Sunday, August 09, 2009

When memories rule your life and you won't admit it

When I was grwoing up, I learned the most important thing I can do - is make everything good, and nice, and cover it over so things appear great. So I've never talked about when my 5year daughter was angry with me for something years back - she decided to use her head as a clobber. The end of that story is what I don't talk about - cause it does not sound nice, or tidy, or make me look good. I also learned, that - that was also crucial for survival. 'Make sure you look good'.

Some back story:

As I've written here before - I was beaten up, and terrorized by my brothers on an almost daily basis starting at the age of 8. It was a difficult time, scary, and wrong. And it effected the way I grew up, and understood my relationships with men... and in fact all people.

I would avoid relationships with men altogether - or just not believe that real friendship interactions were possible. Or I'd understood that it all had to do with power and domination, and humiliation. That was what I understood.

That is what I understand.

I must always be on guard for an attack, or I must always be on the defensive. And well, I must always communicate subtle sarcastic tones to try and unnerve people around me. I'm not always like this - but it is part of me for sure. Admitting and talking about this after such a long while came only because of an argument 1TMB and I were having. And argument that brought our relationship and family to the brink of collapse. It still teders ...

You see, I chose to see her as my oppressor, dominator too. It affords me a lot of room to not listen to her, be mean, and overall have a place to put my anger - yes -
without any regard for how she feels.

Did I mention feelings were not really a big priority in my house growing up?
They weren't at all - and in fact, they aren't now either.

So, at the top - I mentioned how my daughter was frustrated at me ( her father) and decided she was going to try and bump me with her head to show her discontent. Having not dealt with any of my triggers, memories, and family in any meaningful way - I suddenly saw my daughter as my abusive brother - barreling down at me.

She was 5.

Didn't matter.

I moved out of her way, which resulted in her bumping into the wall behind me, and starting to cry.


It has taken me years and years and under INTENSE pressure to even murmur any words about his. And I mean murmur because 1tbm has been hitting her head against a metaphorical brick wall for almost 8 years - trying to get me to speak open and honestly about this and other feelings happening in my head.

I refuse.

She tells me it is important, for our children's lives, our family house, for what is left of our relationship/friendship connection.

I refuse. I refuse. I refuse.

Clearly something is wrong here.

My daughter? Well, thankful she has a mother like 1tbm who does use a lot of words. 1tbm and herself have great connection and 1tbm has been filling in much of the gaps (I have left gulfs..) that I created in some of my interactions with daughter.

This was not the way it was suppose to be.

My son is 3.

No comments: