It feels stale now, to say I was bullied a lot in school. I was bullied at home too. And I bullied like I was taught to bully.
I'm still in a place where fear gets the better of me most of the time. And I am tired of this sinking feeling that shuts me down, that takes my will, that smashes my dreams and hopes before they get a chance to feel the sun.
Growing up, the double standards were pretty harsh. Even though my brothers experienced a lot of abuse too, there were very strict and very clear gender divisions in reward and chores. Girls were worth less in every single thing. My mother told my sister and I on a number of occasions that she wished she never had us, and how girls are nothing but trouble, a burden extra. There are a lot of shocking things about my past, but some of the stuff that shocks me now is how in the most mundane ways we, (my sister and I), were told we were worth less. Like the room we slept in as girls not being heated. Not having our own beds. Not being bought new clothes. And when I became a teenager not being bought clothes at all. Not even bras or new knickers for my growing body. (I had to steal what I needed
) And as soon as I could legally work I had to pay for my own things. And this is for all intents and purposes inside a middle class family. The money was there, it just wasn't for us as girls. The situation was the opposite for my brothers. Their basic needs, and investment in their development, were always taken care of, and prioritized before our needs. We were always told how lucky we were, and how we were ungrateful brats. My father would also say confusing things like you are the apple of my eye my favorite. And it would translate into petty 'rewards' like the tastiest chocolate bar on a Sunday, or him not beating me like the other kids, or a trip with him alone with 'treats'. That of course was insidious... But bottom line was there was no real investment in us and we were told constantly that we didn't deserve it. No investment and no say. If we spoke up we were humiliated and scoffed at for our ingratitude.
The reward was never equal to the labor either. Its too cruel to think about he silencing and the torture and the kind of emotional labor expected of a child who lives with constant specter of life threatening abuse. But the other labor too. The household chores and child care. Never having any extra curricular activities. No one to help me with my home work. Just my angry mother who saw me as destroying her life, and at the same time as an extension of herself who should fulfill her role as caregiver and simultaneously live out the unfulfilled dreams she had for herself. It shocks me to think that in the professions I have 'chosen' are the ones my mother most dearly wanted for herself. (!!!) It leads to conflict, am I doing this for me? Is there a me? Sometimes I literally feel her still to this day take over my body, my voice isn't mine, my hands, my face they are hers. Its hard to un-twine my accomplishments, to own them. To beat the feeling its all a lie and to stop feeling like success is the death of the last vestige of myself.
What I held onto as a child was the fact that my extended family liked me, and liked me more than my mother. That I could fit in with them was my defiance of her. It was also what brought me closer to my very f'ing dangerous father and his very dangerous, religious and deeply conservative family. I thought his family loved me. I would get away at any chance to spend time in their houses. Doing everything I could to be pleasing and polite. But this all caved in. It's a long story and many stories. But long story short. It turned out in the end they didn't love me. That it was totally conditional. When we immigrated when I was just about to turn 11, they never wrote or stayed in contact... When the abuse memories started to come up, many of the first ones had to do with my most precious person, my grandmother, my Nana, helping my fathers family to cover up abuse. Taking me to hospital and covering the tracks of the maiming and grievous sexual abuse of my infant self. When my Nana died, when I was 12, she left me nothing. Not even a word. The sense of shame was acute. Abandonment?
Its so hard to feel for the part of me that was tortured physically and sexually because of this shame of not being worth anything. I feel I have after 13 years of dealing these memories and desperately struggling for some form of self acceptance , that I am in better place in terms of a sense of control. That I've reached a next level. That the work isn't in just dealing with flooding and the sense that I am completely crazy, being terrified etc. anymore. Even though I know there's more the time for that is not now. I'm free now to deal with the basic self building stuff.
I took to lying about my reality and really believing it when I did as a kid. I would tell stories about my wonderful life, the great stuff I had, and my amazing accomplishments. I did it unconsciously. impulsively without being aware - compulsive lying, compulsive liar. This greatly reinforced my sense of shame, unworthiness and inadequacy. (It did my head in when the abuse memories emerged, feeling like a I was inherently a liar and it just couldn't be true). My mother knew about it and she would taunt me constantly. If I ever did achieve something she'd bring it up, as if to say, so you might have done this but you're still just a fake and a loser. O no matter how hard you try you won't ever make it. This was a familiar refrain.
Yikes I realize I have more to say. Want to tell/try to resolve something. But its just too much for now. Thanks for listening.
Love,
EH
