Thriving On the Other Side continues to try and understand the puzzle of why her own mother appeared to turn a blind eye to the abuse of her child. Some images may be upsetting for some readers.
I was kinda mad at my mom after that revelation. Not really mad – disappointed. Abandoned. Betrayed to some level. I would stand up for anyone in that position. Why didn’t she step up for me?
But I understood why she reacted as she had. She was a generation older than any of my friends’ moms – so she was really old fashioned. She was also a lady – genteel and soft. She’d been hurt in the world and returned to her small town home and my dad for safety. He’d sheltered her from anything bad in her life. Until now.
She adored me. I can only imagine what the realization of what was happening to me did to her. She probably reacted as I did when I learned the truth – pushed it away, looked for excuses. Overwhelmed and repulsed by the truth. I understood that. I was a modern woman searching for answers to my life, a life that I knew was driven by something dark within me. Yet I hadn’t wanted to face the truth either – hadn’t wanted to believe the reality of my childhood. So why should my mom be any different?
Still, I stewed about my mom. I wish I had someone I could talk to, someone who might remember something, anything. But there isn’t anyone. I was an only child, they were both only children – it was a small, tightly knit family. Her friends were gone now and my childhood friends wouldn’t have known.
But then another puzzle piece fell into place. One of my first recovered memories had been of me laying in the barn, looking up at the tobacco hanging in the rafters. I’m about 13 years old. My daddy is on top of me hurting me. I’m flinched up against the pain and horror, fingers counting the letters in the song I’m singing in my head even — as my hands shake continuously at the wrists – wringing my hands over the powerlessness of it all. Distracting myself from my “now”. We hear a car pull up by the barn, my dad listens. And then, out of the blue, I fight back. Something inside me snaps and I fight back for the first time in so many years. I hit my dad in the belly, push him away and race for the door.
I never knew what happened on the other side of that barn door. The memory stopped there.
But then – a few months ago, the memory returned, and continued. I was in the middle of an EMDR sessions when suddenly, I was back in that barn. All the horror of my little girl self flooded into me. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take this anymore. I began to rock back and forth in the chair, fingers counting and hands flailing. The memory was stronger than ever before. The whole scene replaying until I was free and running. Scrambling over the rough-hewn barn floor, scuttling down the stairs into the horses stalls, trying to pull my pants on as I hit the door, bolting out into the sunlight, knowing someone had finally come to save me.
Running right into my mom’s arms.
Recent Bel Brown, Thriving On The Other Side Articles:
- The Power of a Pause
- The Power to Change Our Story
- The Power to Co-Create
- Of Faith and Fear
- What’s in a Secret?
Hi Dan
Quite the trip isn’t it. Imagine recovering all of this at the ripe old age of 50, finding out every single thing you believed about your childhood was a fantasy. Wow.
What I’ve learned is that bullies are bullies and sick people are, well sick. And they also tend to be master manipulators of those around them, even as they attract people who are somehow willing to submit to their manipulation.
I have no doubt that my mom had a history that made her susceptible to their manipulation. But stay tuned – the story isn’t over yet. Far from it!
Thanks for stopping by my friend!
Thriving…
Yes, there are sick people out there, and sad to see how sometimes others condone or by lack of action even support their actions. I can imagine that as you have started uncovering and discovering all of this, the world of your youth doesn’t look anything like you had thought!
For me, it was realizing that Leave It To Beaver didn’t describe my household! I even said “I grew up in a garden variety alcoholic household – nothing much happened!” Astonishing to look back and see how far from the truth that was!
I can absolutely tell that the story is not over – or even close to it! Amazing how something like EMDR can strip away the layers of repression to reveal the truth to us! And you share amazingly about how that process has worked for you! Way to go, Thriving!
Dan
Right into your Mom’s arms! After her denial response in the Coincidences post, there’s no way this turns out good. While there may be explanations why your Mom turned away from seeing the torture that was your world, there are no excuses. I hurt for your isolation and the total sense of betrayal and lack of safety in your world. Systematic torture, multi-generational, hidden by total isolation – the most shocking abuse I’ve ever heard of!