The Visit

So I went ... I decided to go and visit my mother. The woman who gave birth to me... The one who abused me as a child. 

My reasons for visiting were simple. Her son, my brother - the child she loved best or at least better than me, seems to have been charged by her, with her welfare. Guess what? He's not doing his job. Woman is living in dire conditions and he's of course, no where to be found. 

I drove to her house on a Sunday afternoon. My god sister was there visiting with my mother. She let me in. Nerves? Anxiety? Ill feelings .. Yep I was feeling them all that day. Haven't stepped foot in that house in over 12 years. Haven't seen or spoken to her to the same amount of time. 

She looked old. Tired. Worn by time. However... She .. That nastiness... That raw manipulation... That was always present with her during my childhood, quickly showed that it still survives. She started with the " I don't know who you are?" Routine. The reason I say routine is the woman I have known to be my mother manipulates... I've seen her do it with my own eyes. How could she not know me? I'm her child. Lived with her the first 20 years of my life. The fact that we haven't spoken or seen each other in years shouldn't have any barring on recognizing me. She let my daughter in weeks before and she hasn't seen her in the same amount of years and she was a child the last time... So basically I'm not buying the " I don't recognize you"... Statement.

The conversations were strained and she played her games in the conversation for the sake of my god sister whom is present. 

The visit is brief.... I wanted her to know I was there to help her if she needed it... I didn't want anything .. Money? House? Car? Nothing! I was there because my father worked too hard for her to be living in the conditions she is currently in. I am my fathers daughter and he would not be pleased to know that all he worked for is going down with my mother. I was there to offer an olive branch ...

I meant every word! I would help her.... Nothing in return....

She made her position clear... Told me to leave her house... I was not wanted there.... 

My God the pain! 

I always knew she didn't want me as a child. Somewhere I guess I had hoped she would want me as an adult... I was/am wrong! 

This was a few months ago... Since then there has been Mothers Day and time to work on healing. 

I'll never go there again! She will mostly likely die in her residence. I left my phone number just in case she ever wanted to reach out...

You see ... I am "truth" if I am in her life then she has to deal with what she did to me as a child. She doesn't want to deal with that.

If I am around then I may expose her for who she is. Because again, i know who she is/was... When no one else was around! 

I wish her the best! I hope she has people in her life who will love her... everyone deserves that. 

She doesn't want me.... Those words hurt my soul even more as an adult with children myself. 

 I am broken... Like glass... Shattered into many pieces....

I'm putting myself back together one piece at a time... One fragile piece at a time ... 

Oh .... I will be ok ... Time is on my side 

My heart is burned on my arm...

My heart is burned on my arm...

It's on my left arm above my wrist. It's shape, is that of a heart with an arrow thru it. How appropriate. 

Some have thought it to be a tattoo that went wrong - it is not ...it is a scar.

It is a symbol. It is a reminder. It is my legacy on display. It is a big part of my story. It is my silence, my pain, my joy , my fear, my strength, my loneliness, my individuality... It's better than a tattoo as I didn't pick this to have put on my arm... It was a result of my reality as a child that is there and it is permanent.

Sunday morning breakfast. My Uncle who adored me...an visited infrequently...was at our house. My father, mother and brother were all eating breakfast in the kitchen.

We had a micrwave. One of the first microwaves available. It was so new to people that with the purchase of a microwave, there were free classes offered to teach you how to use it. We had all gone to the class.

We were most impressed with the microwave, because it could heat water in a cup, in 1 min, to boiling. Beat having to fill up the hot water pot on the stove and waiting 5 min for it boil.

I had put a cup of water in the microwave. I wanted a cup of Postom... A coffee like beverage that we as children were allowed to drink. Pushed the button for 1 min of time, and waited. The microwave did its thing and rang the bell when it was done. The door to the microwave opened from right to left. I opened it and reached in with my left hand to get the cup, which was full of hot steaming water. I grabbed the cup, and at the same time the door to the microwave swung back towards my arm, causing me to spill the water on my arm. 

Hot boiling water hit my arm wetting my white Oxford shirt sleeve. It hurt but I didn't say a word. I flinched but didn't yell or scream or react. Somehow in a matter of seconds I had processed that showing a reaction wouldn't be good. (Apparently I this is something I must have learned) 

I took the cup, sat it on the kitchen table by my plate, and sat down to finish my breakfast. My arm is on fire! I can't believe the pain! I excuse myself to the bathroom so I can look at it. Once in the safety of the upstairs bathroom,  I unbutton my sleeve and take a look at my arm -the skin has already started to swell. It hurts like hell. I run my arm under cool water ... It helps a little but as soon as I stop,  the severe pain is back. I use wet toilet paper to wrap my arm where the burn mark is and I wet the paper so as to help with the pain... Button my sleeve, and go back down to breakfast. Over the remainder of breakfast, I will have excused myself a few more times from the table so that I could check my arm. I even put butter on it. That set my world on fire, the pain was so bad.

The burn was severe and goes through all the stages it had to go thru to heal... I'm not sure how long it took... A few weeks?? but I hid it from the family the entire time...

One day my mother noticed. Asked me what had happened to my arm? I do not remember giving an answer but somehow one got developed...better than any lie I could have come up with on my own. 

My parents put together that it was a tattoo that I had let someone put on me and there were chemicals in it that had scarred my arm Wow! Apparently the heart shape helped them develop this reasoning .... Problem solved. 

I got punished for letting someone "tattoo" me...by my mother. 

But the true punishment I didn't understand until later in life...

When I was grown I had another instance of pain that was an accident ... I had used a hot curling iron to curl my hair. It started to fall off the dresser... I grabbed it by the hot curling barrel to prevent it from falling.... It hurt like hell! I got dressed and went to work. At the time I was working as a sign language interpreter in a school. My hand blistered... I worked all day that day... Went to the emergency room after work was over... That's when I was enlightened.....

That current injury to my hand was a first degree burn ... The scar on my arm was shown that it was most likely a second degree burn. 

Now, here is where I started to understand the level to which I had been taught and punished as a child....

Pain! Somewhere, somehow I had learned that I wasn't allowed to show pain. My pain was embarrassing. I was embarrassed to show it.. To tell someone. I didn't want to be seen as not strong enough or that I was stupid because I couldn't handle the pain. So I would hide it and often mentally beat myself up if I cried because something hurt.

I had a second degree burn on my arm that was caused by an accident and I never told the people who should have been there to take care of me... All because somewhere somehow I knew that telling of my pain was worse than enduring the pain of the injury. I endured the original pain, then the pain of the supposed lie "tattoo" and the pain of the punishment of the lie...

My tears had no value! 

What my mother had done to me caused me to know my tears had no value! OMG how those words hurt now reading them and knowing the depths of what that means and ment for me as a child growing up... Now as an adult!

Fast forward to today. Old habits die hard. I don't like people to know of my weaknesses. I don't like people to know of my pain. If I'm feeling bad...I still try to hide it... Trust,  in these moments, is still tough. But at least I'm aware, and I try to use words to let people - who I care about,  understand  when I'm hurt or not feeling well. I am a work in progress. 

I learned my survival method by the results that I got as a child...

What survival methods did you learn? 

Advice to listeners

If a survivor of child abuse wants to or needs to tell you their story... 

LISTEN! 

That's it... Just listen. The person needs to be heard. Not healed. 

I have read many survivor stories and blogs and unfortunately there is a repeated pattern of people either not knowing what to say or responding with  blame or guilt aimed at the survivor. 

I have gotten the "people change" or "you should forgive" or my favorite... "God loves you... Turn your life over to him" responses.

Yes people change and can change but have you ever seen a leopard change it spots? It's spots are ingrained in its fur... Permanent. Just like the personality traits of many abusers.  Forgive? I have forgiven. Forget? I can't. My nightmares are full of the fears and experiences I had as a child. When I'm awake... I am constantly working on changing the messages my abuser gave me as a child either thru action or deed. I am growing in a positive manner as an adult. Mainly because I have forgiven the past for not being what I needed it to be and forgiven the past for never becoming what I hoped it would become. As for God, faith, belief, whatever you wish to call it. I have God. I have faith and I have a belief. For anyone to assume that a survivor doesn't, is judging them. Trust me, judging a survivor is the least sympathetic thing anyone can do.  Faith, belief and God is the only reason Im still here. For some survivors this is true as well. Again don't assume. 

So what does one say when being honored with the trust of a survivor who is sharing their experience...

First, listen. Just listen. There is pain, agony, shame, fear, hurt, and a host more emotions behind the words. Behind the experience. Listening with your heart is necessary.

No judgment! Meaning- dont clarify the experience for the person. ( Are you sure you didn't misunderstand  what happened?).  Uh you weren't there. The experience is not yours to judge or interpret.

 Don't excuse the abuser ( she was probably having a bad day... she didn't mean it). Again,  you weren't there in that moment in that experience.  Don't tell someone how to experience their experience! It's their's ... NOT yours!

Don't tell the person how to react now. ( That was a long time ago... Just put it behind you... Live for today.) Trust me you have no idea how the person feels. If they  could they would put it behind them. You have no idea how much they wish it never happened in the first place. 

There are so many more positive responses that you can say or do....

A hug- although some may not want to be touched. Positive touch can be very reassuring for those that are open to receiving this.

Verbal Reassurance - that you care about the person and appreciate them opening up to you. Confirming that you are there for them. How do you do this? Tell them using words of meaning and purpose. Be direct. Letting the person know that they are still loved and appreciated and accepted by you. There needs to be clear communication. The stress of sharing their experience with you can cause a survivor to get lost in the emotion of the past. This is why clarity in communication from you to them in this moment is necessary.

There are many other ways too....

These are just a few of the responses that can allow a survivor to be able to open up and trust you with their pain....

I know I appreciate being validated by being heard and not judged. Actually doesn't everyone. It's that the basic essence of acceptance and love?

If you are a survivor? Can you relate? What responses have you had when you told someone your experience? What responses have you had? 

I thank you for reading this... It's part of my experience! 

Please tell my mommy and daddy...

I am spreading the message that child abuse is not right

I am standing with others who are standing to fight

No more hitting, beating, yelling or screams

Children need love, protection, nurturing and dreams

I pray that my story touches more than one

I will keep on sharing it because I’m not done

Expressing myself and saying the truth

No more hiding in shame about my youth

I was hit and hurt and degraded and shamed

Those who do this to children deserve all the blame

Time is my friend because going forward I’ll do

Anything and everything to make it clear to you

Don’t hit your children and be careful of what you say

The damage once done you can’t take away

The pain, shame and changes to their soul

When you hit, yell and beat a child… What is your goal?

Think for a moment what are you trying to do?

Make a child be quiet because they are bothering you?

Children deserve your patience, love and your praise

I was a child once I know of what I say

Don’t take away a child’s soul it’s the only one they have

Don’t beat who they are out of them just to make yourself glad

I ask you to hear me and hear my pain

I am crying out to you to stop and stop again

Saying you are doing “the best you can” as you rape a child’s soul

You are no longer ignorant now because you have been told

Of the hurt and pain you can cause as a result of actions that you do

Stop! Please hear me now make changes in your life and you

Time is what you have so think of that today

Don’t hit or scream or beat think of another way

Your child deserves the best they are a gift you see

Treat them as if they are glass as they break so easily

Wish someone had explained this to my mother when I was just a child

Perhaps she would have listened and taken a lifetime vow

To not hurt me.... my soul..... and I

Not kill the little girl that lived alone inside

Please hear my story

I tell it regardless of my pride

I am standing with others who now stand tall by my side

We are a band of many who are telling our story true

Praying you will hear us and make a difference in you

Nightmare twin

THIS POST MAY HAVE TRIGGERS-PLEASE BE SAFE. MAKE SURE YOU ARE SAFE BEFORE YOU READ THIS. YOUR SAFETY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING.

Haunted...that's the word that best describes something I know...something I remember...something I still feel...the fear was so real it had a taste, it had physical components, it had movement, it was like a person, someone I would later learn that I would know forever.

It has no name...but it has sounds...it has no face but it has feelings, it has movement, it has life...it can't breathe, it shakes with fear...it waits...it is fear personified...it is impending doom. It is a nightly visitor now...it is not my friend, though it is as close to me as a best friend should be. It is not kind or sweet or caring. It is not fluffy or cute or soft or warm. Its signature is simple–it qualifies as one's total lifetime experience of fear in a one-shot dose.

A Shot...shoot...something I still remember, "click"...something I still hear...fear climbing up my back...grasping my heart...stopping for a minute to grab my throat, seizing my breathing. My hands are tied. My voice is in the off position. My eyes are trained on what I see in front of me...my mind thinks quickly about what will happen...too much, can't figure it out...quickly I figure my sibling will be safe...I will be no more but at least he won't have this memory...She takes me down memory lane... not mine but hers...she is such a sharing individual...she shares all of her hate, pain and anger on me, towards me. She gives it freely...no one could say she was stingy. She fills my small cup of self with all her dismal, dark, negative thoughts, observations and truths. I am lost in them....then in an instant...by the pull of the trigger...."Click"...she has changed my world forever...she birthed someone who would be with me forever, she birthed someone that would grow with me, Someone who sleeps sometimes but can be so awake, vivid and real at others. She gave life to fear in sleep—Nightmares...haunting.

The child she birthed...it only has one parent...my mother birthed it and it lives with me as if it is my twin. I close my eyes to sleep, to dream...to find peace and she is there waiting to share what she alone knows...the amazement for me is the realness, the details, the taste of fear, the feelings in my legs and arms...the "Click"...it is all recorded and plays like a feature film starring me. She is an amazing individual who holds vivid pictorials with sound, lights, action and real terrorizing emotion. What I have learned is that the memories of Nightmare child have always been there...but she was given full life potential that night. She may have only developed into a possibility or an occasional visitor prior to that night...the night that life was breathed into her soul....and she continues to fight to survive, though I fight often to silence her...

Haunting...that's her name...she is my Nightmares...she is my pain...she is my fear...she is me not safe, she is me exposed, she is me screaming inside, she is me bleeding, she is me bruised, she is me scared, she is me being beaten, she is me being shamed, she is me hurt, she is me battered, she is me alone. She is me...that's my point...the nightmares are me...they are me personified. They are me...and me is her...I struggle to get rid of her...but that's the point...she is me...and I am her...I hope to find a way we can co-exist in a world where my sleep and dreams are no longer dues that I pay to be awake in a world that I struggle so hard to be me (without disassociating) in.

May God Bless all those who experience Nightmares due to being abused as children...the children in us deserve safety...the adult in us deserves a good night's sleep...

I feel because I do.... I am because I am

Please note there may be triggers in this post... Please make sure you are safe before continuing.  Your safety is the most important thing. 


"Stop crying before I give you something to cry about" 
or 
"every time you move or put your hand in the way.... You get 5 more"


"Stop crying or I'll give u something to cry about"- unfortunately this is a popular phrase used by many parents. Emotional pain, Physical hurt, disappointment, and fear just to name a few feelings that can produce crying. These are just some of the feelings one feels when they are being taken apart by someone they trust. She was my mother... She gave birth to me.

 I was already crying as the statement shows. I was already experiencing something that was producing sorrow enough to produce tears but I was being told to stop feeling. I was told that my pain, hurt, sorrow, fear must be put away. Moved to somewhere else and if I didn't get rid of it and quick... I was going to be hurt more as outlined by her comment "every time you move or put your hand in the way.... You get 5 more".....Do you know how difficult it is to not feel pain? She would hit with all her might. Drawing blood. Leaving marks on the walls, furniture and floors when she missed her mark. Her mark being me........I eventually  found the strength to not cry, make a sound or move from the pain....... it took years.   I would disassociate - leave the scene. Disappear, die.   It ultimately became my victory that I wouldn't cry in front of her. Since when does holding in your emotions become a victory? 

As I grew up I learned to push my pain down inside, stuff it away, don't feel it. I then didn't know when it was appropriate to feel pain and express it. I experienced  a second degree burn from scalding water that I accidentally spilled on my arm as a teenager. It happened as I was removing a cup of boiling water from the microwave. I was in a room filled with adults, my uncle, mother, father and other guests. I never made a sound. I remember it was excruciating pain. I was afraid to tell anyone because I thought that they would see me as stupid for spilling the water and dumber for crying. I have a permanent scar on my arm from that incident as well as a scar on my soul. I never learned it was ok to feel pain and it was ok to express it. My pain was never validated. I never learned when it's appropriate or how it's appropriate to express when something hurts. In stead I learned to take it, accept it,raise my pain thresh hold. My pain was invalid. Her goal was to make me invalid. 

I am not invalid today. I am not  invisible. If something hurts I have learned by testing the waters ... That it's ok tell someone. Its small things that I can express safely.  Deeper feelings of hurt or disappointment are more difficult to share and often don't get shared ( I'm working on this with some success).  I have limited experience in expressing my pains, my sorrows in a safe environment. It's going to take time and trust.  I have learned to be able to say " this hurts my feelings". What a wonderful thing to be able to say " I'm hurt " and feel that and know that someone has heard you. 

 A child deserves the right to express their emotions. Say what they feel. Be validated as a feeling expressive individual. If one gets to do that as a child ... They don't grow up looking for validation as an adult. They feel because they do. They are because they are. Today I know that I feel because I do and  I am because i am.  One can heal, one can become valid after being taught that they are invalid. One can learn to breath in a moment and breath it out and not feel like they will break or shatter into pieces of broken glass. Is it easy? No. But I am learning that the same strength it took to endure the pain of my childhood... Is the same strength it takes to release the pain now... To get back that which was stolen from me. 

I am because I am..... You are because you are
God bless those who can relate .... Know that we are not alone.