Child Abuse Story From Laura6

by Laura
(USA)

My family is one of those "perfect" ones, with the nice Christmas pictures with everyone wearing red sweaters and smiling for the camera. We had parties with lots of people in our home, and my brothers and I were sent to the best schools, but in private, our mother abused us. She was usually very smart about it and left marks only in places people wouldn't see. Any imperfection, like getting our clothes dirty or acting shy with strangers, resulted in a punishment at home.

I remember once at church I spilled punch on my dress and started crying because I knew that punishment was coming, and my mother said, "Oh, don't worry sweetie, it was an accident," because the other mothers were sitting there. At home she sent me into the backyard to cut a switch, then took me in the bathroom and made me pull down my underpants and hold up my dress while she whipped me.

That time like all the other times she ranted about how I had embarrassed her in front of everyone. As the only girl, I was the most embarrassing to her because my hair got sweaty and mussed when I played, and I didn't sit like a lady, and a whole host of other things that made me unacceptable as a daughter. A more "severe" offense, like arguing about the clothes I would wear to school, received a more severe punishment, like being forced to drink one of the cleaners she kept neatly arranged under the sink or being burned with her curling iron--always on the body where clothes would cover the marks.

During my early teen years, I became more and more resistant to my mother's punishments, and my mother's violence became more and more out of control. When I was fourteen, she dislocated my elbow and fractured two ribs. When my father saw my arm, he insisted on taking me to the hospital, but he seemed to believe my mother's story that I was injured because I was playing football with my brothers, which made it my own fault because girls shouldn't be doing that sort of thing to begin with.

At the hospital, the doctor asked my father and mother to leave the room to fill out paperwork, and then he sat down next to me and asked how I had been hurt. I will never forget his face in that moment, worried and kind, and I thought for a long moment before I made the decision to trust him with my secret. I asked him to make my mother stop, and he promised to make sure I was safe. When I left the hospital, I went to live with my aunt in the country. I'm sure my parents made up some story to tell their friends and church members to avoid embarrassment. My doctor kept in touch with me for years to make sure I was being cared for properly.

There are people who will help if we only have the courage to reach out to them. I'm still in the process of healing, and it has helped to talk with my brothers, but I am not in contact with my mother, and my father believes that I exaggerate the abuse. It has also helped to volunteer as a family court advocate for children in the juvenile court system, and I recommend that to anyone who is far enough along in recovery to help others.

---

Note from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

I hope you'll follow me on:


Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.