Hi friends. For the past year, I've been exposing and exploring abuse and neglect I endured at the hands of four narcissistic parents (two bio and their partners). Today I'm looking at why it's important to keep talking once you find your voice. Because once seen, you'll never unsee it or look at family dynamics the same again.
If you have been following this blog, you might wonder why I talk so much about my childhood trauma. And why after 6 decades am I finally opening up about abuse (physical, sexual, financial, religious, emotional), neglect, endangerment, abandonment, exploitation, parentification, family scapegoating, manipulation, invalidation, toxic shaming, gaslighting and other shit I don't have words for yet. Well, not because it's any fun, let me assure you of that.
There are many reasons why I keep writing about it. Sixty years of keeping quiet about parental abuse, of not being allowed a voice to articulate it, means thousands of bad memories crammed in, broken, rotting and oozing poison. Plus, years of parents gaslighting, lying and brainwashing about what happened has left me confused and bewildered. What the hell just happened? Why??
Emotional child abuse is the horror hidden in plain sight. To anyone willing to admit what they are seeing. To everyone but the child. To the child, this is normal, for her. Her parents, with their self-centered, manipulative lies, have caused her to believe that this is all she deserves. That she brought it on herself. That they, their partners and kids are her responsibility to serve and obey.
The concept of family loyalty is royally effed up too. It's drilled into the abused kid's head that she must play along with, keep silent about, ignore, put up with all manner of crap to be a good family member. She OWES it to them. But no one ever talks about what is owed to her, like affirmation and love, let alone basic care. It's one-sided.
The only expression for those decades of bad memories has been in CPTSD dreams and nightmares. Till now. And now that I have begun to understand what happened, I can't unsee it. Nor can I wrap my mind around it. There is so much that it seems endless. It's overwhelming and terrifying. Early traumatic childhood memories take on specter like shapes, diffuse, looming and completely overpowering.
Like a shadow that gets bigger and bigger till it takes up the entire room. Like Nosferatu who was most frightening in the shadow on the wall. Even now I get short of breath when I remember the fear. My chest gets tight and I feel like I'm choking.
Talking about it helps frame in the boundaries. It helps me sort out what happened and some of the why. It helps to put it in a manageable place where I can safely contain it. It helps me get Nosferatu down to size and see him for what he is. A sad, strange little man in a mask. Scary people look so big to kids. But as an adult, I am beginning to see them for what they were/are. Scary only in the horrendous lengths they'll go to to protect their narcissistic delusion.
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