Just a Memory (Physical Abuse)

[greengrowing]

A lot of memories have been haunting me lately, and this is the sort of thing that I'm scared my friends would not be able to understand or empathize with, so I'm going to try and share it here. If you are in any way triggered or upset by details of physical abuse, please be careful, because that's basically the content of the post. I felt very strongly that I needed to talk about at least one of the memories that is giving me trouble right now.




When I was a child (under the age of 12 or so), I was spanked. Maybe not as often as some people were, but it was common in the place that I lived and our religious beliefs heavily advocated for it, so depending on "my behavior" (or the whims of my family) it probably happened multiple times a week to some extent, ranging from swatting to using belts to using things like paint stirrers with holes cut in them or fly swatters. This would have started at least when I was old enough to crawl or walk, and being beaten with a belt after having a nightmare (I was scared and wanted to sleep with my parents) was for many years probably my earliest memory. The specific memory that is bothering me today, though, is related to my father.

He did a significant percentage of the whippings when I was a child - we lived together, but I felt that I saw him most frequently during that period when he came home after work to hit me. A lot of the time, it seemed unplanned, heat of the moment, or whatever, like he was hitting me because I was frustrating him or making him angry, and that was all there was to it.

Other times, he would be... particular about it? I'm not sure whether this was related to some childcare advice someone gave him, or something he'd heard at church, or maybe even something from his own childhood. I had to get on my knees, lay my torso on the couch, place my hands either on the couch, palms down or sometimes behind my back (so I couldn't protect myself) and put my head down. Then he would say something to the effect of "If you cry, I'll hit you harder. If you try to run, if you try to cover yourself, if you make any kind of noise, that'll just be more licks (of the belt)." I don't even necessarily remember the pain, though I'm sure he didn't hold back. I just remember trying not to feel anything, doing anything in my power not to cry or scream or kick or beg him to stop - don't make any noise, be quiet, be quiet. It was like I was trying to turn off all the pain in my body. I guess I was trying to make myself dissociate, so I wouldn't physically respond to anything that was happening. I knew it would just get worse. I believe this happened more than once, though since I don't have memories to back me up, I can't say how often. I think in this memory, I could have been anywhere from 7-9, maybe a little younger?

In the end, I got very very good at it. I think it took my sister longer to learn. I remember hearing her screaming and crying, trying to cover herself, all that. Might even have been the same night, though I can't imagine what we had both done that he wanted to do that. I don't know if I even felt anything about it, except to wonder why she couldn't just be still. "Wouldn't it be easier if she just stopped making noise, stopped running around, whatever?" I'm so sad. I'm so sad. I don't know why this happened to me. I'm starting to cry while I write this, which is strange. I usually struggle to cry, no matter how sad or stressed or whatever I am. I hate making noise. My family hated how much I cried as a child - even when I was hurt or sad, they couldn't tolerate it at all. My Dad might try for thirty seconds to calm me down, but if I didn't stop within a minute he would just start threatening me instead. I didn't cry much when they were hitting me, but I cried so much the rest of the time. Now my eyes burn when I try to cry. My tears feel like acid sometimes.

I want to post this, but I feel so horrible about it now. I feel like it isn't anything - that I'm embarrassing myself, making a big deal out of nothing. I just needed to say it, and I wanted to feel like somebody was listening. I'm so sorry. If anybody read any part of this, then you have my sincerest thanks.

[Scars]

Dear greengrowing,

this was definitely abuse. I am so sorry you went through this, and that it was done in the name of discipline or under the disguise of religious instruction. It is not what God wanted.

<3 scars

[greengrowing]

Scars,

It is not what God wanted.

I am grateful for everything you said, but this in particular meant a lot to me. My family (both sides) have been involved with multiple highly controlling (or so I feel) churches, and religion has been a very difficult subject for me and some others in the system. The idea that maybe this wasn't what God would have wanted - no matter what they said - really moves me. Maybe he didn't want them to hurt me, maybe they were just wrong. It makes me so happy to think that. I've spent a lot of time trying to deal with my feelings about the abuse, especially the (likely?) religiously-motivated stuff, but I guess somehow I had never thought that they could be mistaken, or just lying. I'm gonna try and keep that in mind. Thank you

[greengrowing]

I had actually wanted to come back and talk about something that happened after making my initial post.

It was a nightmare I had last night - essentially I was deeply upset by something reasonable, but my family still disregarded my feelings and made fun of me for being upset. I was really shaken when I woke up, but I spent some time actually thinking about the dream, instead of trying to distract myself and avoid my feelings (which even now is still uncomfortably common). I wrote about what was going on internally, different feelings that were going around inside, etc. I came to some really meaningful realizations about these patterns with my father's family. The range of "acceptable emotions" is so limited with them and for them. I believe that they're afraid of most feelings. They can't express them (except in very specific, usually unhealthy ways), and neither can anybody else, even when it is appropriate to do so. It makes sense, given what I know about my family history, but it has led to so much damage for all of us. I can't even quantify how much.

I realized that this has even had an impact on my system. The way we relate (or don't relate) to each other, the general feelings of repression and isolation, stuff like that. A couple of us got to talking and really sharing our feelings, and eventually we came to the conclusion that the abuse from our father (and his family more generally) made it basically impossible to try and get help when the csa was happening on my mother's side of the family, and was probably a significant factor in developing the DID in the first place. We already knew that we couldn't get help from our mother, because she was just too disorganized (severely traumatized, and some type of significant dissociation herself). Then there was our father, who damaged our ability to feel and to talk about our feelings... well, altogether it was a big lightbulb moment for us.

I was actually crying during all of this, not continuously, but more than I had been able to for a few months, despite how stressed I've been. It didn't hurt. I felt good, afterwards, kind of relieved.

Someone is telling me that I'm talking too much, but I thought that if I shared the bad, I should share some good, too. Hope that's okay!