I was 8yrs old the day my mom took me into the bathroom at my Auntie Jan's house and said very coldly "Anna I don't love your Dad anymore and we are not really here just for the weekend, we are not going home....stop your crying, this is your Dad's fault not mine". I remember feeling terrified. I had been so excited that day to visit my Auntie Jan and Uncle Don, and now my excitement had turned to overwhelming sadness.
I sat in that bathroom for a while trying to hide an evidence of my crying. I walked out to find my mom, who had never in my whole life held a cigarette at least in front of me...smoking, she was laughing and acting as though she hadn't just took me into the bathroom and destroyed my whole world, I didn't know who she was. I felt so angry and betrayed. Little did I know that would just be the first of many times my mother would cause me hurt.
It wasn't long before my mom decided that I was too much for her to handle, I was old enough to ask questions and I was old enough to know when she was lying. She had found a boyfriend, and I was sent back to my Dad's.
Over the next several years both of my brothers were given up by my mom to my Dad as well. We had some hard times but overall my years with my brothers and my Dad were okay, unless my mom was in the mix and then she did what she could to create drama and in the process hurt us kids. I cannot tell you how many times my brothers and I sat all packed up waiting for her to show up for a visit and she would never show......I got used to that feeling of disappointment.
After a few years my Dad met a woman who would become my next bad experience and example of a mother. I had a pretty good sense of people, even at a young age. I could tell that she had no intention of bonding with me and my brothers, we were baggage to her and not baggage that she ever intended on letting sit around for very long.
I remember crying the day they got married, I begged my Dad not to do it and told him she "doesn't love us Dad she only acts like she does when you are looking". Looking back, I realize my Dad was lonely and he was doing what he thought was best for us. Little did he know we were in for a few years of mental and physical abuse at her hands. My self worth plummeted each time I would try to tell someone about what was happening and I was shut down...and told I was lying or I deserved what had happened.
The night I decided never again would I take the abuse quietly happened when I was in the 7th grade. I heard my youngest brother Ryan sobbing in his room and "her" yelling for him to stop being a baby (but he was a baby at the time). I jumped in and told her to" leave him alone" and that she couldn't treat us like this. No sooner had I said those words I was being half drug and shoved through the hall toward the front door. I wasn't sure what she had planned but I knew I wasn't going down without a fight. She was bigger and outweighed me by at least 50lbs, so before I knew it I was standing on the front porch watching the door slam shut. I was locked out of the house, it was freezing cold and I was in a t-shirt and underwear. I remember looking up and seeing her peer out the front window laughing at me and waving.
I climbed into my Dad's big work truck and sat there in disbelief and cried for what felt like an eternity. At some point I went to the neighbors house...in my underwear and asked for help. They went and knocked on the door, she answered and claimed I had run away on my own. I should have known then telling anyone would not do any good.
I have several instances like this, but each time I told, nothing happened to her and I would end up worse off than I was before. The last time she physically touched me was in the ninth grade. She would do these weekly "room inspections" where she would go through our rooms and if one, and I honestly mean one thing was out of place she would dismantle our rooms...from ceiling to floor, every belonging would be dumped and scattered in the middle of the room, nothing was spared down to the bedding on the bed. We would then be told to start over and do it right....there we times when my room was dumped 5 times in one day, over something as little as a pair of socks in the underwear drawer.
She entered my room for the final inspection and she told me to move so she could get to the dresser. I snapped, I was exhausted, I wasn't going to have her dump my things one more time....so I stepped behind the large Oak dresser and told her if she wanted the dresser she could have it. I don't know where the strength came from but all 98lbs of me lifted that dresser and shoved it in her directions. I watched as it fell on her pushing her down and pinning her to my bed. I let out a scream and called her names I had been holding inside for years. My victory however was short lived, she managed to get out from underneath the dresser and came after me. She chased me into the bathroom and shoved me against the towel rack I still to this day have the scars from the metal towel rack that went into my skin that night.
My life outside home was great I was getting good grades, had lots of friends, and was enjoying my time on the cheer squad, that was until the day she made my Dad choose between having her or me. I don't think I need to say what choice he made. I will add since then my Dad and I have talked about this, he has apologized for his part in my hurt. I have forgiven my Dad.
As I sit here recounting some of my many memories I am learning more about myself and why I react the way I do. I am seeing why I have abandonment issues, trust issues, and issues confronting people when they hurt me. Each time I have sat down to write in the past few days I feel a little lighter at the end. So like it or not I'm going to rant a little...and I'm going to reveal some ugly truth. I will continue tomorrow where I left off today, and frankly my dear I don't give a damn if you want to read it or not.
I sat in that bathroom for a while trying to hide an evidence of my crying. I walked out to find my mom, who had never in my whole life held a cigarette at least in front of me...smoking, she was laughing and acting as though she hadn't just took me into the bathroom and destroyed my whole world, I didn't know who she was. I felt so angry and betrayed. Little did I know that would just be the first of many times my mother would cause me hurt.
It wasn't long before my mom decided that I was too much for her to handle, I was old enough to ask questions and I was old enough to know when she was lying. She had found a boyfriend, and I was sent back to my Dad's.
Over the next several years both of my brothers were given up by my mom to my Dad as well. We had some hard times but overall my years with my brothers and my Dad were okay, unless my mom was in the mix and then she did what she could to create drama and in the process hurt us kids. I cannot tell you how many times my brothers and I sat all packed up waiting for her to show up for a visit and she would never show......I got used to that feeling of disappointment.
After a few years my Dad met a woman who would become my next bad experience and example of a mother. I had a pretty good sense of people, even at a young age. I could tell that she had no intention of bonding with me and my brothers, we were baggage to her and not baggage that she ever intended on letting sit around for very long.
I remember crying the day they got married, I begged my Dad not to do it and told him she "doesn't love us Dad she only acts like she does when you are looking". Looking back, I realize my Dad was lonely and he was doing what he thought was best for us. Little did he know we were in for a few years of mental and physical abuse at her hands. My self worth plummeted each time I would try to tell someone about what was happening and I was shut down...and told I was lying or I deserved what had happened.
The night I decided never again would I take the abuse quietly happened when I was in the 7th grade. I heard my youngest brother Ryan sobbing in his room and "her" yelling for him to stop being a baby (but he was a baby at the time). I jumped in and told her to" leave him alone" and that she couldn't treat us like this. No sooner had I said those words I was being half drug and shoved through the hall toward the front door. I wasn't sure what she had planned but I knew I wasn't going down without a fight. She was bigger and outweighed me by at least 50lbs, so before I knew it I was standing on the front porch watching the door slam shut. I was locked out of the house, it was freezing cold and I was in a t-shirt and underwear. I remember looking up and seeing her peer out the front window laughing at me and waving.
I climbed into my Dad's big work truck and sat there in disbelief and cried for what felt like an eternity. At some point I went to the neighbors house...in my underwear and asked for help. They went and knocked on the door, she answered and claimed I had run away on my own. I should have known then telling anyone would not do any good.
I have several instances like this, but each time I told, nothing happened to her and I would end up worse off than I was before. The last time she physically touched me was in the ninth grade. She would do these weekly "room inspections" where she would go through our rooms and if one, and I honestly mean one thing was out of place she would dismantle our rooms...from ceiling to floor, every belonging would be dumped and scattered in the middle of the room, nothing was spared down to the bedding on the bed. We would then be told to start over and do it right....there we times when my room was dumped 5 times in one day, over something as little as a pair of socks in the underwear drawer.
She entered my room for the final inspection and she told me to move so she could get to the dresser. I snapped, I was exhausted, I wasn't going to have her dump my things one more time....so I stepped behind the large Oak dresser and told her if she wanted the dresser she could have it. I don't know where the strength came from but all 98lbs of me lifted that dresser and shoved it in her directions. I watched as it fell on her pushing her down and pinning her to my bed. I let out a scream and called her names I had been holding inside for years. My victory however was short lived, she managed to get out from underneath the dresser and came after me. She chased me into the bathroom and shoved me against the towel rack I still to this day have the scars from the metal towel rack that went into my skin that night.
My life outside home was great I was getting good grades, had lots of friends, and was enjoying my time on the cheer squad, that was until the day she made my Dad choose between having her or me. I don't think I need to say what choice he made. I will add since then my Dad and I have talked about this, he has apologized for his part in my hurt. I have forgiven my Dad.
As I sit here recounting some of my many memories I am learning more about myself and why I react the way I do. I am seeing why I have abandonment issues, trust issues, and issues confronting people when they hurt me. Each time I have sat down to write in the past few days I feel a little lighter at the end. So like it or not I'm going to rant a little...and I'm going to reveal some ugly truth. I will continue tomorrow where I left off today, and frankly my dear I don't give a damn if you want to read it or not.
My heart wrenched as I read...and cheered like crazy at the end!!! Always...every. stinking. day...my prayers are with you in your healing. You are beautiful and worthy and amazing! I hope you are having a blast with the kiddos this weekend - you all need to have that time of love and laughter!! ;-) (see? It happens as you journey....)
ReplyDelete