This post is about my childhood, and how it shaped the person and mother I am today. It’s not a fairy tale story of buttercups and Daisy, far from it actually. But it’s the truth, MY TRUTH!
Most people can look back at their childhoods and remember many fun adventures time’s, birthdays, holidays, exciting memories that last for years to come. Think back to the very first childhood moment you can remember…..
Mine, was being 6 years old sat against a radiator in my bedroom (it was the small bedroom at the front) and being slapped across the face with a plimsolls. You know them black pumps we had to wear for p.e in primary school. Yes it left a big nasty red mark right across my face, my “father” did this for whatever reason of me being “naughty” was. I went to school the next day and made up a lie to my teacher saying how I fell down a tree. Clearly she knew I was lying but still didn’t say a word.
You might be thinking this was a one off…. Nope this was a normal thing that happened in our house, if it wasn’t me or my siblings, it would be our mother. From plimsolls to belts, to wooden spoons, to work boots. Or even a fist. This was “normal” which is isn’t “normal” not even in the slightest.
I used to dread my “father” coming home from work, it meant we weren’t allowed fun, we would all dread what argument was going to happened next. This caused me to have anxiety from the tender age of 8! Yes 8! I would sit up at night and cry, I would work myself up saying I was dying of anything and everything.
We all witness our mother get beaten for no reason other than she disagreed with him on literally any topic, spoke out of turn. Or just because he had, had a drink. When I say beaten, I mean my mother would have to drop us at school in winter wearing sunglasses to cover her black eyes. She would make up excuses, like one of her horses kicked her etc. Yet there’s only so many times you can say the same lie.
People knew what was going on, but in the early 90s it was different than it is now. Domestic violence weren’t such a big deal then, you were your husband property.
I would love to say my mother finally saw sense and left after that, but she didn’t she stayed. I wished most nights for my mother to leave him, to get divorced. I even wished I was adopted and my proper parents would come and claim me.
Like most kids we went on holidays, not like they were enjoyable. Ours would start with a week long argument before we left and than the holiday was the same. Even days out were the same, never truly enjoyable.
Anyways I’ll stop typing now, I’ll write up a follow up part 2 about the rest.
Thanks for reading