From as early as I can remember, my mother was physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive. Tragically, I inherited her vicious tongue that sometimes sliced and diced like a Ginsu knife. She nicknamed me “Ninny,” as in nincompoop.
She committed emotional incest with me from ages 8-17. She used me as her confidante and emotional support, sharing the details of her sex life, the sex lives of my aunts, grandmothers, her friends and coworkers. The stories always ended the same: the men were lacking and the women were left frustrated.
She told me many times that women only have sex for personal gain, financial stability, that most men are sexual failures, and that women constantly talk about it behind their backs. She sexually humiliated me in a variety of ways, including pulling my pants down in from of my friends and neighbors, beating me with a yardstick on the front porch. Sick stuff.
She sat me down one aftenoon, and in a calm voice told me she wished I’d never been born. That I was a burden, that she could have had a career if not for me. She told me the reason she didn’t hug me was because her nipples were sensitive. My relationship with my mother was more damaging than all other trauma combined, shaping what distorted views I may have about relationships, women, and sex.
I’ve come to realize that my mother suffered severe trauma of her own and that shaped her own shame-driven views just as it has mine in turn. I cannot and do not hold her accountable for my own behavior and words as an adult. I have forgiven her, and I am working to own the spillage of my own shame. There is no excuse, only an understanding of context.
Hypothetical: Plant two saplings side-by-side. Water and fertilize one while feeding the other one antifreeze daily for 18 years. After 20 years or more, how will they appear in comparison.
This quote from Caroline Harvey, PhD could not be more accurate: “The way we speak to our children becomes their inner voice.” My mother’s abuse, other traumatic events in my life, and that the perpetrators were never held accountable instilled a profoundly deep sense of shame and self-hatred I’ve carried throughout my life. It has lived in the forefront of my mind, constantly criticizing, belittling, torturing. Somewhere inside lives the real me, but it is a constant struggle to overcome the powerful dark forces of shamed and self-hatred. I am grateful for professionals and friends in recovery who have helped me survive and begin healing. Not everyone is so lucky.
I asked my then 4-year-old daughter if she loved herself, just out of curiosity to see what she would say. She looked at me as if I had if she was an alien. She blinked and said.“Of course,” and went back to playing. She could no more imagine hating herself than I could have imagined fully loving myself. We’re operating on entirely different operating systems. I am so grateful that is the case. It has been easy to be kind to her.
My proudest achievement in life is my part in breaking the cycle of generational trauma so my daughter can love herself and be free to be her authentic self without the hindrance of intensely negative internal voices. She has been fortunate to have a mother, stepparents, aunts, grandparents, cousins, and others who also protected and loved her unconditionally. To prepare children for life, they need to know more than anything they are loved, protected, and safe, that their thoughts and feelings are valid, and that they have our full attention.
My daughter is a brilliant, kind, hardworking, strong and independent woman who makes friends like Steph Curry makes buckets. She is striking out on her own with a bright future and many adventures to be had. She doesn’t talk about it because it is so deeply ingrained in her, but she has always had this Buddha-like presence that is attractive and contagious to everyone she meets.