It felt like a flood gate had been opened. Tears were running down my cheeks. Long forgotten emotions and memories rolled over me like waves. April 1st, for many just April Fools Day, for me a reminder of the woman who gave birth to me. She would have been 91 yesterday.
She passed away in 2010. I got notified a year later via email. I read about her death and smiled. Finally, she was gone, she could never hurt me again. The woman I feared so much when I was a little girl had died. She had left everything to a cancer research group in Germany “Die Deutsche Krebshilfe/German Cancer Aid.”
There are other assets, it read, I never answered. I got what mattered, she had given me life -not by choice she made sure I knew that. She tried throwing herself in front of a car when she was pregnant with me. She didn’t succeed, the driver, who happened to be my father, slowed down.
She didn’t want me, she wished me away. She hated me and the way I looked. “You look like them,” THEM being my father and my beloved Grandmother, who raised me after an accident and lucky circumstances got me out of my parent’s hell right before my seventh birthday.
I can’t remember what I ate two days ago, or what I wore, but some of my early memories as a child seem to be brand-marked into my mind. I can recall what I wish to forget. I never talked about my early childhood, not even with my husband or my best friends. What’s there to say. Why focus on the bad, when there was so much good later on.
I made peace with my mother years ago, when I wrote a letter to her that she never received. It hadn’t been written for her, I had written it for me. A ritual that would help me to close this chapter of my early life. Forgiving acts of cruelty and violence. Releasing the ghosts of the past.
It worked, the anger I felt toward my parents is long gone. I don’t think about them, and if I do then I have no feelings at all. No love, no hate. They are just a fact!
Last night out of the blue it all came back to me, so familiar, yet so different. For the first time my focus was not on them but on me. I cried for the little girl I once was.
I have never allowed myself to feel sorry for myself. I never wanted to feel pity for the little girl, who was me so long ago.
Why now? Why so many years later? Was it the book I just read, or the podcast I listened to?
I didn’t even try to hold back my tears. I sat in the dark, and like in a theater I watched the little girl in various situations.
Their alcoholic rages, the things they said in anger toward me -toward each other. The noises, the yelling, and the fear I felt hiding in my room in the dark, always hoping they would not come in. Eyes pressed shut, pretending to sleep, while shaking like a leaf.
Last night it all came back with a vengeance.
It took a while and it didn’t feel bad. It felt right and then I stopped crying, went to the bathroom, washed my face and when I looked at the older lady in the mirror I smiled.
The ghost of the little girl had been released. I felt relieve. It never occurred to me that I had to let her go too.
Today I feel at peace again.
I guess I needed last night. A therapy session with myself!
I came from an unhappy marriage and was no stranger to shouting and abuse, Bridget, but both loved me in their own way. It must be so hard for a small child not to feel love. Thank goodness for your grandmother! Sending hugs 🙂 🙂
My Grandmother’s love for the rest of my childhood made up for it, but yes, it did leave me with many questions and it took time to heal from it.
You’ve articulated from this difficult and painful early childhood memory what I’d feared I’d put my children through with their alcoholic father. Thankfully he wasn’t as far gone and abusive when they were young as he was when they were in their middle school years which are identified as the more formative years by many.
One of the first actions I took, after I’d accepted the fact that my increasingly abusive marriage to this now abonimable person was finally over, was to apologize to them for staying with him and exposing them to many of the terrible behaviors you describe. I am so grateful they both told me they didn’t blame me and they remembered their childhood as being happy.
Now I am working on forgiving myself for staying through this generally miserable period while gaining back the happiness, self-love and self-confidence I’d had when I met hem. You will serve as a role model for me in this pursuit.
Both of my parents were alcoholics. Violent toward each other and I just happened to become a target once in a while. Scary for a child.
Interestingly enough, the memories didn’t bother me much. They are a fact in my life. I never forgot but forgave my mother. As for my father, he was her enabler I have no feelings for him at all.
I hope your children will forget and only remember the good STUFF with time.
As for yourself. You were acting like the from in the hot water. It was heated up slowly, that’s why you didn’t jump away.
Thanks for the last comment. It makes me feel better about the whole experience and my part in it as his enabler. I will never forgive him for how he treated one of our kids and I don’t know if she will.
Her sister also had some otherwise happy occasions marred by his behavior. She is generally much more forgiving though even she has her limits. Will be interesting to see if he ever punches her last button to a point that she can’t get past. For her sake, I hope not.
Onward and upward to better times, places and people ahead!
There is not much you can do, just be there when needed.
Writing a letter to my mom that she never got was also healing for me. I am glad you could face that little girl from your past.
This is heartbreaking and, because it is you, life-affirming at the same time. Keep that peace beside you at al times. Hugs.
Inner peace or peace around me is very important to me, always has been. I suppose my early childhood has a lot to do with it. Hugs to you!
Thank you Bridget, this has confirmed that I need to put down my childhood “issues”. I was abandoned by my mother firstly, then my father, when I was three and left to be raised by my grandparents. It wasn’t until I went through some personal development courses that i realised the impact of this on my life. I am also now in a space where I can write about it.
I was raised by my Grandmother from age 7 to 18, best thing that ever happened to me.
Thank you for the honesty. Those painful tears were clearly necessary
Not all cries are bad.
Absolutely
I feel both compassion and deep respect for the long healing journey you’ve taken in response to the experience of your childhood . Surely you must have taken many, many turns through the years as you worked towards finding peace. No child should experience neglect and loss of love, but we know that your experience sadly isn’t unique. You’ve really written a success story in that you’ve found it in yourself to courageously parent yourself. Your tears were long overdue, I’m sure, and I hope that you continue to feel lighter because of that emotional release. I’m confident there will be others who read this and have had similar bruised and battered childhood hearts. Your courage will likely be meaningful and perhaps really strengthen their healing. xx
I had a great childhood afterward, thanks to my Grandmother. I have lovely memories and feel a lot of gratitude, however, there are the first years of my life, when things were different.
I wish no child, no woman, no man would ever have to endure abuse -verbal or physically- but sadly, that’s not the case.
Many of us have bruised and scars (inside and out) but they are no excuse either. The actions of other people are their actions, they never had (or will have) anything to do with me.
I just never noticed that by dealing with my past through the years, I never dealt with the little girl. Well, better late than never. 🙂
My best friend from high school was treated to so much abuse and neglect and in my mind, today she is a miracle. But the “scars” do show from time to time. How can they not? We were in high school in the late 1960’s and I even went to a teacher at that time on her behalf, hoping there’d be an intervention. But it was before the laws changed and teachers were required to be mandated reporters. Sadly, no one came to her aid. I feel like through her I have some understanding of what you’ve been through, and it really does break my heart. One thing you can say for yourself that can’t be denied? You’re strong and resilient, and you know what you’re made of! xx
What a sad, but beautiful, post Bridget. Sad that it should raise your memories again, but beautiful in that you’ve broken a further shackle to the past and cast it aside. Love and hugs to you. đź’ś
Thank you for the hugs. I know it sounded sad, but it helped me further down the road on my journey through life.