TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of child sexual abuse/assault and rape
To my mother, a letter I must write
With words of truth, piercing through the night
I know you knew, deep down inside
The signs, the whispers, you couldn’t hide
You saw the signs, heard them loud and clear
Perhaps even experienced the fear
Yet you choose to cover it up, to deny
Leaving me with secrets, an unanswered, “why”
The things I knew, at such a tender age
The words I spoke, exhibiting a not so silent rage
Actions with friends that you couldn’t ignore
Promiscuity in teenage years, a pain I bore
No child should bear the weight of such knowing
No innocence should be stripped, without showing
But you belittled me, each time you caught
Instead of seeking help, true healing you never sought
You knew, oh yes, you knew it all
You kept it hidden, behind a protective wall
Afraid of what others might come to see
But in your silence, you failed to set me free
I know more than you think, for healing brings
A flood of memories, like unspoken strings
But in this truth, I find my own strength
A voice to reclaim, no longer at arm’s length
The pain may linger, the scars may remain
But I refuse to let your silence be my bane
For I am breaking free, reclaiming my worth
Unveiling the secrets buried deep in the Earth
So, dear mother, I write this letter true
To bring to light the pain I once knew
No longer will I carry the burden alone
For the truth will be known, and healing will be sown
If you or anyone you know have experienced or are experiencing sexual assault, please click the following links for help and support.
I was raped when I was very young, but that wouldn’t be the only time. Instead of protecting me, seeking help and prosecuting, I got, “You’re a slut, you’re just like your father, what the fuck is wrong with you, stop that, don’t do that, shut the fuck up, dumbass, moron, idiot,” and should I keep going? I consistently felt blamed throughout my life for my father being the way he was, often being compared to him because of my promiscuity, but promiscuity is what I was taught girls do, and I would continue to get that message throughout my entire life.
She accuses me of lying, manipulating, and being off my medications, but I believe she just wanted me to be doped up and numb, hoping I would never remember what happened when I was young. My consistent behavior showed that something was wrong, but I didn’t understand until now.
Her typical response of being a slut, asking for it, or tempting the men and getting what I deserved, was what I expected from her. (And wow, saying this out loud is extremely releasing and healing.) I received punishment for talking to her and others in that manner, which was extremely confusing to me. In my mother’s opinion, I am just a spoiled brat who is ungrateful for everything she has done for me. She is aware of everything that happened when I was a child, as she is not stupid, but she refuses to admit it. In fact, she will deny any accusation that questions her image and integrity until the day she dies.
From a young age until I turned 33, I experienced recurring nightmares. Many of these dreams involved someone posing a threat to the people I loved. Strangely, some of them revolved around the very events I’m speaking about in this post, although, I couldn’t quite comprehend their meaning. Instead of receiving an explanation, I was often dismissed and told that these nightmares were merely a, “symptom” of my “mental illness.”
Reflecting on what I’ve discovered from my mother’s friends and my relatives, my understanding of my mother has deepened, revealing a complex portrait. She is regarded with a considerable amount of trepidation, and compliments are few and far between. (From people that truly know her) Uncovering truths about my early years has left me with memories that will linger indelibly. Additionally, insights into her troubled history shed some light on her actions, though they by no means justify them.
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