Growing up the fifth of six children was a challenge, the struggle for placement and acceptance being the usual issues. Personally, I never felt I needed to be heard or seen. Taught to be seen and not heard from the time we were born, when we broke that rule we were punished severely.
I had several strikes against me growing up. I had very little self-esteem, if any. Our mother had a hair-trigger temper and we constantly had to avoid her wrath, learning to fear and not thrive as children. Even when we weren't in trouble, we felt like we had done something wrong. Talking about love or sex in our house was totally taboo. Our home lacked warmth and my fears of incurring my mother's anger outweighed my desire to talk to her about very important things that should have been dealt with as a child, not as an adult.
My childhood was short. I always say I graduated from the school of hard knocks, and meant it. I was molested between the ages of ten and thirteen by four different family friends and a family member. I was an alcoholic by the time I was fourteen and a frequent user of drugs when I wasn't drunk.
I was not popular in school, my grades were not great and the only thing I excelled at was spelling, which would not carry me far. My mom planted the seeds and watered them daily, telling me I wasn't smart enough or good enough to reach the goals I set for myself in life. I wanted to be a teacher, a stewardess or a nurse. At one time, I had many, many dreams. Not one of them was something my mother encouraged or thought I could accomplish.
I made mistakes, too many to mention and some so humiliating that I cringe inside today as I recall them. The drugs, the alcohol and the self-destructive path I was on were not things I was proud of. I wanted so desperately to change, but I had no idea how. I just wasn't good enough to succeed at anything. The only positive thing left was my desire to try.
I started dating a guy when I was thirteen, falling hopelessly in love with him. True to form, my mother told me I would never do better and on my sixteenth birthday we were engaged. We moved in together after high school and married at nineteen. We had two beautiful kids together, and that was the turning point in my life. Being a good mother was something I could accomplish.
Marrying so young was wrong, we both knew it. We were drawn to each other for all the wrong reasons. It was bad for him, it was bad for me, it was bad for the children, so I started my road to recovery by divorcing him. We never harbored any hate or animosity for each other and frankly I liked him better once we lived apart. He became a better father and a better person and I too became a better human being.
I began to reinvent and get reacquainted with myself. I faced my problems with the help of psychologists and social workers, who taught me healthy parenting and life skills. With their help and encouragement I learned to talk with my kids and to value them for who they were. I am able to guide them toward realizing their full potential through encouragement and emotional support. And, I have stayed clean and sober.
During therapy I remembered the sexual abuse and came forward to have the man arrested and charged with his crimes. I felt wonderful, vindicated and strong when he was convicted twenty years later for the crimes he committed against me.
I look back with 20/20 hindsight and wonder why my educators never picked up on my abuse. The signs were there, I read it in my report cards. About a sullen little girl who sulks and wants to be the center of attention, and cries. No, I don't want to be the center of attention. I just want to be loved. Can't you see that! I remember all the incidents as if they were yesterday and have worked hard to move beyond feeling like a victim.
Today I feel lucky. I have a wonderful husband, two more great kids and a home in the country, a life far beyond the dreams of a kid being drowned in the toilet. I have never beaten my children or belittled them. I overcame great odds, faced the loathing and shame, and grieved for the loss of my childhood so that the cycle stopped with me. In its place a life centered on love and nurturing has taken root and I am careful to plant more seeds and water them daily.
Reprinted of Marilyn Joan (c) 2004 from Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Robert Ackerman, Ph.D., Peter Vegso, Theresa Peluso and Gary Seidler.
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