yank it out of my hands, the cord burning like rope might and I let go and threw a half a cup’s worth of water at his legs.
He raised that fist again, with our daughter between my face and it. While I was bleeding (I’d find out later, literally, almost to death) and she was screaming. Moving her to the centre of the bed, I screamed at him to leave and he refused. I grabbed the phone to call the police and he tried to twist it from my hand. Coming around the other side, he attempted to grab it again as I turned it on to dial 911. I smacked him directly down the side of his smug, alcohol-infused face and then came that fist raise again.
“Go ahead. See if you ever see your daughter again, since you’ve now raised your fist twice at me, with her in between us. I’m having a miscarriage and you’re threatening me in front of our child? Do it, I dare you.”
I guess I didn’t know what I wanted, really – him to hit me or not. But I do know that really, little has felt as good in life as smacking him.
And I know this: violence in a household isn’t much more than a shallow message of control and anger. I know because I received it growing up, because I handed it out to the men who disrespected me and because tonight, when my two year old daughter punched me in the face, I immediately put her into our bed, kissed her cheek and told her goodnight.
She screamed, because it was bedtime that she was originally protesting when the blow was dealt to me. And I cried, because it’s a horrible feeling to want to hit your child back.
I’ve come to a new realization: after hating my father for so many years for the kicks and punches. The spankings with a 1X4 inch stick. For being locked in my room on weekends while he slept in, having to piss in the sink of my fibre-board play kitchen and then being spanked for being so disgusting an animal. Standing with my nose in a corner for all of dinner-time, primetime and through to the colour bars on the television and the national anthem. The belittling and the emotional abuses. All of it…
The thing I hate him the most for is not making the choice to just put me to bed, kiss me goodnight and shut the door.
55 Responses to “Zoey Jane”
Leave a Reply
speechless
((hugs))
Stunned silence and then the most achy kind of sadness for all you had to endure as a child. Finally, rage at what your father did (and didn’t) do.
Thank you for sharing this most important of stories.
omg – that is so close to my own life I am stunned, speechless and teary eyed…
wow..
last night my husband and I talked about the fact that we have ‘issues’ from our childhoods that contribute to our mistreatment of each other.. like you though, we’re working to overcome them and set a better example for our own children.
I’m so glad that you are making that choice to kiss your baby goodnight and close the door.
I want to be shocked by your story, but I am not. Thank you so much for your bravery in writing it. I hope you have founds some peace, and I am SO PROUD that you are breaking the cycle. It isn’t easy, but you just proved you can do it.
Zoey. You are a good mommy. I don’t think there is a mom alive that hasn’t felt like smacking their child at some point. You are rebeling against what you were taught. I applaud you.
I don’t have the words. I really just don’t.
I’m so glad you’re able to walk and close that door.
Sadly, this sounds achingly familiar.
I hope this is the worst that you or your daughter will ever see. May peace and reconciliation (within yourself) be yours.
Oh, lady. You are amazing. You describe such ugliness with such eloquence.
I think your father and my stepmother were very much alike. And I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, and glad to hear that as a mother you’re making a better life for your daughter than you had. It takes more strength than anyone who didn’t grow up in that kind of house realizes, and it’s a choice that has to be made every single day.
Thank you for telling.
The realization that things like this really happen is very hard for me to swallow, and leaves me speechless.
Thank you for sharing, and opening my eyes.
Great job recognizing the cycle and breaking it. I know it’s a daily struggle…our childhoods have a very similar tone, though in my case it was my mother. My father was long gone.
I was just telling someone yesterday that I think the mind has a gating mechanism for horror and that once you pass that threshold you just can’t feel any more.
This morning I’m thinking I was wrong. This was dizzying. And I’d thought I was well past the point where dizzying was possible.
But recognizing the cycle for what it is and the doing something about it, for that you can stand tall. And we will stand with you.
Thanks
My heart aches for you. What you were forced to endure growing up. The lasting effects it has had on you as an adult. I applaud you for refusing to walk in your father’s footsteps. Good for you for breaking this terrible and heartbreaking cycle.
Thank you for sharing
It’s an all to familiar story…I wish I were shocked by it. Unfortunately it is one I’ve heard too many times. I hope you are well and happy and have learned to love the person you are…and don’t beat yourself up in the bargain! The key thing is well…
Sandi
Thanks for sharing this ZJ. Your strength in being able to break the cycle is amazing. What couarge.
I’m not sure what to say – I don’t think I have the words, except to say that the kiss & closing the door is the smartest thing you’ve done!!!
Wow. Thank you for sharing.
This website is being featured on Five Star Friday!
http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2009/02/five-star-friday-edition-42.html
Hi from Australia,
Three different bloggers have told mein the past couple of days that I simply had to visit this blog. I can see why.
We bring up our children to abhor violence in all its forms and to speak up against it when it is identified in any sphere.
This blog validates that stance ….
YOU . . . never cease to amaze me.
ah jesus, zoey jane. jez-zuz!
Any daughter or son who complains about what they did or didn’t get from their parents while growing up should read this and perhaps re-evaluate. I know I did. You have shown that it’s not what happens to you but what you choose to do with it that truly matters. Thank you for sharing.
Keep kissing your baby and closing the door. Don’t ever let her into the awfulness that you are fighting against. Ever.
As awful and heartbreaking as these words are, they needed to be said.
And you never, ever, for a minute, cease to amaze me. I love you.
There are no words….Thank you for sharing
Wow.
Speechless.
This is so powerful. Your love for her is monumental in its power.
I can definitely relate to you Zoey. I have had the feeling and thoughts that I wanted a man to hit me. Just to be “normal.” Life didn’t feel right to me for so many years if I wasn’t riding that roller coaster. I hated the violence but didn’t seem to know how to live without it. I didn’t direct any violence toward my children and they never saw me being abused but I know that they sensed it.
I admire your strength and courage!!
When you know better, you do better.
You are doing better for Is.
I don’t know what to say except keep hugging and kissing on that little girl.
wanting to hit her back is not what defines you as a parent. not actually doing it is what defines you.
I’ve heard every one of these words before, you’ve told me all of these stories, and yet you never cease to make me admire and respect you with every day that passes. I am proud to be your friend.
As always dear friend, I hear your words. Paul tells me that I’m a pro at finding just the right words to hit below the belt. It’s too easy for me to push all the buttons to get you to that level, to feel like…just hit me already will you. It’s taken a few years and a whole lot of struggle to realize there is a life on the other side of a fist. Find strength in the hand you were dealt, your breaking the cycle. It took a lot of courage to write this. Thanks hon! (Hugs)Indigo
Thank you for sharing. I hope I too am breaking the cycle.
HUGS!
I found this quote and put it on my blog. I just wanted to share it with you. Thank you all for your stories that resemble my own!!
“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.” -James Baldwin
[...] Maggie was graceful enough to let me tell my story, which you can read here. [...]
Just…*hugs* and lots and lots of love.
Hi, I was encouraged to see this post and site by Mojo.
I am so sorry about what you have gone thru’. Although I don’t have any personal story to share, I will take the pledge and will post the button in my sidebar and will let others know about this site. Hugs to you. God bless.
Asha.
I knew some of this. I’d never seen, however, this much of the whole picture at one time. That you have risen above all that has happened to you is amazing. But then, that is a word that keeps coming to mind in relation to you – amazing.
i’m so glad you had/have the strength to walk away…
your story is truly chilling and amazing….
that you can rise above, and give your daughter a better life!
Thank you for sharing.
What a horrible, ugly cycle. Thanks for sharing ZJ, you’ve shown amazing bravery, strength and resilience. You’re a wonderful Mom.
And I’ll remember your story every time I put my kids to bed.
I’m a little late. But so glad Im here.
Hugs ZJ.
For all of our supposed enlightenment in the 21st century, what the hell is the matter with humanity that such things come into the mind and are acted out on other human beings. As a collective peoples on this planet, what is the matter with us? Zoey Jane, hang in there girl…don’t give up your fight to be free of all these horrible things, for your sake and the sake of your little girl. Eaton.
[...] encourage you to go and read the stories of these brave women and man. I encourage you to tell Maggie what a wonderful idea this is and how wonderful she is for [...]
Holy geez, babe. Wow. *hugs*
Thank you. Just….thank you.
You know, this is what makes the difference between the mothers who break the cycle and the ones who don’t. When I was reading your post I kept seeing my MIL, who was abused as a child and grew up into an abusive, screaming, vicious wife. She also married a man who would never hit her no matter what, although he also never (to my knowledge) verbally abused her either. They are now divorced. To this day she despises him as being weak and unmanly, and he still can’t do anything right. Meanwhile she has been through two more boyfriends, one of whom abused her and the other of whom she abused. It’s a horrible cycle.
But the difference lies in the end of your story. Because unlike her, you made that decision to put your daughter to bed with a kiss and walk away. She didn’t. And her kids carry the scars – physical and emotional.
Dear Zoey,
You continue to touch me with every blog post that you publish, and this one, although not technically on your blog, is no exception.
I have been fortunate that I was never punched or left to bleed like you, but I have been threatened and had close calls a few times. In that, I can honestly tell that I feel how scary that was for you.
To me, you’re beautiful and courageous.
It’s a bond that I wish we didn’t share – for your sake. I hope you know this – and being the intelligent woman that you are, you’re probably already aware of it – but I’ll tell you, just in case:
You deserve a man who loves you deeply, respectfully, kindly.
If a right partner is something you desire, they are out there. Someone who will be strong enough to walk away when upset at you; who will understand your lows and your highs; who sees that a picture is composed by shadows and highlights, just as we are.
I respect you, and your blog has made my life richer.
I know you can do it, girl – whatever it is that your heart desires.
Good for you for walking away from this relationship. Don’t ever let it trick you again. You’re worth so much more than that.
Thank you for simply kissing your daughter good night. And thank you for your honesty.
This left me in tears. I know that feeling, when you stare at a man and think “JUST HIT ME ALREADY”.
[...] I thought it was de rigueur to make such a statement, but because I knew from my childhood and from experiences with ex-lovers how fast the sleeping dragon can be awakened. How easy it can be to go from moderately annoyed to [...]