Living With The Effects Of An Abusive Family
Part 2
We are talking about a 250 lb. 6’3” grown man compared to a 100 lb. girl. I was already at such an emotional low in my life, how could I possibly think there was someone who would help me get out? One of my brothers got a towel and started cleaning up the blood off the floor. My other brother had already left with my baby and stayed in his room until it was over. (again, their roles being played out) After the crazy wore off my dad, he went outside to light up his cigarette, and my mother told me to go take a shower because I “wasn’t presentable” to be seen. I got up off the floor, and tried shaking the coldness of her stinging words off of me. There I was covered in blood and zero empathy for what just happened, again.
Even though her words stung, they weren’t a surprise. This was her normal reaction when these things would happen. It was just another direction that I followed.
It has been difficult to think about how removed and distant she is. My mother has never told me she loves me. She has never given me a hug or showed any type of loving affection. Even to this day, I don’t know what hurts worse, the fact that my dad feels he has the right to take out his anger on anyone, or my mother’s withdrawal of love, empathy, or affection?
As I am cleaning up myself and wrapping my head around what just happened, I knew I was on my own. All I could think to do was to pick myself back up again, and having to figure out what I was going to do next. Shortly after I was sent to shower, my mother called our pastor (at the time) to come over and talk to my dad. There was only one other time my mother had called Bob after a different assault against me that my dad was responsible for. This pastor wasn’t even 5 feet tall. Compared to my dad, he was no match being more than a foot shorter, and probably more than 100 pounds lighter.
My mother had me stay in the basement while this person was there. I already felt humiliated, but was conditioned to stay away from people after my father would black my eyes, or bruise my face. We were told if we told our grandparents, it would make my dad look bad, so we were quiet. We had a phone that I could have used, but I didn’t know who to call. The police were never a thought for help because in my mind, they were always putting my dad in jail. My dad was not a fan of cops (you can imagine the slurs he used). It was a time when CPS wasn’t in anyone’s vocabulary, nor any child advocacy groups like there are today. Therefore, empathy from anyone was non-existent, so why would I have thought any differently about what this pastor was going to say?
The only other time this soft-spoken pastor came to our home was not a positive encounter. The very first thing he told me when he walked into my bedroom was and I quote, “You really know how to push your dad’s buttons don’t you?” That man never asked me what had happened. He only heard my dad’s version as he’s puffing on his cigarette. I can remember such shame as he leaned against my bedroom wall and those were the first words he chose to say.
On that particular night my dad put his hands around my throat, pushed me up on the wall into a choke hold, and then threw me down a flight of stairs. I had bruises, but no blood. Why would I trust that the shortest man I knew was there to help me? I had no other frame of reference for any other kind of life than the one I was living. For him to come to my room and the first thing out of his mouth was that statement, is not only ignorant of how to treat victims of violence at the hands of those who are supposed to care for them, but completely inappropriate to say to a child who is visibly bruised and traumatized.
I had come out the basement to see if I could be alone for just a minute. I heard my dad talking to pastor Bob on the porch above me. I was heartbroken listening to my dad lie. The blaming and not taking any responsibility for the person he is was so painful. Naturally feeling like it must somehow be my fault, and my chest feeling like a ton of bricks were on top of me, my thoughts were all over the place.
How many times does a child wish to die before they make it happen?
I then heard pastor Bob say that if my dad hurt me again, that he would have to ask him to go to anger management classes.
The Bible says, “Father’s do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4) My dad knows no such things.
You can see why children become angry towards God when men of the church have that kind of approach to dealing with alcohol and anger in the father.
At a later time, my mom told me the pastor said that my dad should apologize. My dad did none of those things. I knew that my mom did not tell the entire truth either of what had really taken place that night, otherwise, why would someone not help? But not just someone; it was a man who claimed to know his Bible.
The pastor never asked to speak to me that night. The blood in the kitchen had already been cleaned up by the time he arrived. When we were younger, we memorized my mother’s parent’s phone number if we ever needed anything while she would be out of town for work.
I later asked my grandma why she and my grandpa never told us it would be okay, or help us, or make our dad leave, or something? I didn’t know what I was asking, but for someone to process this with. She said her dad was an alcoholic too, so she understood. She shared personal stories with me. She added that she and my grandpa had to stay out of it because my mom would get upset if they got in her business. I had understood her a little more that day.
The next day I laid in bed a lot. My bedroom was in the basement and I never came upstairs. I was too embarrassed, and hunger pains were the least of my worries. My body ached everywhere. I just kept to myself trying to figure out what I was going to do. I had a baby girl to care for and protect from the craziness around me. I didn’t think I could take much more, especially thinking she may be next.
I knew I couldn’t go anywhere with my face looking like it did and my parents banked on me feeling the shame of that. When my mother came home after work, she came downstairs. She informed me I would have to leave because my dad and I fight too much, and that she didn’t want the disruption in her life. It was a very familiar comment that I had heard so many times before. I knew she wouldn’t tell my dad to leave because she needed his income to pay his part of the bills. This was the biggest, most expensive house we had ever lived in and I knew his name was on the mortgage.
I thought about how I could bring more income in so I could stay with my brothers. I didn’t want to leave them. It would have been nice to hear words of comfort like, “How are you doing? How do you feel? Can I get you anything? Ibuprofen? Something to eat?” Nothing but a cold presence. Nothing to give me any indication that I was important enough to care about. I was solely alone, alone to find my way in life, alone to figure out what was so wrong with me that I deserved to be discarded, isolated from reality, and confused with the feelings I tried to process on my own.
As in the past, I was sent to go stay in my mother’s parent’s basement for a few weeks until my mother decided what was next for me.
I look back and think about the tragedy of all the times that my dad got away with the abuse that occurred, my mom who enabled him, who silenced my voice, and manipulated us our entire lives to think what we experienced was normal, and deserved.
As I got ready to leave for my grandparent’s house, my mom said that Debbie from church left a note for me in the kitchen. The envelope was open so I can only assume my mom had already read it. She would have never let me know it existed until her narrative was believed, and had “approved” of what was written in any letter.
It was obvious that Debbie thought she had “heard” the news because she felt the need to tell me her life story in that letter. She thought it was best that I needed to be obedient to my parents because she was not. In that moment, I wished she were looking at the effects on my swollen face of what she alluded to calling disobedience, not to mention I was adult at this point in my life. If she could have caught a glimpse, she would have understood the reality of what we were living in.
My mother is really good at impression management and Debbie’s letter was just another indication to what was already so confusing. It reiterated how no one knew the truth, that my mom’s twisted version would always be heard and believed before I spoke, and how devalued I was through humiliating experiences.
Why was no one asking me what happened? Was my mom that good of a story teller to leave out crucial details, and then distort the truth to where somehow abuse is justified?
To childhood victims of abuse:
Toxic parents associate children sticking up for themselves against their abuse as disobedience. This is the root of self-betrayal. The twisting of this scripture, taken completely out of context, needs to stop. Victims learn that in order to be loved and to survive, and in the name of survival, we have to be loyal to the toxic family system at the expense of loyalty to ourselves.
The control these people have over their victims is oppressive, and it is disgusting.
It couldn’t have gotten any worse right? As divine intervention would have it, my 19-year-old self left with my daughter and note in hand. I was shielded from ever having to live in my parents’ house again. I could not tolerate living in the continued cycle of being the brunt of their dysfunction. Looking back, I should have allowed others, besides a few family members, to see the effects of my body instead of trying to conceal it.
This shaping of my brain and how I viewed relationships was agreed upon at a very young age with my mom to conceal my father’s behavior. I didn’t like the idea of anyone being angry at my dad for what he was doing. It is fairly easy to create anxiety, and a sense of loyalty in a child out of fear of what will happen to the family. I now understand that I was unknowingly protecting both of them.
Abuse is a sickness that spreads like a nasty disease and it ruins so many lives.
My quiet withdraw starts today.
My uncle had an open door for me for a few weeks until I could figure out what I was going to do. During those few weeks, his wife told me, “Your dad had not been drinking this last time he hit you; he just came home angry for reasons we don’t really know.”
Typically, my extended family would make one sentence statements and leave it in my lap, like it had already been scripted. For them to make sense of it all and puke it back out at me must have been a way for them to process, like what he was doing was somehow justified in their mind.
I guess as long as it didn’t affect them, their statements were a familiar scene of a lack of care, or concern for the wounded.
Isn’t it interesting that some people in dysfunctional families choose to stay in the system to keep the peace, while others choose to run as far away as possible to actually live in peace?
I’m done going along to get along. Getting along only exists if we are playing by the same rules.
I do not pretend that I have trauma licked, but I do find value in being grateful for my life, and I choose joy regardless if trauma can’t lay itself down at times. I am determined to have peace and harmony in my life because I refuse to be a part of the chaos any longer. God has brought me to an understanding of desiring to suffer well, not wallow in it. That took time, and is still a process.
I want to be an encouragement to someone else when they hurt. I want others to understand that walking in freedom is a choice. I find ministering to others’ needs a blessing that God has allowed, but I don’t find it helpful to tell people “It’s going to be okay” or “Just have faith.” Those are little bandaids gaping and infected wounds.
There were times when all I had was a little bit of faith to stand on because no matter how many times I wanted to deny and bury those hurts, it was there waiting on me to deal with… and at times that seemed unjust.
It is the children who are handed the largest amount of trauma and dysfunction because it is all they know.
Below are some of the effects that I experienced for the first several decades of my life. You may identify with some or most of these. If you find these validating, know that Jesus covers all of this, and justice will be served. (Matthew 18:6)
- Being clingy
- Low self-worth
- Self-degrading statements
- Helplessness
- Insecurities
- Lost and directionless
- Had tons of guilt and shame
- Lack of self-control
- Embarrassed to have friends meet my parents
- Being scared watching my brothers get angry, aggressive, and physically fight
- Fearful of my future
- My brothers and I cried a lot
- Never understood why I was so sad
One of the most important things I have learned were from Peter, when Jesus told him that Satan wanted to sift him as wheat. (Luke 22) But Jesus prayed for him that his faith would not fail. Peter would fail, but came back even stronger from that test so he was able to strengthen those around him. Those acts committed on victims by their perpetrator may never see the explanation of why suffering is a part of the journey, but what I do know is your tears may just be used to water someone else’s garden. The silver and gold that your suffering earns is often deposited into someone else’s account. When we sign up for Jesus, we have renewed strength that no one can take away. How are those who come out stronger to minister to people who are hurting if we didn’t walk through trials ourselves? This is what Jesus meant when he told Peter that he would come back stronger for the purpose of strengthening the brethren.
What is your purpose?
Your story will either be used for the glory of our God, or it will be buried in silence.
You get to choose.
What God permits in our lives, He has it covered by intersession. People need real. They need transparency. They need Truth.
They need someone with a heart to come alongside them with understanding, and without judgement. They do not need an attitude of arrogance because none of us have this thing figured out.
Remember, what is permitted by God, is also protected by God.
Please hear my heart. I would never dismiss the pain associated with facing the afflictions of past hurts because I get it. The reality is, it does affect me at times because it has shaped a part of who I am. And I thank God every day that my life no longer revolves around the hurt, but on those hard days when Satan likes to sift me, I smile reminding him Who has already won.
It will never mean that a triggering thought doesn’t lurk in the shadows waiting to devour me. But making a conscience effort in reminding myself that Satan knows his time is short and that my destination is heaven-bound makes me less worried about being triggered.
Each year that passes, I do see God’s hand guiding and clearing the path He has set before me, and my growing little family. I see clarity in scripture pertaining to my circumstances because I now have a heavenly perspective that wasn’t there before. I look up for answers rather than looking down in shame.
I see the purpose in the suffering, and today I have the courage to stand alone in front of the flames to say, “Even if God doesn’t heal the relationship between my mother and me, I still will never bow to the sin she asks of me.”
I may be discouraged from time to time, but my measure of success is how fast I can get back in the saddle. That destination He has for me is too important to lose myself in the process of having a mother-pleasing spirit or become distracted by the games.
No circumstance will change who I am in Christ. Not the hurts and not the pain. This hard thing you face can not be the deciding factor of your joy. Sure, that is easy to say when the days are pleasant and peaceful, but reminding yourself on those wearisome days where your strength comes from. We want any sorrow we feel to be well with our soul.
Whatever the pain or joy-killer, God will always use it to bring us to a place that reflects Christ’s character. You just need to hold on until you get there because it may be bumpy for a while. Even when it feels easy to give up, endure, for your sake and for your children’s.
I know He is able and bigger than any sorrow we will ever go through in this lifetime. My Hope is in Him, not in any false hope of a relationship that may never be.
Your journey will be a process. Life may get harder before it gets better, but it is where you can meet Jesus. I do not believe it should take events of trauma in our lives for us to be so broken that we come to know Christ that way, but none-the-less, that is what God allows. And it’s okay to question His timing. We know the end result is for our good, and His glory.
There is freedom in standing for the Truth and peace when we daily commune with God. Our battles aren’t with any human being. Satan is our adversary, and is in the business of destruction and dissension among families.
So, anchor your feet in the Word of God!
Those burdens weren’t yours to carry.
Ephesians 6:12
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
Natalie
UPDATE:
Over the past decade, we have had numerous responses from Natalie’s post. I am so thankful that so many of you have the courage to reach out I have had first-hand knowledge of how difficult it has been for Natalie to come forward and share just a few stories of her experience. Opening your heart in a safe place will help the healing process and possibly lift a burden that someone else may be carrying as well. Everyone heals differently and it is a process for each one of us. I encourage you to take one day at a time. It is very important to remember there is sin in secrecy and exposing darkness with Light has to take place if Jesus is to heal those hurts.
The good news is there is always hope and nothing is too far out of God’s reach. God has not abandoned you. Any pain that you have had, Christ has experienced this too. He has been misrepresented, beaten, slandered, falsely accused, abandoned by loved ones, and ultimately crucified.
I have provided a link here for any of you that need a biblical perspective on how to move forward from here on out. This is a difficult subject for most of us when we are still hurting and continue to be thrown back into a cycle that we would prefer not to be a part of. I encourage you to listen to this sermon by Charles Swindoll. It is part of a series on the life of Joseph. I also have written an article here on family dysfunction if you would like to read that. If Natalie and I can help in any other way please let us know. We love hearing good reports of moving forward in your healing journey. Praise God He has made a way for us all.
Jason