Childhood

Childhood is supposed to be a time of joy, having new experiences, learning about the world, and creating core memories.

But all of that was tainted by being raised in a dysfunctional home. Not knowing how others will react to you simply existing. Not knowing when the next person may rage. Not knowing if your basic needs will be met. Not knowing if anyone cares or if you are loved. 

For each memory I do have, at least a dozen others are still blocked out. As a child, you don’t understand the dysfunction. It is your norm and all you know. The few memories I have scare me. But, I am done being embarrassed and ashamed for things I could not control nor change when I was a child. It was the job of the adults in my life to keep me safe, and they failed. They failed me and my siblings incredibly. That may seem harsh, but it is the sad truth. People don’t want to overstep or damage their relationships. I do understand how scary and complex it may be to say something. But it is worse to say nothing and do nothing. 

My parents separated when I was little. There was a time when I did not see my siblings or biological father. At that time, I did not understand why. 

Soon, I was able to see everyone again. Around the age of six, my biological father offered me a strawberry daiquiri. I was so afraid I would get in trouble if I drank it I kept saying no. I remember him being annoyed as he continued prompting me to drink it. That night, I was lucky because he passed out. 

At my mother’s home, I had a lot of freedom. My mother was hardly ever home, and my sister had a lot of parties. I wanted to be “cool,” so I would puff on cigarettes and sip wine coolers or cans of beer. But being “cool” almost got me raped at the age of eight. The memory is fuzzy, like most of that period. An older male was watching me while my mom was out. We were drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. He started kissing me and taking off my clothes, pulling me on top of him. Things were about to progress when the doorbell rang erratically. My mother came home at just the right time. The part of this memory that bothers me the most is that I was not fighting him or saying no. I was going with it. That scares the hell out of me and makes me believe this was not the first time a situation like this came up in my childhood. 

Being so young and living with such dysfunction shaped my view of myself into adulthood. I have low self-confidence and self-worth, and I have chronic health conditions that, through therapy, have been able to connect to my childhood. I have tried so hard to make myself small all of my life. Allowing friends, family, and partners to take advantage, abuse, and neglect me and my needs. All while thinking it was “normal” and that I did not deserve any different. 

I only shared two experiences because the others were too blurred to write about, or I would be sharing the stories and experiences of others. 

The shame and embarrassment end here. We must talk about our experiences. Shed light on abuse and neglect so we can end these cycles.