Against the wishes of her parents, my mother chose to enter convent school at the age of 14 with the vocation of becoming a Catholic nun. At 21 she left, finding it too difficult. Three years later she had the mischance to cross paths with my father, a psychiatric case as well as being alcholic and violent. His parents on several occasions called the mental asylum to have him taken away in a straight jacket to have electric shock treatment in his 20s. Over the years, he's been diagnosed variably as schizophrenic, psychotic, psychopath,...
My mother told me she was afraid of him and thought it was the "will of God" to look after him as her life's mission. She confided in me that he'd blackmailed her into marrying him by threatening her with certain things (eg. breaking all the neighbours' windows, telling her parents she'd slept with him ("untrue"), etc.
As a child, I never had a day's peace in my family. I saw my dad physically assault, threaten and mistreat my mother, this mother I loved with such a powerful intense love. I would have died for her, I loved her that much. An example of such a scene would be my father holding a large chip pan of boiling hot oil over my mother's head threatening to throw it over her.
The feeling of impotence was unbearable and very traumatic for me. As a child, I was enormously attached to my mother, I had a huge love for her. I felt an intense need to look after her, protect her from harm and keep her safe. When I evoke this love, I cannot help crying. For me, she was the epitome of everything that was pure, good, kind, generous, etc, she was like a God to me. I couldn't understand how ANYONE could ever want to hurt her! The name she gave me was the same name as her best friend in the convent, from the beginning we were so close. My dad hated me and my brother because we were close to her. I did everything in my power as a kid to lessen my mother's burden and bring her joy, I was the good kid, the perfect child, that did well at school, I spoke before my time, read before my time, walked before my time, I did everything I could to please her and make her happy. I felt her pain so deeply. If she suffered, I suffered. I remember often finding her crying in her corner because she didn't know what to do, my heart breaking each time. I could try my best to console and comfort her. Putting my arms around her, I would promise her "I'd look after her when I was bigger", that she "could come and live with me and my family". So, very early on, I adopted the role of "saviour", "perfect child". The love I had for her was so strong I can't even describe it. I was obviously developing an unhealthy co-dependent relationship with her.
I can't remember how old I started doing this, but at some point, as far as I can recall and certainly as soon as I was able to, I started putting myself in between my parents, pulling my father off her, when he was physically attacking her in order to protect her as best I could. And as soon as I intervened between them, the violence seemed to stop and the threats dissipate, if my memory serves me well, (at least for that night!). My 4 sisters and brother stopped crying, sobbing and screaming and my mother stopped hysterically yelling "call the police" and everyone went to bed for that night. Sometimes the police came, but my mother was too scared of my father to be able to talk to them. "No, no, I'm fine. Everything's okay". There was a social worker at the time, but she was too frightened of my father, and so nothing was done for our family.
The days following these violent scenes, my mother always reproached me for having intervened between her and my father (which annoyed me to hear!) because she was "afraid of me getting hurt". I replied it was nothing, but she insisted I stop intervening between them. I obviously didn't obey, I wanted to protect her so much. As long as my father was attacking her, I'd be there to try and stop it. She didn't understand that for me the pain of passively watching the horror scenes unfold without doing anything was a thousand times worse than anything my father could do to me, and strangely enough, I wasn't afraid of him, even though he hated me. In any case, I loved my mother so much I would have sacrificed my life for her. And if my memories serve me well, I recall the violence stopping with my interventions, for those nights anyway, almost as though my father was relieved that there was somebody actually stepping in to stop it.
My father didn't work. He spent his days in bed, tyrannising the household, we walked on eggshells. We'd take him up his meals and he'd throw them on the wall, having seen a hair (imaginary or not) on the plate. He'd get up at the end of the day to go to the pub.
My mother had six children. She would probably have had tons more if the local priest (fortunately!) hadn't intervened and threatened to stop speaking to her unless she took some serious contraception. My mother has gone to mass almost every day since leaving the convent, even at 6 o'clock in the morning before starting work. The priest insisted that my mother took the pill. Without the intervention of the priest, I dread to think how many children she would have had ... 15 in 15 years ? 20 in 20 years ?
The horror at home continued until the divorce of my parents (I was about 13 years old and hearing that news was one of the happiest days of my life). My mother finally accepted to divorce my father because the Catholic nuns at school threatened her (fortunately!!) with removing her 6 children unless she got a divorce. My eldest sister (fortunately!!) had been crying a bit at school, the nuns seemed privy to what was going on at home.
After the divorce, for the next few years of my adolescence there were highs and lows between my mother and I. I felt she was trying to control me and I began being repulsed by certain caracter and personality traits she had that started alienating me from her (her agressiveness (even violence towards me a few times), her way of gossipping and speaking negatively about others (including her own daughters), her hypocrisy, stubborness, insensitivity, irresponsibility, resentfulness, etc. I began losing my illusions about her, idealising and trusting her less. Finding my family toxic and the relationships dysfunctional. (I always found my sisters and brother very selfish), I was finding it more and more depressing being around them. There was never a day of peace in the household, even with my father gone. There were always fights and arguments between my sisters, my brother would hit his 2 younger sisters.
My disturbed brother was violent, threatening and unstable, and used to smoke God knows what. He often used to go into the bathroom with his 2 dogs for ***ual activities for long stretches at a time, the horrific noises really traumatised me (especially as I love animals so much). I was too terrified of my brother to risk spying through the key hole. From the dogs' yelps and prolonged thudding noises against the bath, he seemed to be "getting off" by forcing the male alsatian to copulate with the (much, much smaller) little Jack Russel female. I stayed well clear of this nutcase of a brother, choosing exclusively to humour him in order to remain unharmed by him, but I checked the dogs discretely after their "bathroom episodes" to confirm my worst suspicions and invariably noticed the little female had blood around her vagina. Afraid of him and his anger, violence and moods, I was too terrified to go to the police to report these incidents with the dogs, and when I spoke about it to my mother she didn't reply as though I hadn't spoken. I think she was too afraid of him too.
I left the family home in Edinburgh at 18 years old to go and pursue my college education in another town far away, and after graduating at 22, decided to leave the country altogether and go and live and work abroad in Spain. Six years later I met my lovely husband. I'm 53 years old now, we've been together for 24 years, still as much in love and happy together, we have an enormous respect for each other and love each other deeply. I feel blessed having him in my life.
During my adult years, I often visited my mother but I realised there was less and less of a real relationship between us. Each visit gave me fewer reasons to trust her. I don't think she was making much effort with me now, perhaps because I'd moved so far away, she was probably disappointed with me. A few times, I'd eavesdrop accidently on her telephone conversations with my eldest sister, she'd be running me down, even lying and exaggerating things. I was her guest for the weekend, and yet here she was badmouthing me off to my sibling. I couldn't believe my ears, I never said anything to her, just vowed silently to myself to visit her less and less. I remember thinking (positively) at the time that her doing that would just facilitate me cutting the umbilical cord with her (co-dependent relationship). This treachery of hers was the proof I needed to help me cut myself free from her with less guilt. When my sister didn't want anything to do with me, at least now I understood why! I actually asked her one day why I hadn't been invited to her wedding, she replied "because mammy said you did this, or did that", as if my mother had been taking a perverse pleasure in coquering and dividing us.
Over the decades, I've also found my sisters' lives more and more depressing, with their husbands invariably alcoholic, unstable, unfaithful, disloyal, unreliable, violent.
************************************************** ****
My mother told me she was afraid of him and thought it was the "will of God" to look after him as her life's mission. She confided in me that he'd blackmailed her into marrying him by threatening her with certain things (eg. breaking all the neighbours' windows, telling her parents she'd slept with him ("untrue"), etc.
As a child, I never had a day's peace in my family. I saw my dad physically assault, threaten and mistreat my mother, this mother I loved with such a powerful intense love. I would have died for her, I loved her that much. An example of such a scene would be my father holding a large chip pan of boiling hot oil over my mother's head threatening to throw it over her.
The feeling of impotence was unbearable and very traumatic for me. As a child, I was enormously attached to my mother, I had a huge love for her. I felt an intense need to look after her, protect her from harm and keep her safe. When I evoke this love, I cannot help crying. For me, she was the epitome of everything that was pure, good, kind, generous, etc, she was like a God to me. I couldn't understand how ANYONE could ever want to hurt her! The name she gave me was the same name as her best friend in the convent, from the beginning we were so close. My dad hated me and my brother because we were close to her. I did everything in my power as a kid to lessen my mother's burden and bring her joy, I was the good kid, the perfect child, that did well at school, I spoke before my time, read before my time, walked before my time, I did everything I could to please her and make her happy. I felt her pain so deeply. If she suffered, I suffered. I remember often finding her crying in her corner because she didn't know what to do, my heart breaking each time. I could try my best to console and comfort her. Putting my arms around her, I would promise her "I'd look after her when I was bigger", that she "could come and live with me and my family". So, very early on, I adopted the role of "saviour", "perfect child". The love I had for her was so strong I can't even describe it. I was obviously developing an unhealthy co-dependent relationship with her.
I can't remember how old I started doing this, but at some point, as far as I can recall and certainly as soon as I was able to, I started putting myself in between my parents, pulling my father off her, when he was physically attacking her in order to protect her as best I could. And as soon as I intervened between them, the violence seemed to stop and the threats dissipate, if my memory serves me well, (at least for that night!). My 4 sisters and brother stopped crying, sobbing and screaming and my mother stopped hysterically yelling "call the police" and everyone went to bed for that night. Sometimes the police came, but my mother was too scared of my father to be able to talk to them. "No, no, I'm fine. Everything's okay". There was a social worker at the time, but she was too frightened of my father, and so nothing was done for our family.
The days following these violent scenes, my mother always reproached me for having intervened between her and my father (which annoyed me to hear!) because she was "afraid of me getting hurt". I replied it was nothing, but she insisted I stop intervening between them. I obviously didn't obey, I wanted to protect her so much. As long as my father was attacking her, I'd be there to try and stop it. She didn't understand that for me the pain of passively watching the horror scenes unfold without doing anything was a thousand times worse than anything my father could do to me, and strangely enough, I wasn't afraid of him, even though he hated me. In any case, I loved my mother so much I would have sacrificed my life for her. And if my memories serve me well, I recall the violence stopping with my interventions, for those nights anyway, almost as though my father was relieved that there was somebody actually stepping in to stop it.
My father didn't work. He spent his days in bed, tyrannising the household, we walked on eggshells. We'd take him up his meals and he'd throw them on the wall, having seen a hair (imaginary or not) on the plate. He'd get up at the end of the day to go to the pub.
My mother had six children. She would probably have had tons more if the local priest (fortunately!) hadn't intervened and threatened to stop speaking to her unless she took some serious contraception. My mother has gone to mass almost every day since leaving the convent, even at 6 o'clock in the morning before starting work. The priest insisted that my mother took the pill. Without the intervention of the priest, I dread to think how many children she would have had ... 15 in 15 years ? 20 in 20 years ?
The horror at home continued until the divorce of my parents (I was about 13 years old and hearing that news was one of the happiest days of my life). My mother finally accepted to divorce my father because the Catholic nuns at school threatened her (fortunately!!) with removing her 6 children unless she got a divorce. My eldest sister (fortunately!!) had been crying a bit at school, the nuns seemed privy to what was going on at home.
After the divorce, for the next few years of my adolescence there were highs and lows between my mother and I. I felt she was trying to control me and I began being repulsed by certain caracter and personality traits she had that started alienating me from her (her agressiveness (even violence towards me a few times), her way of gossipping and speaking negatively about others (including her own daughters), her hypocrisy, stubborness, insensitivity, irresponsibility, resentfulness, etc. I began losing my illusions about her, idealising and trusting her less. Finding my family toxic and the relationships dysfunctional. (I always found my sisters and brother very selfish), I was finding it more and more depressing being around them. There was never a day of peace in the household, even with my father gone. There were always fights and arguments between my sisters, my brother would hit his 2 younger sisters.
My disturbed brother was violent, threatening and unstable, and used to smoke God knows what. He often used to go into the bathroom with his 2 dogs for ***ual activities for long stretches at a time, the horrific noises really traumatised me (especially as I love animals so much). I was too terrified of my brother to risk spying through the key hole. From the dogs' yelps and prolonged thudding noises against the bath, he seemed to be "getting off" by forcing the male alsatian to copulate with the (much, much smaller) little Jack Russel female. I stayed well clear of this nutcase of a brother, choosing exclusively to humour him in order to remain unharmed by him, but I checked the dogs discretely after their "bathroom episodes" to confirm my worst suspicions and invariably noticed the little female had blood around her vagina. Afraid of him and his anger, violence and moods, I was too terrified to go to the police to report these incidents with the dogs, and when I spoke about it to my mother she didn't reply as though I hadn't spoken. I think she was too afraid of him too.
I left the family home in Edinburgh at 18 years old to go and pursue my college education in another town far away, and after graduating at 22, decided to leave the country altogether and go and live and work abroad in Spain. Six years later I met my lovely husband. I'm 53 years old now, we've been together for 24 years, still as much in love and happy together, we have an enormous respect for each other and love each other deeply. I feel blessed having him in my life.
During my adult years, I often visited my mother but I realised there was less and less of a real relationship between us. Each visit gave me fewer reasons to trust her. I don't think she was making much effort with me now, perhaps because I'd moved so far away, she was probably disappointed with me. A few times, I'd eavesdrop accidently on her telephone conversations with my eldest sister, she'd be running me down, even lying and exaggerating things. I was her guest for the weekend, and yet here she was badmouthing me off to my sibling. I couldn't believe my ears, I never said anything to her, just vowed silently to myself to visit her less and less. I remember thinking (positively) at the time that her doing that would just facilitate me cutting the umbilical cord with her (co-dependent relationship). This treachery of hers was the proof I needed to help me cut myself free from her with less guilt. When my sister didn't want anything to do with me, at least now I understood why! I actually asked her one day why I hadn't been invited to her wedding, she replied "because mammy said you did this, or did that", as if my mother had been taking a perverse pleasure in coquering and dividing us.
Over the decades, I've also found my sisters' lives more and more depressing, with their husbands invariably alcoholic, unstable, unfaithful, disloyal, unreliable, violent.
************************************************** ****
Comment