DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT A THERAPIST. THESE ARE JUST MY THERORIES.
It's not a secret that I was an abused child. Don't worry, I won't get into the gory details. I don't want to trigger my readers. This is why my blog now comes with a warning. In order to access my blog one must be above the age of18. I don't want to give any confused kids ideas.
I'm not ashamed to discuss my traumas or experiences. In fact, I believe this is the reason why my growth was never stunted or why I am not as damaged as I could be. Discussing your pain out loud or through the screen is a type of therapy. It also makes the person aware. By facing my trauma or fears I can look them straight in the face. I now have the upper hand. I can address them and fix them. I've learned a lot about myself through my healing process. I was prepared to forgive myself, sob a ton, realize that sometimes I won't get closure. But I was not prepared for an apology from my abuser. Or from my Father.
When I was a teenager I had a burning hatred for my own Mother. Many times I wondered what would happen if she disappeared. I constantly begged my Da to divorce my Mother. My bitterness towards my Mother was very obvious because I called my Father, Da. He had so many nicknames. But to me my Mother was just Luisa. She hated that I didn't call her Mother or Ma or Amma, or anything like that. In my Mother's mind she thought I favored my Dad. But how could I not? When all she did was hit me and verbally abuse me.
In order to tell this story, I need to start at the beginning. I remember having a happy childhood. The letters I received from school said differently. My brother and I are "Irish twins". The word is rather derogatory when one thinks about it. But, it's the only way I can describe it. It means that my mother had two children born 12 months or less apart. The name is making fun of the Irish for being Catholic. My brother and I have birthdays in October one year apart. While we're both Libras we're completely different from each other. This is why I don't really understand astrology. From what my friend Judy says, "your whole chart is what defines you, not just your sun sign." Okay. I guess that makes sense. My brother and I did everything together. Because of that I was a tomboy. I played with trucks, dinosaurs, and barbies. I remember throwing a fit because my brother received a Godzilla for a gift and I got another doll. So I cried and asked why I couldn't have the same toys as my brother. "It's because you're a girl, " I was constantly told. Another sign I was always nonbinary/genderfluid. My brain couldn't tell the difference between my brother and I. I even told my Mother that it wasn't fair. Sadly, this was my first lesson about the patriarchy.
My Mom wasn't always unstable. Or maybe she was and tried hard not to show it to us. I remember my Mom playing with me. I remember her singing lullabies to me. I remember my Mother telling me bedtimes stories. I remember running to my parents bedroom when I was scared. They would let me sleep in between them or by their feet. I remember waking up on weekends to a smorgasbord of breakfast items. I remember having the best snacks, toys, and stuffed animals. I never knew we were "poor." You don't realize that until you're a teenager and learn how unfair the world is. I am the person that I am because my Mom took me to the library and to museums. Even though she had an accent she taught me how to read and write in English. Her storytelling was so fantastique. Because of her stories I wanted to be a writer. And she would do all these funny voices when she would tell her stories. I love music because both my parents played music around me. Even in the womb my Mom says she played music for all three of us. My Mother was loving, funny, and kind. She used to have such an amazing sense of humor.
My Mother made such an impression on me that when she started to change, it scared me. I noticed it when I was eight and my brother was seven. My little sister was just a year old. I didn't understand why she would cry all the time. Or why she would shut herself away in her room. I didn't understand why she would randomly shout at us when we didn't do anything. Now I understand that my Ma was suffering from postpartum depression. It's my theory that the postpartum depression was so severe it destroyed all her serotonin. And in an attempt to fix it her brain decided that being manic would give her the chemicals she was missing. Except it didn't. Another theory of mine is that my mother experienced such a traumatic event that it triggered her bipolar disorder. The reason my Mother is named Luisa is because my grandfather thought that my Mother looked exactly like his. So, Luisa is actually my Great-Great-Grandmother's name. And from the stories my Mother told me it is clear that my Great-Great-Grandmother was also bipolar. Mental Illnesses are genetic. How else could she become like this?
Luisa became more emotionally unstable. My Ma would be happy or calm then five hours later she would start crying or start yanking on our little limbs or hair. My brother and I would cry. We would tell her that it hurts. But it was like she was locked away in her own brain. No matter what we did to get her attention she just looked lost. Or like she was on vacation. Her body was there, but her soul wasn't. Sometimes I would catch her dissociating for hours. My little sister was so neglected I feel like this is the reason my grandparents asked if they could take my sister to live with them in Mexico until she was five. Children are receptive of what is going on around them. I think that's the real reason I became quiet and reserved. And the reason why teachers said I looked depressed. I just kept praying to God that he'd bring back my Mommy to me.
My Mother only became worse. When I was a kid, I caught my Mother talking to the wall. I kept asking her who she was talking to. I said to her, "Naiden esta ahi!" Which translates to there's no one there. I became so worried that I started to read book on psychology. I'd go to the library and look up her symptoms. The answers I kept getting was schizophrenia with bipolar type 2 or borderline personality disorder. I watched the "Wishbone" episode on the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I shook my brother. "Look! That's Mom," I said to my brother. He just went on playing. I was the only person who cared it seemed. Then I turned 12 and I thought things would change. It only got worse. On my golden birthday, my own Mother threw a knife at me. Just for asking if I could have a small birthday party. After that, I knew it was over. I lost my Mother. I lost the person who vowed she'd always love me.
That's when the nightmare truly began. My whole family tried our hardest to not make her angry. No matter what we did my Mother would start screaming, throwing things at us, telling us how we don't appreciate her and how we don't deserve her. By the time my brother and I were both teenagers we started having bruises we had to hide. She kept telling us that if we told the police that we would be taken away. The last straw was when she threw me into a wall. My brother and I were going through hormonal changes. Because of this we constantly got in arguments with our Mother. It is normal for parents and teens to fight. It's not normal to call your kids slurs or to swear at them. I just wanted my Mother to tell me that I would be okay. Every time I would ask her why my period was so painful she would just tell me to suck it up. All periods are painful. I needed reassurance and not be brushed off like that. By the time I was 16 my homelife was so bad that I chose to do several after school activities so I wouldn't be home. My brother and I became my sister's protectors. My Mother became more militant with us. She never cared what music we listened to or how we dressed. Now she started throwing my metal shirts away, telling me I couldn't dye my hair. And that if I ever got was a tattoo or piercing she'd disown me. In her mind, my brother and I were acting out. So she thought we needed discipline. To be fair, she wasn't wrong. We were acting out. But only because we were confused and scared. The once chill and funny woman who made us smiley snacks or animal fruits now called me a whore. We couldn't even joke or be sarcastic or else she'd slap us. Or lecture us for hours. Sometimes I would prefer being hit just so I could get it over with. By the time I was 18 I couldn't take it anymore. My brother and I were never home. I started living at my friends' houses. My need to escape my violent home is how I ended up dating just as toxic people. I thought if I could fix them then I could get my Mom back. Or I would live with my partners at the time, only to realize they were just as manipulative and abusive as her. I moved out at 23. I stopped speaking to my Mother until recently.
For those people who say you can't cut off your family. I say just watch us. It's the same reason people calling me names has no effect. Nothing is more painful than your own Mother rejecting you. In a way, her rejection made me strong. It made me realize that only I could love myself.
I grew up. I became an adult. I realized that stopping the cycle of abuse starts with me. I started to heal. I decided to forgive my Mother, but that didn't mean I forgot what she did to me. That is why I chose to cut her off. Never in a million years did I ever think that my Mother would apologize to me. I always hoped she would. Now that I'm 34 I realize that our parents are only doing the best they can with the information and upbringing they had. I would always text my siblings to say, "Happy Birthday" to her so I wouldn't have to interact with her. But, this time I decided to call her. My Mother called me back. She thanked me for thinking of her on her birthday. Then she told me that she is truly sorry for all the pain she caused me. She thought she was helping us. She didn't want us to go through the same hardship as her. She also said, "I was a good Christian and what did it cost me? I lost my children." She then explained how she was slut shamed when she was young. Men always asked her out. She wasn't interested. This why I think she's asexual. It was so bad that many of those men spread lies about her or tried to hurt her. She thought she was protecting me by calling me names. Name calling is what caused her to be pious. I told her I forgive you, but you have to understand I am not you. I do not scare easily. No wonder my Mother has anger issues! Like many women, my Mother kept quiet. She never argued or complained. She bottled her pain and rage up. Until it finally broke. And her children and husband were the victims. This is why therapy is important. My Mom then told me about her trauma. How could I remain angry at my own Mother when we literally had the same experiences. My Mother was also stalked, raped, and mistreated. The difference is, that I did something about it. It's why I am a proud feminist. My Mom told me she didn't want me to be killed for constantly saying how proud I was of being a feminist. She raised me to be weak and meek because that's how she was raised. My Mother told me that now she realizes how proud she is of me. That I had the strength to do what she couldn't. I was flabbergasted. My friend Molly was visiting me from Chicago. While she doesn't understand Spanish, she can read body language. The shock on my face was enough for her to know what was going on.
Furthermore, my Mother finally told me she loved me. I actually believed it. because this time it felt sincere. I think that my Dad divorcing my Mother gave her a reality check. I also think it made her realize how much of her power she was giving away by constantly being angry and taking it out on her children and husband. Or how much she relied on Dad financially. My Mother was brainwashed by the patriarchy and I'm glad she finally realized it. My Dad never endorsed the patriarchy. That's why I always say that my Dad was my Mother and Father to me. He has always supported me. I'm also aware that my Dad isn't perfect. He has ADHD like me. I imagine their relationship had a lot of communication issues because neither of my parents knew how they felt or how to explain their confusion. It's about time he finally started to treat himself better. And made her think. I also hope that since her menopause has been over for years now that her brain is more calibrated. Or at the very least she can now seek therapy and meds. Although, habits are hard to get rid of especially when my Mom used to be an antivaxxer.
I am proud of my Mother. That feels weird to say because it's usually the other way around. I am glad she finally understands the damage that was done to her. I hope she continues to heal. I hope one day we can have a relationship. And if I have kids I can proudly say this is your grandmother.
Now for my Father. How do I know my Dad has adhd?! He linked me a video about adhd in girls at 1:30am eastern time. Only another person with adhd would do that. Especially when he has to get up at 6am for work. He also apologized to me for not getting me diagnosed sooner. He wished that he knew he had it. He blamed himself for why I have adhd. He said, "I wish I got you the help you needed. Your life would be so different." Of course this was all in Spanish, but I'm too lazy to translate all of that. "I'm sorry I listened to your Mother. I shouldn't have", my Da texted. I texted to him back, "Why do you think I was so angry at Mom for hiding my diagnosis. I was in fourth grade when the school psychologist said she thought I have adhd. But what is done, cannot be undone. At least I learned how to handle my adhd."
It's still an asinine concept to me that my parents are both apologizing to me. Because I still see them as my parents. I will forever be a child it feels like. Then I remember I am an adult. I am engaged and I live in a different state and city from them. It is my turn to be a parent if I choose to. Talking to both my parents has given me so much clarity. I understand their perspectives now. I am no longer angry. I no longer hate my Mother. Because all I ever wanted was to be told that I mattered and am loved. That's all it takes. I may be an adult. I may be 34. But inside sometimes I still feel like a scared child who just wants her stuffed animals.
Yes, there was pushback. Yes, people criticized me for not speaking to my Mother. But I think it was worth it, because she realized how much she hurt me. That's all I wanted; for my Mother to take responsibility for what she did. Most of us never get closure, but if you do, it makes living so much easier. Don't ever give up hope! Because if my Mother could realize how sexist, racist, and homophobic she was and chose to change. Then anyone can change. It's never to late to want to be a better person. Who knows you might even be surprised. I know I was.
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