***Trigger Warning – mentions sexual assault
The Scolded Parent
Aunt Betts never struck me as the nurturing type even though she had adult children. She always seemed so stern, but the Aunt Betts that talked to me so kindly in such a nurturing and loving voice while I was underneath the table showed me that she was truly a remarkable person. However, when I did not calm down enough after crying and screaming for what was a very long time, she told my mother and father that she thought I was in emotional shock.
I was despondent and dissociated, and I recall very vividly floating around in areas of the house outside of my body just watching as everything took place. In my actual body, I did not feel things happening to me. I watched things happening to me. It was surreal. It was also not the first time I had dissociated either, and it certainly was not the last. Dissociating became far worse in my adulthood when it appeared that the buried secrets of my past just could not remained buried anymore.
In fact, I have spent basically my life – since the time I was an infant – dissociating as a way to cope. I have even dissociated quite a bit while dreaming (more on this in another blog post later). When I told a therapist about this, she was speechless, and after the therapist sat in moments of silence after I told her about this, she asked me, “What kind of mind do you have because that is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard? It is an intelligent mind that finds a way to cope with trauma, and that by far is something I have never had a client tell me.”
Needless to say, Aunt Betts had my father put me to bed. He put me in he and my mother’s bed. For whatever reason, their bed was always the place everyone in the house individually slept when we were sick. My parents’ bedroom formerly belonged to my great-grandmother. My dad always believed that her prayers covered that particular room. I am not so sure if her prayers remained long after she died, however. Nevertheless, Aunt Betts attended to me as I cried but I simply could not respond to her outside of my crying.
My eyes were heavily swollen from crying and my throat was parched, and I knew this because I began to “feel” like myself again after I had somehow shut off and become numb via dissociation. Yet, the crying remained, and I simply could not stop. I was hurting deeply. It was the type of hurt that made crying inevitable, and it was the type of hurt that would only go away until I was all cried out. Yet, for whatever reason, Aunt Betts could no longer stand the crying. So she grabbed me, pulled me into a sitting position, and shook me extremely hard. Then she slapped me in the face.
Slapped Out Of Shock
The slap was not intended to hurt even though it was loud. In fact, I never felt the slap at all, but it was enough to redirect me from crying and gain my attention. It also gained the attention of everyone else in the room. My father, mother and grandmother were stunned by the slap. My siblings were in their rooms. So, I do not believe the slap was hard enough that they knew it happened to me. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to do that because I need you to calm down. You’re going to make yourself sick from all this crying. You look weak and sick right now,” Aunt Betts said to me.
Just like that, I stopped crying and began to calm down. I also was no longer dissociated and could feel myself again. I was back in my body as me. Aunt Betts actually grounded me by asking me to tell me her name. Then she asked me to tell her about my doctor’s visit. I glanced over her shoulder and looked at the expression on my mother’s face. My mother’s eyes seemed to be searching and waiting. My grandmother’s face showed anxiety but annoyance. I remained quiet. I said nothing.
Aunt Betts told me that I did not need to be embarrassed … that the doctor’s visit was a normal part of my feminine process. She talked about the process and explained to me the birds and the bees. Although it was a part of life, I already had read about in the book my aunt had given me titled Our Bodies, Ourselves, hearing it from a familial angle sounded strange because my mother had never talked to me about the birds and the bees without making me feel ashamed for having to be told this type of candidly personal information. My mother simply spoke of my changes as if they were “bad” without ever going into any detail. I always had to read between the lines.
After talking to me, Aunt Betts then turned to my mother and said, “These are things that you should be discussing with her. For her to carry on so, I just don’t understand. This entire time you have just stood by and not reacted the way a mother should react.” My mother looked uncomfortable. She had that familiar look on her face when someone said something to her that she did not like. I always took note of the appearance of her eyes and the tiny micro-expressions she displayed on her face that told me of what was to come.
I could always tell when my mother was plotting something inwardly against the person who said something to her that she did not like. This situation with Aunt Betts was no different. My mother seemed to resent the need to respond, but she gave some half-hearted answer that she has always been there for me. Before my mother could finish her response, though, my grandmother chimed in with her thoughts. It was clear to everyone present that my grandmother did not like what Aunt Betts had to say at all.
“Now listen here! You don’t talk to my daughter that way. She can’t help how the child reacts. That’s on the child. That girl just overreacted, and now she’s sitting here back to herself again. She’s fine now, and she was fine before. Just who are you anyway? Who do you think you are? How dare you hit my granddaughter! Who gives you the authority to come in here and question my daughter about how she cares for her child? It’s really none of your business what went on at the doctor’s office. You’re just being nosey!” My miniature-sized grandmother stood firm in her words believing herself to have cut down an extremely taller woman.
Aunt Betts seemed stunned by my grandmother’s response. “I only came here because her father called me. If you all were handling things here, then I would not have been needed. You certainly weren’t able to calm her down. You’ve not spoken a single word since I’ve been here. Besides, I don’t want to argue about this. We’re here for the child, and not once since I’ve been here have I seen her mother show any type of concern, compassion, or love towards this child. I haven’t seen it.“
Then Aunt Betts looked at my mother and said, “Come on over here and let me see you love on your child. She needs it. She’s had a tough day.” Oh no! Anything but a forced lovefest! I looked at my mother and could see the look of contempt, resentment, and anger in her eyes as she reluctantly moved her body in my direction. I did not even want her to hug me or even touch me in the state she was in simply because she was being pressured into doing it.
Yet, my mother reluctantly came over to me all while saying to Aunt Betts, “I love my child.” The way the words came out of her mouth, however, sounded twisted and angry as she spoke them through gritted teeth. It was clear to me my mother was angry regarding Aunt Betts’ challenge to her, but she followed through on it anyway to prove a point. When my mother sat down on the bed and leaned into me giving me a half-hearted hug filled with all of her resentment towards me for having to do so, I could feel her negative but cold energy confront me.
As my mother leaned in really close to me as if to kiss me, she betrayed me, instead, with her spiteful words. “Keep your mouth shut or else.”
Find out what happens in the next post.
My Voice Unchained 