***Trigger Warning – contains potentially distressing material pertaining to sexual assault
The Trials Of A Broken Aunt
For the duration of the summer after the sexual assault I experienced, time with my aunt was broken. We were both broken, and neither of us realized the extent to which we were both broken. I could only view my aunt from knowing the life she lived before me, but the longer I shared a life with her during the long summer, I remember the more I began to learn that I did not know my aunt at all.
I viewed my aunt as single, carefree, and independent. Out of all of my aunts and uncles among my mother and father’s siblings, this particular aunt was my favorite. I absolutely adored her. I looked up to her and wanted to be like her. She lived the type of life that I believed that I wanted to live when I grew up – carefree and in charge. Yet, I knew so little about her life. Until that particular summer, the violence I experienced changed both of our lives, and I felt that I knew her even less.
Sexual assault is a traumatic experience, but oftentimes, no one discusses the trauma that sexual assault brings into the lives of the survivor’s loved ones. At first, going back into that time frame to think about the assault was ever difficult for me to do. For years, I had not made any connections that I had been assaulted at all. My mind forgot that it happened, and beyond a certain time frame, I actually did not remember anything about it at all.
Much like many people sweep issues that they do not wish to face under rugs, my mind closed that time period of my life out of view, and I no longer thought upon those days again. If I recalled times with my aunt, they would always be the happier times, but to know her and to know the with her experience, I would have needed to recall every detail about our time together, and it was truly heartbreaking to remember.
For the longest time, I was bitter and angry with my aunt. In some aspects I believed that she failed me and that she had given into an age old tradition of the family keeping damaging secrets. Yet, knowing what I know about life and family dysfunction now, my perspective is a lot different. I believe my aunt did what she felt she was supposed to do towards me even if her belief guarded her own dysfunction.
My aunt was simply navigating life under the control of narcissists, her mother and father. Despite my aunt’s freedom and independence on the surface, she was still deeply trauma bonded to her family of dysfunction. That trauma bond directed her life and eventually destroyed her life as well. It saddens me when I think about it because looking back, the sexual assault I experienced not only broke my spirit, it broke my aunt’s spirit too.
Narcissists Ruin Everything
Narcissists ruin everything, but the truth of the matter is that any person who has toxic traits dominating their lives tends to ruin things too. My aunt reached the last straw with her parents (my grandparents) when her father tore off a prickly branch from a rose bush and whipped her with it for staying out past curfew. At the time, my aunt was 26 and was a brand new mother of a newborn only a few weeks old.
In what her mother (my grandmother) thought was a sudden rush of judgment, my aunt contacted a relative and moved several states away with her newborn in tow. She then began a new life in a new city. After some time with the relative, my aunt secured a good job, moved into a new apartment, and began nursing school. She did all of this with a baby and not much help from anyone except the help of the relative and eventually her parents.
My aunt developed a whole new way of living and mastered the art making her new life appear very appealing. I deeply admired my aunt. I thought she was cool. When she came to visit, I remember always asking her if I could tag along. Occasionally, she would allow me to do so, but more often, she did not have much time for me because she was an adult, after all. So when she asked my parents if I could visit with her for a summer, I was out-of-this-world excited about the chance to hang out with my favorite person.
I remember the discussion. Even my grandmother became involved, but even I thought the push for me to go was a bit extreme, and I never understood the reason behind the need to have my presence there so much until later. The only issue was that my dad was adamantly against me going with her. He contended that my aunt worked and went to school and would have very little time for me. He was hoping that I would not be used as a babysitter because he thought I was too young for that type of responsibility.
Yet, my aunt claimed that she would be signing me up for summer camp where I would get to experience a lot of different activities. She believed that I was mature enough to handle a change in a new place, and although my dad agreed that I was highly responsible for a nine year old, he was very apprehensive about it. He said I could not go with her, and for a long time, he would not change his mind.
At some point, however, he finally relented and decided to let me go but not without giving my aunt the rundown on how she needed to take care of me at all times. Little did my dad know or any of us knew that his former apprehension might have been a clear warning to stand his ground. However, I will never know this as my life seems to happen just as it unfolds.
The Sign Of Being Raised By Narcissists
I know that my maternal grandmother was a narcissist, but I have never been so sure about my grandfather. He was a very laidback and talented business man, but when he was pushed beyond his limit, he would react, and everyone knew once he reached a level of being pushed, one had better not get in his way.
Otherwise, my grandfather basically allowed my grandmother to rule over him. Although my grandmother only wore pants when she was out in nature or doing yardwork, she was always viewed as the more dominant one between the two of them. In other words, she wore the marital pants, but she knew just how far to push my grandfather before he would snap. I did not know him very well, and not once in his lifetime did I ever hear him utter my name, but he seemed to think I was a smart kid.
My aunt was seemingly the apple of my grandfather’s eyes, but she was considerably obstinate and wanted to be free. My grandfather did not like my aunt’s feminist ideals, and even though she never seemed to disrespect him or talk back to him, he seemed to hate the fact when she had a child out of wedlock. He viewed my aunt’s lifestyle as wayward and wantonness, and since she still lived at home prior to moving out, he would often humiliate her in front of her friends by laying down the household law.
I viewed my mother and my aunt’s relationships with their parents as strange, and there was a weird family dynamic that I did not understand. I was the black sheep of the family always looking in from the outside. So I saw quite a few questionable things where I was not directly affected because I was never directly considered as someone of relative importance. I was that kid born with a veil over her face. So in my mother’s family, I already had strike’s against me.
Needless to say, everything about my aunt’s life on her own was an attempt to live a life outside of what she experienced with her family. Although I could not articulate this fact as a nine year old, I could visibly see it. I knew it. I lived it myself years later. Yet, the harsh reality was that my aunt had been carved out to be very much like he family of her origin. I do not believe she was a narcissist, but she was a deeply troubled woman with her own troubling issues – one of which remained hidden from me for a long while.
My aunt exhibited narcissistic traits that often reminded me that she was indeed very much related to my mother. Like my mother, my aunt could be very mean. She was hard to read at times. When I wanted to be close to her, my aunt would grow distant. Her emotions would change as often as the phases of the moon. I would learn at some point, that my aunt spent time in a mental institution because she battled mental illness. I never learned her diagnosis, however, but I believe that she may have battled schizophrenia as a result of undergoing medical care.
The longer I stayed with my aunt during the summer, the more I came to realized that I did not like my aunt’s personality at all. She frequently reminded me of my mother’s and grandmother’s behaviors, but of course, that would make sense because of their close connection with each other. My aunt had good days and bad days, and as time proceeded on, I was more privy to her bad days. As I said before, she could be mean. She sometimes made fun of me, devalued me by pointing out my flaws, and discarded me like I was not even visible when it came to her friends.
My Aunt And Me: Our Trials and Tribulations
During the time that I experienced the sexual assault, my aunt and me did not get along. My anger became deeply rooted within me against her. In my heart, I felt that she had betrayed me by choosing family secrecy over my honor. Instead of consoling me in my darkest hour, she blamed me for basically being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for the choice of clothing I wore even though she approved the outfit, and for allowing the police to be called when it was the adult who looked after me that did so.
The time after the assault was a difficult time for both of us. I wanted to go home, but my aunt was stalling because she did not want my dad finding out what happened to me. Although I lived in a dissociative haze, the anger I felt had become volatile and explosive. I took out my anger on my aunt a lot, and she took out the anger that she had about her personal issues onto me. One night, I actually overheard her talking to her neighbor friend across the hall that I had become an overwhelming burden to her … that since my arrival, I had caused her nothing but problems.
To my aunt, the sexual assault had brought down the wrath and dislike of her neighbors upon her. I did not know that she had been subjected to ridicule and scorn because of me, but at the same time, she reacted towards me as if she were ashamed of me. I took note of how we spent a lot less time together after the assault than we had before. She always seemed so proud to take her smart little niece (me) around with her everywhere, but the assault changed all of that. I was reduced to spending a lot of time alone fending for myself.
Things became so volatile between us that she accused me of the most horrible things that no one should ever say to a survivor of sexual assault. In the midst of her ranting and raving against me, I screamed at her that I hated her. I was beyond crushed by her words and insinuations that I had seduced myself into the situation. Only dysfunctional people think this way. I was a nine year old child! The rage I felt inside of me was palpable. This was the first of many arguments between us, and that was even strange that I was arguing with an adult.
Yet, I did not know the secret battles of my aunt. She kept those things hidden from me. She struggled in silence telling only a few people of her struggles. It was only by accident that I discovered the truth. Before my summer was all over with her, I would learn the truth by accident. I was never supposed to know. Despite the fact that she treated me with as a younger version of an adult, she obviously knew that I was fragile, immature, and far too delicate to handle the greater issue that she carried upon her own shoulders.
Find out what happened in the next post.
My Voice Unchained 