Child Abuse Story From MTD

by MTD
(Ottawa, Ontario, Canada)

It's hard to know where to start. The emotional abuse by my mother extends as far back as my memories do, and continued until I cut ties with her at 41. I will soon be 50. The sexual abuse was by my father, and I was about 3 to 5.

Maybe it was my response to my father's actions that led to my mother's abuse, I don't know. My father would fondle me and penetrate me with his fingers while he would bathe me, and fondle himself while he did so. For years, all I remembered was that he would make me stand and face the end of the tub when he would wash my genitals, and that it would burn. I remember complaining to my mother about it and asking that he not bathe me anymore and she just told me to tell him that I wanted to wash my own genitals.

I remember that when my mother would try to bathe me in the afternoons, when my older brother and sister were at school, that if she didn't lock the bathroom door, as soon as I was naked, I would run out of the bathroom, out of the house and around the backyards where we lived, buck naked.

I know this embarrassed my mother, to whom it was very important that we all 'behave' and that our family appear to be 'a cut above'. I remember being a bedwetter and how that frustrated my mother. I was often sick. I understood very early that I was a burden to her.

I also had memories of a time when my father's boss visited for dinner. I went upstairs, removed my tights and panties, and returned to the living room, where I did a 'curtsy', lifting my skirt to reveal my bare bottom to the men. I was about 5, I guess.

As an adult, my mind kept coming back to these memories, and I was confused by them, and embarrassed. I didn't understand why I would do such things.

As for my mother, nothing I could do was ever good enough. I was "too loud", "too tomboyish", "too sensitive", not enough like my sister. I got excellent grades, never brought the cops home, did my chores, but nothing ever earned me her approval. My older siblings, on the other hand, could do no wrong. My mother's constant comparison of me to my sister, plus the 4-year gap in our ages, ensured we weren't close.

My parents both drank. Not to the point of belligerence or meanness, but to the point of anesthesia. I can remember one summer when my brother joined the reserves to earn money and help pay for his education. I was 12, I guess. He was gone, so I had to take over his chores, including taking out the garbage.

There was quite a collection of empty gin and rum and wine bottles in the garage, and I thought I was doing a great favour by putting them all at the curb. Instead, I got royal s**t, because 'the neighbours had seen'. How the heck was I supposed to know they weren't to be disposed of???

I remember my mother buying me some very skimpy, very short, thin nylon baby-doll nighties when I was about 11 or 12. I couldn't figure out if they were meant to be worn with panties or without, and I tried both. I would be lounging around the family room after supper, before bed, with my bare bottom showing. She never said a word. Looking back now, I wonder: Was she hoping that I would cause my father to become aroused so that she would benefit? Could she have been that selfish?

I was 15, and looking forward to going to a party with a boy I really liked. My mother insisted I lose a few pounds. I think I was 5'4" and 120 lbs. and being a fairly active tomboy, was fairly fit. Looking back, I know now it was her issue, but my battle with obesity started not long after that. My parents divorced when I was 17. Things with my mother only got worse.

I married at 21, had a child at 23, and had my tubes tied at 25. I knew my marriage would not last, but I struggled with it out of co-dependency for 15 years. My ex was as much an alcoholic and abusive as my mother was. I was in and out of therapy from the age of 17. I struggled with low self-esteem and depression. For most of my adulthood, I used food the way an alcoholic uses alcohol or an addict uses drugs.

My father got cancer and died in the early 1990's. I still had not understood what my childhood memories represented. Within a 12-month period I dealt with that, a significant change in job and the break-up of my marriage. I fell into a deep depression and was off work for some time, and in therapy pretty steadily after that.

It took until I was in my mid-30's to recognize that my mother was abusive. I had started to question if I had been abused by my father, but I guess my psyche just wasn't ready for that. Despite not having had the self-confidence to finish either college or university (unlike my sibs who were both university graduates, as I was often reminded) I managed to make a good career for myself.

Slowly, I dug myself out of the hole of self-loathing. My true healing didn't start until I stopped having anything to do with my family. That gave me the space I needed to learn who I was and have confidence in myself. I started a new relationship, this time a healthy one. A few years ago, I guess I had healed enough to face the truth of my father's abuse and all of a sudden, things clicked and I remembered what it was all about. That was a very difficult day, and it took until well after bedtime before I could even speak. My spouse was very supportive, a rock.

I did a little research and learned that I was a typical survivor of childhood abuse in so many ways. I have spoken of the sexual abuse with a few people, have worked through it with a therapist. I understand that my parents did the best they could. I know that my father was likely himself abused, having been raised by the nuns of a convent known to have abused the children in their care. I know that I have not continued the pattern.

Because my father is dead, I cannot confront him. There is no point in trying to discuss any of this with my mother, as she will lie and say she had no idea. I know she lives in her own private hell. One doesn't spend one's whole life at the bottom of a bottle for no reason. Suspecting that my sister experienced similar abuse, I wrote her a letter some months ago. She has received it, but has not taken me up on my offer to discuss the subject.

The day I realized I had been sexually abused by my father really rocked my world. For a few days, I cried, realizing that the little girl I was really had no one looking out for her. But then I started taking stock of my life. Yes, it was rough at times, and I made some very poor choices for myself. But that is all in the past.

I have a wonderful daughter with whom I have a great relationship. She is doing well in her life. I have a great relationship with my spouse, who is my best friend. We have a great life, and share a love for the simple things. We spend as much time as we can outdoors, and I find that being in nature has tremendous calming and healing effects. I have a good career. My health has steadily improved, and I am getting better at being kind to myself, and not overindulging in food.

This past spring, after several years of silence, I was finally strong enough to call my mother on Mother's Day, and have a brief conversation with her. We will never be close, but I have healed to the point where I am confident that she no longer has the power to hurt me.

I don't know if I will ever try to re-build a relationship with my siblings. We have very different values. I am not certain that I will ever be able to forgive my father, but I have made my peace with my past, and it no longer can lay in wait, ready to ambush me.

Note from Darlene: I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of commenting on visitor submissions to the degree I have in the past, as I am currently writing a book on healing from child abuse. I ask that you please read my post of June 24, 2009 titled Announcement Regarding my Comments for a complete explanation. I welcome you to follow my progress on my Facebook page at Healing from Child Abuse. When you get there, don't forget to click onto the Become a Fan link. I do hope to hear from you there.

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