child abuse story from Renee page was created February 2, 2007 and was
originally posted on January 17, 2007 as story #64.
is from Schenectady, New York, USA The following child abuse story from Renee
depicts physical abuse and emotional abuse.
child abuse effects on Renee: bulimia, low self-esteem, fear that she will do
to her as-yet-unborn child what her parents did to her.
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am 24 years old. I am pregnant with my first child. I have an older brother and
parents who have been married for almost 30 years.
have been abused by my family and the people around me all my life, until now
that is. Both my parents screamed at us, called us awful names, and beat us
with their hands, belts, anything within reach. Sometimes it would be a
controlled punishment, where we would bend over a chair with our nude butts
exposed, they would hit us 3 times with a belt, 5 if we resisted. Other times
it was simply their anger that would cause them to attack me out of the blue.
when I was 8, we were sitting at the dinner table eating. My father reached
over and for no particular reason, pulled my hair, hard. The surprise made me
gasp and I breathed in the food I was chewing. I began choking and I almost
died that day.
mother was prone to fits of rage. Anything could set her off, and she would
leap on me and attack me with her fists while screaming at me for something I
had done months or even years ago. If we failed to do a chore, or didn't do it
good enough, my mother would beat us and scream about how ungrateful we were,
always ungrateful. Then, when my father would get home late at night, he would
rip us out of bed by our hair and continue my mother's punishment from earlier.
I was 12, my father was in the kitchen beating my brother, I was in the living
room, crying. After my father was done, he came into the living room and looked
at me, he shouted, "What are you crying about? you c*nt!" I didn't
understand what that word meant, so I went to school the next day and asked my
classmates. They were shocked when I told them where I heard it. I went home
and told my father that when he called me that name, it hurt my feelings. He
went over and cut the cord to the TV and threw it at me.
your feelings," he said, then walked out of the room.
I was 15, my friends noticed bruises on the top of my head. They asked how I
got all the bruises. I told them my father hit me because I wasn't wearing a
sweatshirt when it was winter time. They [my friends] made me go to the school
guidance counselor. He said it was his job to report this. I begged him not to;
I knew what would happen when I went home.
social worker came, and said that because there were no injuries, they could
not do anything. I had to wait for my parents to break my arm or something.
They did make us go to a family counseling session, which ended in my mother
screaming at the therapist and storming out of the office. My mother even
called the therapist back the next day to continue to scream at her and could
not believe the rudeness of the therapist when the therapist hung up on her.
I was 18, my parents grounded me for coming home a half-hour before curfew,
because it was snowing out. I had already graduated high school and I was working
full time. A friend at work informed me that they did not have the right to
ground me, especially if I paid rent to them. I told them [my parents] I
refused to be grounded. They told me to get out, so I went to live with the
informative friend at work. I never moved back.
I was 19, my mother called me crying, apologizing for all the things she had
allowed my father to do to us. She said that she still cried herself to sleep
at night because of the things she had allowed us to go through. She made me
re-promise a promise that she had made me make many times as a little girl: No
matter what happened, I would still allow them to see their grandchildren.
I was 22, I started seeing a therapist for the bulimia that had taken over my
life. The therapist opened my eyes. I called my mother on Easter to tell her
that I knew what they had done. They had abused me mentally and physically, and
that I was not going to be a part of their life until they got help. I now know
that this is called the hopeless hope. That your parents will one day get
better and really love you as you want them to. I have not yet put this fantasy
to rest, but I'm trying.
a series of mean and threatening emails from them [my parents], threatening to
have me put in a mental hospital for making up lies about them, to them
threatening to prosecute me for perjury, I have stopped speaking to them.
feel sad that I have lost a happy childhood. I am afraid that I will be an
abusive parent and be too sick to realize it. I am afraid I will be like them.
I am still in therapy. I am taking psychology classes at college; I even made the dean's list. I am trying, but I still hurt. Every day I think about them and what they did to me, and what kind of person does that to a helpless child. When I see a child in a store, I think to myself: That's how small I was when my parents beat me unmercifully. I look at the child's fragile body, and the child's simple ways, and all I can picture is a hideous, uncaring monster that eats the souls of the young and helpless. And those monsters are my parents.
NOTE: Information pages on this site were based on material from the
Canadian Red Cross RespectED Training Program. Written permission was obtained to use their copyrighted material on this site.
Child abuse story from Renee was re-formatted June 8, 2015
From Victim to Victory
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