The Ripple Effect

   I am a child of domestic violence. Most people don't know that about me. I won’t specify who or when or where, because the details aren’t important. However, I spent a large part of my childhood in a home that was terrifying. It was a home that included an abusive alcoholic that made every day feel uncertain. Let me say from the beginning, this person never laid a hand on me. This person never mistreated me directly in any way that I can recall.

  I witnessed the abuse of a family member for over 5 years. I was very young when it started, and unfortunately some of my most vivid childhood memories contain images violence. I don’t blame the person that I loved. That person has reasons why they were willing to accept this kind of treatment, and this story isn’t about them. That person is still a dearly loved and valued person, and that will never change. This story is about me.

  This is the story of the little girl hiding behind the chair in the living room. A child terrified and filled with dread over what was coming next. The arguing and fighting were happening almost daily, and physical violence was a common escalation point on any given night. I remember feeling helpless. Scared. Worried. Alone. 

   There is nothing more gut wrenching than watching someone you love being attacked and having no power to stop it. The fights start and you hope he will just leave before it gets any worse. Then he tries to, and she tries to stop him. Then it gets louder and before you know it, he is dragging her down the hall by her hair and you suddenly feel like you are someone else, watching someone else’s life.

  I don’t know why I started hiding behind that chair, but I have some guesses. The first would be to get out of the way. This is important when your living room has turned into a free-for-all and you are too small to be of any help. I could have gone to my room and shut the door, but I was afraid of what my happen if I weren’t watching. On more than one occasion I remember hiding all of the knives in the house to keep him from threatening her with those again. I guess I thought that by being in the room, maybe it would stop him from crossing the line from abuse to murder. That line was danced on more times than I care to remember. I was afraid if I wasn’t watching, the threat would become real. The person that I loved more than anything would die, and it would be all my fault.

  When I was about 9, I escaped. Well, sort of. I never stopped worrying about what was happening once I left. I had a hard time adjusting to my new home. I became angry, and started acting out by throwing temper tantrums and having outbursts that seem to come from nowhere. Unfortunately, no one around me seemed to understand what was happening to me, and it was never addressed. Somehow, through the course of my teenage years I managed to find a little balance inside myself. I give a lot of credit to church, because I could cry and pour my heart out to God and I felt like someone was finally listening. It was good therapy to have a way to let out all of my anger and pain.

  Although I was able to overcome the depression and anger I felt, I have carried the after effects with me. It has left emotional scars that I didn’t fully understand until the last few years. I have been lucky. I have tried to take my childhood as a lesson and use it as a positive in my life. I am still a work in progress, but I am proud of where I am today and know that I am on the right road.

   I have struggled with several issues from then to now, and some of them still creep up when I least expect it. I have been horribly insecure. I have felt like I was unlovable. I have been confused about what love is, and how to know when something is healthy and when it isn’t. I have blamed myself for the shortcomings of others, and taken responsibility in my soul for things that have nothing to do with me. I have made excuses for those who mistreat me, and though being a doormat was being a “good person”. I have routinely settled for less than I deserve. I have built up walls to protect me, because to show weakness is not an option. I have been socially awkward, and alienated myself for fear of what others would think if the really knew me. I have made a habit of taking care of everyone else, and ignoring my own needs and feelings.  I am the strong one, the tough one, the level headed one…. 

  I never had the chance to be a child, and that makes me a little sad. Not in a pity party kind of way, but in the sense that I missed a vital part of growing up. Being innocent and open is something that was shut down for me early on. In elementary school, I remember feeling desperate for friends, approval and acceptance. This always came across as trying to hard and pushed people away. In junior high, I was not popular. I had no money, no connections and no clout. When a group of girls decided to single me out as the target of 3 years of ridicule and insults, I didn’t fight back. I believed every word they said about me. By high school, I had already outgrown the concept of fun. It was time for a serious relationship. It was time for a job. If I could afford nicer things then surely I would be a less disgusting and worthless person.

    Then, adulthood. The list of mistakes made here is too long to go into. But I will say that a lot of them involved relationships. I believed that if I could find a good guy, get married and have a nice little family that it would fix everything that was wrong with me. I made terrible choices and connected myself with people who were unworthy of my time, much less my love. I chose people who needed fixing, and continued to neglect myself in the process. It took years of doing this before I realized what I had been doing. It’s funny how those realizations come to you all of the sudden, after years of torturing yourself by repeating the same mistakes over and over.

   They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results. It is insanity, or dysfunctional programming- the terms are almost interchangeable. What seems totally normal to you would make Dr. Phil say “Are you KIDDING me???” I am very much an unfinished project. I am human. I am flawed. I am the sum of the pain of my past, the joys of my present, and the promise of my future. I am a person who deserves to love and be loved and deserves happiness. I know that now.

   There is always a ripple effect. Even the smallest disturbance in the water will make waves. You don’t have to be abused to be a victim. Abuse comes in many forms, and has many names. The important thing to remember is that abuse doesn’t have to be your whole story. There is hope. There is always a possibility that your life can be better than you ever imagined it. It won’t come easy, but it is within your reach if you want it bad enough. The sad little girl behind the chair is still a part of who I am. I have embraced that part of myself. I realize that without her, I would not be me- and being me has turned out to be amazing. I have the unconditional love of the two most amazing little people ever created.  Life is good- and I am finally good with that.