***TRIGGER WARNING***
I am not a qualified medical professional. All opinions are my own. My advice is not based on medical evidence. Please contact a professional if you need mental health advice.
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This is a very difficult topic to talk candidly about because I am not the only victim and this isn’t just my story. We’ve all been through things that have had a lasting impact on our lives and the way we view the world. Experiences – positive or negative, will shape who we are and how we react to our circumstances in later life. Although, it’s important to remember that the events in our lives do not define us and that there is always hope and the chance to heal and grow.
For as long as I can remember I have been an anxious individual – albeit ‘high functioning’, but either way, extremely cautious and constantly on edge. I live with several phobias that I’m certain link back to the horrific circumstances my mum and I found ourselves in at the start of my life. My mum and I also have an exceptionally close, co-dependent relationship which is beautiful in some ways and toxic in others. At the time, being each other’s rock was the only option we had and mum tells me that her drive to keep me safe was what gave her the strength to eventually escape the monster who tortured her for a year and a half.
One of my first memories of being anxious was when I was around two years old. My Mum had taken me to a party hosted by the women’s refuge we were staying in and I remember there being lots of other children my age running around and having fun whilst the Mum’s drank tea and chatted. This was the party where I ‘won’ my Tula teddy (a character from my favourite children’s TV show The Hoobs) who 20 years later, still sleeps next to me every single night (Yes, she even came to university with me). The reason I remember this party so clearly is because it was the first time I remember feeling self conscious around my peers. My mum kept trying to encourage me to play with the other children – who were running around in circles screaming – but every time I tried to join in, I felt silly and assumed everyone was laughing at me. I felt like all the adults were thinking ‘Why is that girl trying to act like a child’, ‘She looks so awkward doing that’ and all the kids were thinking ‘why is she trying to join in with us’. I lived in an extremely abusive home so it’s no surprise I had issues with self esteem. With my mum’s life quite literally hanging in the balance, I lived in constant fear of doing anything wrong.
Those feelings of awkwardness and paranoia still live with me. The only difference is that my developed brain is able to recognise that it’s probably all in my head (at least I hope it is). Looking back, I think how sad it is that at an age where I should have had no inhibitions, I felt stiff with anxiety and paralysed with insecurity.
Mum’s abuser, ‘Matt’ nearly killed her several times. He strangled, raped, beat, force fed and humiliated my mum day in day out. He forced her to leave the house without me because he knew this meant she would have to come back. Matt and his friends forced my mum to eat steak despite her being a vegetarian and then laughed as they threw food and sauces at her. One time he even burnt her with an iron.
I will always remember how horrified I was whilst mum told me that he once strangled her to the point her lips went blue and tingly. “I really thought that was it – all because I cooked his sausages wrong.” She said.
There’s something about that sentence that makes me feel physically ill. I can’t begin to imagine what a terrifying time in her life that must have been.
My mum was frighteningly thin at the time and made herself sick every time she ate even the smallest bit of food. She had no choice but to bring me to the bathroom with her out of fear of leaving me alone with him and I often wonder if my phobia of vomit developed because of this. Phobias are often caused by trauma and it makes sense that I would associate the act of vomiting with fear and violence.
She wanted to leave many times, but he had threatened to kill her sister and kids by petrol bombing their home and this was a risk she was unable to take. She was absolutely terrified of him and feared for the lives of anyone she knew and loved if she tried to escape.
The final straw for her was after she returned home from the shop to find me in my buggy with my hood pulled over my face. As she lowered my hood, she saw I’d been given a black eye and had been completely bruised in my ear canal. She took me to hospital for treatment but was so afraid of what he might do, she lied and told the nurse that I had fallen over. She lives with guilt to this day – although I don’t think she should. She was 17 years old and doing her best to survive.
On the day she fled, Matt had demanded she get him a takeaway and had allowed her to take me with her. She had nothing but the clothes on her back – no coat or bag, and I was in a babygrow without any shoes on. She didn’t have my buggy or any nappies or change of clothes for me, and she didn’t have any money at all. “It was a split second decision to run away.” She said. “I found an old bus ticket on the floor and decided this was my chance to escape.
“When I showed the driver the crumpled ticket, I prayed he would let us on and thankfully he did.”
She went to her friend’s house where her mum organised accommodation in a women’s refuge. That night, Matt rang several times – one second begging her to come back and the next threatening to kill her as soon as he found her. Luckily she was strong enough to stay away and that evening we were moved to safety.
There are two reasons for sharing this story. I wanted to share this story for my mum – as she’s always said that she wants a book written about her life. Unfortunately, I’m not quite there yet with my writing skills but I’m using this as a way to archive her life and to inspire others with her incredible strength. I also wanted to talk about the journey of unlearning traits that were born from trauma – even if much of it is in your subconscious and not from an active memory.
As a baby I couldn’t make eye contact and just stared at the ceiling when anyone spoke to me. I had to attend speech therapy as my insecurities and fear of getting things wrong meant I struggled to respond to questions without repeating them out loud first. As I got older, I couldn’t handle being in trouble or told off and I was terrified of being at a friends house in case their dad was around whilst I was there. As soon as there was any mention of their dad or any male member of the family – I felt physically sick and had to fake a headache and get taken home. As an adult, I now understand why I was like this but at the time I felt out of my depth and weak – which nobody enjoys.
I’ve been labelled as a high achieving perfectionist with OCD and temper problems – and although this may be true, recently I’ve been trying to understand why I’m like this. It’s been a constant in my life, having people not understand me and take an instant dislike to me or think of me as ‘weird’, an ‘oversharer’ or just plain rude. It used to get to me but as most of us do in our early twenties, I’ve accepted that not everyone is going to like and/or understand me, and that’s okay.
But, recently I’ve been wondering how many others are out there of the same mindset? Is there anything we can do to unlearn the traits we have developed as a result of childhood trauma? Is there a way to achieve the correct balance of holding yourself accountable for your actions and giving yourself a bit of a break?
This is something I am working on – both in therapy and on my own. I have spent the past year staying completely away from men – I’m terrified of being vulnerable around a man ever again because all I’ve ever known is men using and abusing women.
My therapist explained to me that our minds are made up of a system of ‘core beliefs’ and ‘rules for living’. For example, a core belief in my head might be that men are bad. If I then have a negative experience involving a man, my core belief has been reaffirmed, which then justifies my ‘rule for living’ – avoid men at all costs. People who are lucky enough to have a nice dad/uncle/grandpa might find it easier to accept that not all men are bad. Of course not all men are bad. But sadly, for many of us, our lived experience shows us otherwise. Unlike a fear of something irrational (e.g. spiders), being afraid of men and what they’re capable of doesn’t feel that irrational to me.
Wanting to unlearn any behaviour or change any thought pattern should come from within and should be all about you. Holding on to anger, pain or behaviours that hinder your happiness isn’t fair on your soul and the sooner we are able to let these go, the better. As trivial as it sounds, I think It’s really important to take time to yourself and become more self aware. This means being honest with yourself about how you feel and refusing to live in denial. In my experience, you have to tackle the thought process head on and forgive yourself for feeling that way before choosing to try and let it go (almost like in exposure therapy). I find that using uncomfortable keywords to describe how I’m feeling helps me to accept myself more and gives me the power to manage my emotions. Admitting when you feel rejected, jealous, or insecure rather than hiding behind anger means that you can work on the cause of the issue as opposed to falling into the same old patterns and defence mechanisms that ultimately leave you feeling worse.
Try viewing yourself as someone you care about, as opposed to someone that exists purely for others. I know it sounds like I’ve lost it, but viewing myself in the third person has really helped me learn to take better care of myself. Before I began this journey of self care I was constantly punishing myself for not meeting my own standards – I would starve myself, sabotage friendships, drink, smoke, take drugs, have one night stands that made me feel used, stay up all night worrying etc. Now, I try my best to take care of my body and do what’s best for me. I can enjoy a drink in moderation without polishing off a bottle (or two) of wine every night, I’m getting enough sleep, practicing a good skincare routine, making sure I have enough time to eat, taking time each day to sit in silence and read/reflect/think etc. Everyone’s needs will be different, but figuring out what these are and making it happen is such an important part of the healing process. These basic little things might seem challenging or even pointless at first, but from my experience it’s much less daunting dealing with difficult feelings and painful memories when your home (you) is being cared for.
Revisiting the trauma and abuse I’ve encountered has been really scary. It made me feel powerless, hopeless, and as though there was no way to undo the damage done. It also made me feel angry. The fact that my mum’s abuser and the man who raped her (my father) never faced justice for what they have inflicted upon her – and subsequently me, is very difficult to accept. Mum and I have had many emotional conversations regarding this and it is something that will always be hard for the two of us – in different ways. Recently (much to mum’s horror), I mentioned that if I had the opportunity I would love to know of my fathers side of the family – just out of curiosity and I guess trying to put the pieces of my heritage together. Being the only mixed race person in a family of white people is isolating in itself, but not having a clue who my biological family are, where they live, what they’re like etc. frustrates the perfectionist in me and triggers feelings of isolation. The only person to blame is my father – and that infuriates me. Although I learnt a while ago that holding on to anger does nothing but harm you, it’s just one of those things I’ve found it hard to shake.
I have a love for knowledge and my safety blanket is knowing everything I can about everything. I love learning, researching, reading and any activity that helps me feel more prepared for what might be coming. I like to know all the details and potential outcomes of any risk I take – no matter how big or small it is. Most of us are afraid of the unknown and delving into your past to dig up painful memories and tackle your ‘trauma traits’ is absolutely terrifying. It’s a risk that you can never predict the outcome of which makes it even more of a challenge. For me, it’s one of the best risks I’ve ever taken and I’m so glad I was able to take it.
My advice to anyone struggling would be to confront your fears. Be honest with yourself and remember that any behaviour can be unlearned. One day I know I will be completely free of the shackles placed on me by those monsters – I know my mum will be too. My past never has and never will define me – and neither does yours.
Sum x
