When I was little, my father was an alcoholic who regularly abused my mother. I often saw it or heard it happening. I was very small, 4 or 5 years old when I first remember it happening. I vividly remember my brother and I terrified as we listened and peeped through the doorway as their arguments escalated from hushed whispers to lion roaring madness and then erupted into someone being pushed, pulled, or manhandled into submission. This was my childhood; my norm.
Mostly our weekends consisted of my drunk dad screaming, flipping tables, throwing food, and ultimately landing blows on my mother. I can’t remember every detail, but I can never unsee my father big and intimidating towering over my cowering mother, who was just trying to disappear. The thought still haunts me to this day. I am torn because my father is no longer that man. Their marriage survived, but at what cost?
When I was old enough, I began to throw myself in the middle, to my mom’s horror. At first, he wouldn’t hit me. The worst I’d get was admonished to my room. But as I got older, being in the middle just meant I was going to get hit, too, maybe not to the extent that my mother endured, but I was not immune to his violence. I didn’t care. I just wanted to protect my mother. There was no one else to do it. I felt it was my responsibility to protect her since she couldn’t protect herself.
I kept waiting for someone to save us.
When I was around 10 years old, to my mother’s shame and embarrassment, I even wrote a letter to her brothers and begged them to come rescue us and take us away from there. And they came, but my mom sent them away. I knew that no one was coming to rescue us ever again. I also knew, in that moment, that my own shame and embarrassment were a small price to pay to protect my children and myself. I vowed I would never stay in that kind of situation, no matter how afraid I was to leave. I know that sounds cold but it’s the decision I was forced to make at a very young age. I never wanted my children to have to endure the fear and terror of silently weeping while helplessly watching through door cracks as their mom was violently assaulted.
I felt betrayed by her staying because her choice kept us in harm's way. My young mind couldn’t understand it. I have never before and never have I again felt so disappointed in anyone. And I was disappointed maybe even more so in her than my father. I felt abandoned by the person I loved most in the world.
I became my own protector because there was no one else to save me.
As I got older, I kept standing up to my dad. I took a lot of blows, well into my teen years. It still triggers me when I think about it because I’ve tried so hard to move on from it. But it changed me. I have some resentment toward my mom, but I try to understand her position. She was a high school graduate raised on the fairy tale that marriage was forever and divorce was a failure. Her parents had a nasty divorce, her and her brothers and sister were separated, and she didn’t want that for her kids.
As time passed, we all grew up and changed. I’ve forgiven both of my parents for what they exposed us to but it inevitably changed the woman I would become. I have trust and commitment issues to this day. I also have never stayed with anyone who has even raised their voice to me, never mind ever tried to grab at me. I feel like I’ve already spent my time being abused and, as an adult, I’ll never allow that to happen to me or my children.
I'll never be the little girl I was before seeing the brutal violence up close and personal.
When I left my parents’ house, I made a choice to never be a victim again. I feel like there are things in life that you can choose to either let it break you or choose to let it make you stronger. There are no lengths that I won’t go to in the pursuit of protecting my kids. I never back down from a fight and I think it’s because I always saw my mom be at the losing end of every argument she ever had with my father. She could not protect herself or us and I know that has plagued her mind for years. Now, I realize she is more resilient and forgiving than I could be. In her mind, she endured it all for us, but as a child, I just thought she was weak and I was angry at her for that.
I’m not longer disappointed in either of my parents because I realize they’re human. I’m thankful that my dad chose to stop drinking because the alcohol was always an accelerant to the violence. And while I have forgiven both of my parents, watching my mom get abused definitely shaped who I am. I'm anti-violence, I walk away when I'm angry. I've never even considered spanking my children because aside from the fact that I don't believe it works, I don't trust myself to know the difference between a tap and a beating.
If you or someone you know has been the victim of domestic abuse, you can find help and support at DVIS.org, the National Domestic Abuse Hotline at 1-800-799-7233, or by contacting your local women's shelter [domesticshelters.org] (http://domesticshelters.org/).
