Thanks for this story. It’s astounding to me that we survive our parents sometimes, and that they survived their parents and on and on. There are and were manuals, and so often they are/were wrong. While I have no children of my own, I do have eight nieces and nephews and seven great-nieces and nephews. I remember taking care of a six-month old baby in a community dining room (I was living and working in a community), while her mother was working in the kitchen. Even at six months old, though she had no words I could understand what she wanted and didn’t want. She couldn’t sit up alone yet, so if she wanted to sit on the rug and play with her toys, I had to help her sit up. However, I quickly learned the cues telling me when she wanted me to play with her, and when she wanted to play alone.
There was one day a woman wanted to hold her, and she was someone who often picked her up and held her. However, I’d noticed that when she came over to take her, the baby held tight to me and turned away, burying her head against me. So I told the woman she couldn’t hold the baby right then. She argued with me and I held firm. I trusted that this child was very clear on what she needed and wanted, and even if she had no words, I was going to pay attention and respect her wishes.
Communication is everything it seems. Had your parents communicated with you, it might or might not have been different, though it seems likely you would not have been so frightened. I’m so sorry you experienced that, and glad you later found a way to revisit it that was helpful for you. Thanks so much for sharing this…
Thanks, Doc. Yes, our parents. And their parents and all the way back. My folks were clueless in many ways, because they lacked the guidance when they were being raised. I'm glad you took care of that baby in your charge. I remember when I was little, and my brother even littler, I was the only one, it seemed, that understood his communications before he had speech. I was his greatest fan and protector. And in response to your feeling the baby tense...we do communicate or get messages from our bodies...I'm just learning how to tune into mine. So cool that you were tuned in to the baby's body language. xo
“we do communicate or get messages from our bodies” - I smiled when I read that, because the community I lived in when I took care of the baby was a Buddhist community. When I met with my teacher she kept asking me how I experienced things like anger in my body. One day I said, “My body and I haven’t been on speaking terms for years!” We both laughed, and then she taught me how to pay attention to what my body was telling me.
The second week I was taking care of that baby, which I did two afternoons a week, one of those days was 9/11. Almost as if she was exhausted by all the energy around her, she slept that day, lying on my chest as I stretched out on a sofa in the back of the dining room (I’d watched my sister do that with her kids, and found out they rested better against the heartbeat of the person holding them). It was incredibly grounding to simply hold this warm little being as she slept in the midst of the unfathomable chaos of that day.
I enjoyed this very much. Not that I enjoy reading about weird little kids like I was getting their butts kicked metaphorically, but it brought home the concept that even with parents who wanted the best for us, the world of being different was terrifying. P.S. When I was in the final two years of high school, we were on a semestered system which meant Phys. Ed. included 3 months in a row of Health Studies, 3 months of Pool - and I am not talking billiards here - and a final three months of actual physical activities like track, and field hockey. I must admit, while I love swimming, I somehow had my period every damn day for the three months of pool.
It was tough. That whole experience. And I believe my parents were doing their best. It just didn't land very well. At all. Thanks for reading and commenting.
You write with such vivid detail that I felt like I was with you in the room with the little chairs. And it reminded me of when I would get physically sick right before 2nd period in high school, right before HomeEc. Only later did I realize that the homemaker box they tried to put me in actually made me sick. Thanks for sharing your story!
I had the exact same revelation about my Home Ec classes. Two years of torture for me. I wanted to take SHOP. My dad was a clothing designer, and in the name of showing me how to do my 1st sewing project, he sat down at the machine "Here honey, let me show you how to do that," and 20 minutes later my shirt was finished. I got an A+ because my teacher asked if my mom helped me with it, and I could honestly say no. It never occurred to her that my dad helped. Why should I disabuse her of her sexism?
Nan, I could feel every moment of this, like I was in that room with you, seeing every pore on that man’s face, feeling your heart hammering, barely able to breathe. A frightening and paralyzing moment, to be sure, but now everyone who reads it will also feel what you felt because it is so powerfully written. Bravo 👏🏼. But also? Jesus, the fear and helplessness of children - of us. The world needs to do better. I think we’re doing better. But still have a long way to go.
Thank you Paulla. I think we're doing better in some ways. I'm not a parent, so I can't judge from a front row seat, but I think a lot of us who were raised in a certain generation experienced the effects of not being adequately parented, and took that to heart, and tried to do better, just as our parents tried to do better than theirs. Being aware, and being willing to explore deeply our motivations for the choices we make and possibly make different ones takes work and commitment to living life with our eyes wide open AND owning and correcting our mistakes when we make them. xoxo
You’ve reminded me of a similar moment in my school life. The same sense of being ambushed. The same humiliation of being called out in front of my entire class and their curiosity that I couldn’t answer when I returned.
It wasn’t a counsellor though. It was my head of year—who was similarly recruited by my mother to “talk to me” about why I was so unhappy. They all knew why I was unhappy. They knew I was being bullied. They didn’t do a damn thing about it though—or actually talk to me. They just singled me out in public, giving the bullies another reason to do the same —then told me how “everyone has their own troubles” and that I should try to understand WHY some people bully other people. Which I of course took to mean I was fundamentally unlikeable and just wrong so of course I was being bullied.
I’m so angry for you, Nan. And for all of us who went through something similar. Xx
Miranda. I'm so sorry. Why were the adults in our lives so consistently disappointing? A rhetorical question on the one hand (they were broken and disappointed, too?) or a legit question, that on some level has the same answer. But, I have a conflict at times with such a compassionate answer: You and I and so many others work hard to heal our wounds and come to a greater understanding of ourselves and the world around us. Why didn't they? I'm relieved that I was able to bring this memory forth and hopefully move on from it but doing that work and then writing about it. I read your story hear and felt anger and enormous sadness that you experienced that kind of shaming for being you and being an innocent child just trying to exist in an unfriendly environment. But here we are. Today. I wrote a story about my bullies for a Story Slam I participated in recently. I may just publish it next week in our honor!
I think the answer is the same, however we approach the question. What changes is how that answer affects us. As an adult, I’ve done a lot of work to understand why. As a kid, I didn’t even understand what was going on. And even when we understand, sometimes we still just need to get angry.
My first ever counsellor, when I talked about school bullying, asked me a version of the same question my teacher asked “why do you think they singled you out?”. Even then I didn’t get what she was trying to get me to see. I still thought she was trying to tell me there was something wrong with me. It was only several years (and another counsellor) later that I realised she was trying to get me to see how my vulnerability at home made me vulnerable at school. Teenage girls are like wolves. They scent wounded, easy prey.
I’d love to read it, and yes, asking ourselves that question, “why did it happen to me?” is an important one. I’m pretty clear about why I was bullied, but I think I took on the role of victim and couldn’t see how to extract myself from it. Looking back, I believe that to some extent I isolated as a defense against pain, and that became my default. I guess I’m saying I might have made it worse than it needed to be. I hope that makes sense. xoxo
It makes perfect sense because I did exactly the same. I think this is my what my first counsellor was trying to get me to see (without actually saying it because that’s not how counsellors work!).
But that word “victim” is so weighted. Again, I thought I was being blamed. That there was something about me that screamed “victim” that other people could see and that gave them licence to target me. What she was actually trying to get me to see (and it took a long time) wasn’t that it was my fault, but that I was an easy target for the bullies because I was primed by my home experience.
We may have made things worse for ourselves, but only because no one gave us the tools, or showed us how to use the tools to be any other way. When your home is as unsafe as the outside world, where else are you going to retreat but into yourself?
Oh Nan, thanks for sharing. "the effects that can last almost a lifetime." I'm happy that they didn't for you and for me, because you're here! That had to be so so scary for you. Attending bot Catholic elementary and high school, when one of those nuns came looking for me, terror reigned in my heart.
Because we were good girls, right? I was, anyway! Thanks for reading. I'm joking. But I was somewhat afraid of authority figures. And I was so careful about being well-behaved. So when I was called out of the class, I was stunned. Big hugs to you! xoxo
Thanks as always for sharing your experience, strength and hope Nan. I felt your scared little girl. I relate to that feeling of being frozen with authority figures-my voice/words-gone. So grateful to witness your recovery (and my own! it's so good-this community) and for our new life of being seen on our terms AND heard.
Thanks, Pamela. This new life is the one I want to live. I'm not that little girl anymore, but she definitely occupies a cozy corner of my heart, and I'm here to watch out for her. xoxo
This really hurt my heart for you, Nan. It’s wild that not one adult knew how to handle this in a way that could have changed everything, not even the principal! All you needed was someone to give you a heads up. I’m so sorry and so glad you didn’t sour on all kinds of help. No mud, no lotus, I guess, but dang. Sometimes you really wonder about the people who could have helped with the mud part a little more! Lots of love 🤍🪷
Thank you for getting it. I have to remember, more for own sanity, that my parents were lovely, flawed people who did a lot of good and also did some harm. We all do one way or another. And, my dear, what you said sparked another memory...in our house it was highly discouraged when it came to jumping in mud puddles and getting dirty. I've never jumped in one...and I was in my early thirties before I gave in and lay down in a muddy cool spot to keep me from fainting in a sweat lodge. I was so afraid to get dirty! Oh, boy. The things that stay with us, and the joy found in letting them go. As always, love to you every day. xo
Thank you, Seth. Yeah, it was two tough days, first when it originally happened and second was when it came flooding back to me in a session. So grateful for growth.
Wow, Nan. That must have been so traumatic. And your parents not talking to you about it before OR after? Holy fuck. That sounds like a symptom of the kind of parent-child dynamic that could help make a fifth-grader pretty sad.
Yeah. Well. I certainly wasn’t aware of it too consciously at that point and there were a lot of other reasons contributing to that sadness. And my parents were good people in so many ways. I think sometimes they just got overwhelmed by the daunting responsibilities of being parents. And that’s not to say that it was okay and I’m not cutting them slack. They screwed up a lot. I think it’s part of parenting. It’s taken me a long time to let go of old anger. My dad is gone, and I know he’d be completely excited for me, that I’m writing and putting my work out in the world. And my mom? She’s still alive and we have a fraught relationship. And I love her and am working toward letting go of the past more so that we can meet each other on common ground while there’s still time. And there are an awful lot of stories that I haven’t told yet and I won’t until I’m ready. Thank you for reading and commenting, Chris. I appreciate you so much.
I hear you. I’m sure your parents are/were good people. Parenting is something that’s impossible to do perfectly, and I don’t think anyone makes it out of childhood unscathed in some way; I sure didn’t. I think it’s great that you’re working on letting go of more of the past to build a better relationship with your mother. That’s hard, but I know it will be worth it. Anyway, this was a great essay, Nan. And I appreciate you very much too.
Yes. Getting hauled out of class was only for those who got in trouble or weren't smart and needed extra help. As a good and smart girl myself, I could feel your pain, humiliation, anxiety and confusion. I also loved the description of the ticking clock's second hand.
Thank you, Kim! I got sent to the dean once in high school. Flipped me out. I remembered thinking as I walked to her office how grateful I was that I happened to wearing a dress that day...something I NEVER did. I have no idea why I was wearing one that day. I thought maybe she'd go easy on me due to my good girl appearance. I really was a good kid...but I got caught doing something out of character and well, I guess, bad? I was cutting a 3 day a week gym class, in my senior fall semester. I failed the class, which was later removed from my transcript, because I had to find a gym class that met 5x week so I could graduate. The gym class? Folk Dance with Jean Levine, the Dance Machine (my name for her, because so much rhyming). Of course, when the dean closed the door to her office to give me my talking to, I was so freaked out that I burst into tears, and nothing she said could get me to stop. God, what a wimp. I was not a tough kid.
OMG. My nickname when I was 7 was "tit-girl" sung to the Batman theme song music. Just because I was accustomed to vacationing at a beach (Fire Island) where it was perfectly acceptable for little girls who were flat-chested children to go topless. Little did I know that it was frowned upon in suburban Long Island in 1968. My feminist consciousness started very early.
I appreciate that you caught that detail. I added the "almost" when I was ready to publish the essay. I realized that my first choice was too black and white, and wasn't accurate for me anymore. I was able to close the door on the bad feelings when I wrote the piec. I definitely had trust issues after that experience...probably before, too. I was a very wary child for a multitude of reasons. I'm so glad you commented, Mary. Thank you. xo
I’m sorry. That’s unforgivable. For parents to let a child be brought into a situation like that with no warning, no assurance of family support. A child who is already struggling? Thrown into a no way out with a stranger, an unknown authority figure. This made me so angry.
Sure, I understand everyone’s intentions were good, but that’s not enough. We have to think about unintended consequences especially when you’re making decisions for somebody else, in this case a child. The way to address anxiety is not by creating more anxiety.
Thank you for being the only person who said that in a comment as clearly as you just did. I was angry for a lot of years about it. And I hardly ever had the words to express my anger, so instead I turned it against myself. Thankfully, I did have enough emotional resources to want to survive and eventually thrive, but it's a been a fucking long road. I'm pretty sure you get this. It was a terrifying day. And sadly, not the only experience I had with two parents who were dealing with their own issues, and didn't have the emotional resources to show up with the help I did need...they weren't guilty of this all the time, but enough times that it left a lot of painful imprints. Yay, recovery! xo
We went into family therapy when I was around 13. All so individually fucked up the therapist suggested we each have our own individual therapists before attempting family therapy. I was so angry at being forced into being there, I burned through three therapists before they had to pull me. The last one suggesting my parents give me up to the county in what’s known as a PINS petition - person in need of supervision. The county oversees your supervision- your parents have given up all custody and all rights. Thank God, my mother didn’t go for it.🩵
Nan, I felt every word of this. The shame. Humiliation. Violation. Betrayal. “Good intentions,” do nothing to ease the trauma you’ve carried in your bones forever. You can’t make it go away. But loving friends, who help you find a way to loving yourself, are with you. You may not see them in the dark times, but we’re here. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story.🙏💕 xoxo
Thank you Mary. It took a long time to fully accept that I’m not alone. That I am not unique in needing to heal from traumatic experiences. I believe trauma touches the majority of people, not a minority. It’s a beautiful thing to discover. What’s even more beautiful is finding a community of people who understand and are also doing the work of healing. I’m so happy that we met here. xoxo
I'm so glad your mom didn't opt for PINS. It can be a nightmare. I worked in Family Court in lower Manhattan in the late 70s. My boss? Judge Judy, before she became a judge. That's another story, though. I can't even imagine how fucked up family therapy might have been with my crew. And just wait 'til the essay about the next therapist I saw at 14. Oh boy, was he a piece of work. Scary when a 14 year old has a more sophisticated thought process and understanding of nuance and diversity than a psychologist in his 40s. Oy vey.
This story touched my heart, and it made me want to shout at the doctor,the teacher and your classmates: "Look at Nan now!" Telling this story was a form of self care! You've learned to take care of yourself regardless of what bone heads are around you. Bravo!
This is very relatable and I am sorry your little girl self was ambushed - how scary for a young part that already felt outed. This reminds me of an incident for my twin Abby in middle school. Traditional school systems love to test and label kids, as you found out.
Special Education insisted on an IQ test (perhaps the more labels you carry the more funding to the school). I said no, as I know my daughter is more intelligent than most and has a unique learning style due to blindspots and delayed neurological development. Like most students you can't put her in a box and expect one size to fit all.
They went behind my back and tested her without consent. Abby came home in tears "I'm so stupid. I can't do anything."
Fuckernuckles hits again. I find out who instigated the effort to pigeon hole my already challenged daughter. I wanted to smear thier dumbass face with bat shit (I didn't).
The next thing I know a Social Worker knocks at our door to inspect our meant to be private home to see if I am neglecting Abby — all they can say is "We received a call and can not state the reasons they are here."
In less than five minutes the Social Worker backed our the door apologizing profusely , "I have never seen a home so well equipped with therapeutic tools and nourishing care. I am so sorry we came."
We had an entire neurological development program set up in our home — I studied and invested blood, sweat, and years into helping my twins learn and grow after their unnecessary premature birth.. Abby learned to walk at 6.
This kind of interference is a crime and undermines the old expression "mother knows best."
I imagine your mother saw something and wanted to attend to it and didn't know how.
Parenting is the hardest and least valued job in the world.
Praise ALL Mothers.
I am sooo glad that it is never too late to heal these young parts — and when we heal — we heal forward and backward in time. Everyone benefits.
Thank you for openly and rawly doing your part dear friend.
Wow. Thank you for telling this story. Yes, I like to think that my parents always had my best interests at heart. And sometimes they didn't know what the next right thing to do. They were young, and did their best with the tools they had. I have a lot of gratitude for some of their actions and choices. And I'm still getting over and healing from the damage they caused as well. But the bottom line is that I love them and always will.
Your story brings an experience of my own roaring back to mind. Briefly, I was considered late—at five or possibly four—to be unable to float in a pool. So at summer day camp one day, after my group had been in the pool and put our regular clothes back on, a guy I remember as huge came to the place where my group had changed, told me I had to put my wet bathing suit back on, and literally threw me into the deep end of the pool. Obviously, I lived, but I was terrified and so upset. The huge guy said my mother had wanted him to do it. That was entirely in character for her, as was her denial when the bus dropped me back home.
Not long after, when nobody was looking at me, let alone pressuring me, I taught myself to float, but I never did become a very good swimmer, never did develop the smooth crawl my mother had.
That's a horrible story. One of the most horrible I've heard. I can't even imagine the terror that would have come up for me if that had happened to me. Total fear of drowning, and lifelong trauma. Good for you for overcoming it enough to teach yourself even the rudiments of swimming. Ah, the smooth crawl. I never mastered that, and my mother was a side-stroker. That's all she'd ever do. I don't remember my father swimming, come to think of it. How weird. I am a devotee of the breast stroke, myself. Hmmmm. I wonder if there's a connection to other aspects of my life and tastes???? xoxo Love to you, Meryl.
Thanks for this story. It’s astounding to me that we survive our parents sometimes, and that they survived their parents and on and on. There are and were manuals, and so often they are/were wrong. While I have no children of my own, I do have eight nieces and nephews and seven great-nieces and nephews. I remember taking care of a six-month old baby in a community dining room (I was living and working in a community), while her mother was working in the kitchen. Even at six months old, though she had no words I could understand what she wanted and didn’t want. She couldn’t sit up alone yet, so if she wanted to sit on the rug and play with her toys, I had to help her sit up. However, I quickly learned the cues telling me when she wanted me to play with her, and when she wanted to play alone.
There was one day a woman wanted to hold her, and she was someone who often picked her up and held her. However, I’d noticed that when she came over to take her, the baby held tight to me and turned away, burying her head against me. So I told the woman she couldn’t hold the baby right then. She argued with me and I held firm. I trusted that this child was very clear on what she needed and wanted, and even if she had no words, I was going to pay attention and respect her wishes.
Communication is everything it seems. Had your parents communicated with you, it might or might not have been different, though it seems likely you would not have been so frightened. I’m so sorry you experienced that, and glad you later found a way to revisit it that was helpful for you. Thanks so much for sharing this…
Thanks, Doc. Yes, our parents. And their parents and all the way back. My folks were clueless in many ways, because they lacked the guidance when they were being raised. I'm glad you took care of that baby in your charge. I remember when I was little, and my brother even littler, I was the only one, it seemed, that understood his communications before he had speech. I was his greatest fan and protector. And in response to your feeling the baby tense...we do communicate or get messages from our bodies...I'm just learning how to tune into mine. So cool that you were tuned in to the baby's body language. xo
“we do communicate or get messages from our bodies” - I smiled when I read that, because the community I lived in when I took care of the baby was a Buddhist community. When I met with my teacher she kept asking me how I experienced things like anger in my body. One day I said, “My body and I haven’t been on speaking terms for years!” We both laughed, and then she taught me how to pay attention to what my body was telling me.
The second week I was taking care of that baby, which I did two afternoons a week, one of those days was 9/11. Almost as if she was exhausted by all the energy around her, she slept that day, lying on my chest as I stretched out on a sofa in the back of the dining room (I’d watched my sister do that with her kids, and found out they rested better against the heartbeat of the person holding them). It was incredibly grounding to simply hold this warm little being as she slept in the midst of the unfathomable chaos of that day.
What a beautiful image, the peace of the baby sleeping, offering you comfort while being herself.
I enjoyed this very much. Not that I enjoy reading about weird little kids like I was getting their butts kicked metaphorically, but it brought home the concept that even with parents who wanted the best for us, the world of being different was terrifying. P.S. When I was in the final two years of high school, we were on a semestered system which meant Phys. Ed. included 3 months in a row of Health Studies, 3 months of Pool - and I am not talking billiards here - and a final three months of actual physical activities like track, and field hockey. I must admit, while I love swimming, I somehow had my period every damn day for the three months of pool.
It was tough. That whole experience. And I believe my parents were doing their best. It just didn't land very well. At all. Thanks for reading and commenting.
You write with such vivid detail that I felt like I was with you in the room with the little chairs. And it reminded me of when I would get physically sick right before 2nd period in high school, right before HomeEc. Only later did I realize that the homemaker box they tried to put me in actually made me sick. Thanks for sharing your story!
I had the exact same revelation about my Home Ec classes. Two years of torture for me. I wanted to take SHOP. My dad was a clothing designer, and in the name of showing me how to do my 1st sewing project, he sat down at the machine "Here honey, let me show you how to do that," and 20 minutes later my shirt was finished. I got an A+ because my teacher asked if my mom helped me with it, and I could honestly say no. It never occurred to her that my dad helped. Why should I disabuse her of her sexism?
Nan, I could feel every moment of this, like I was in that room with you, seeing every pore on that man’s face, feeling your heart hammering, barely able to breathe. A frightening and paralyzing moment, to be sure, but now everyone who reads it will also feel what you felt because it is so powerfully written. Bravo 👏🏼. But also? Jesus, the fear and helplessness of children - of us. The world needs to do better. I think we’re doing better. But still have a long way to go.
Thank you Paulla. I think we're doing better in some ways. I'm not a parent, so I can't judge from a front row seat, but I think a lot of us who were raised in a certain generation experienced the effects of not being adequately parented, and took that to heart, and tried to do better, just as our parents tried to do better than theirs. Being aware, and being willing to explore deeply our motivations for the choices we make and possibly make different ones takes work and commitment to living life with our eyes wide open AND owning and correcting our mistakes when we make them. xoxo
I so agree. And if NOTHING else, that last part - owning and correcting our mistakes!
You’ve reminded me of a similar moment in my school life. The same sense of being ambushed. The same humiliation of being called out in front of my entire class and their curiosity that I couldn’t answer when I returned.
It wasn’t a counsellor though. It was my head of year—who was similarly recruited by my mother to “talk to me” about why I was so unhappy. They all knew why I was unhappy. They knew I was being bullied. They didn’t do a damn thing about it though—or actually talk to me. They just singled me out in public, giving the bullies another reason to do the same —then told me how “everyone has their own troubles” and that I should try to understand WHY some people bully other people. Which I of course took to mean I was fundamentally unlikeable and just wrong so of course I was being bullied.
I’m so angry for you, Nan. And for all of us who went through something similar. Xx
Miranda. I'm so sorry. Why were the adults in our lives so consistently disappointing? A rhetorical question on the one hand (they were broken and disappointed, too?) or a legit question, that on some level has the same answer. But, I have a conflict at times with such a compassionate answer: You and I and so many others work hard to heal our wounds and come to a greater understanding of ourselves and the world around us. Why didn't they? I'm relieved that I was able to bring this memory forth and hopefully move on from it but doing that work and then writing about it. I read your story hear and felt anger and enormous sadness that you experienced that kind of shaming for being you and being an innocent child just trying to exist in an unfriendly environment. But here we are. Today. I wrote a story about my bullies for a Story Slam I participated in recently. I may just publish it next week in our honor!
I think the answer is the same, however we approach the question. What changes is how that answer affects us. As an adult, I’ve done a lot of work to understand why. As a kid, I didn’t even understand what was going on. And even when we understand, sometimes we still just need to get angry.
My first ever counsellor, when I talked about school bullying, asked me a version of the same question my teacher asked “why do you think they singled you out?”. Even then I didn’t get what she was trying to get me to see. I still thought she was trying to tell me there was something wrong with me. It was only several years (and another counsellor) later that I realised she was trying to get me to see how my vulnerability at home made me vulnerable at school. Teenage girls are like wolves. They scent wounded, easy prey.
I’ll look forward to reading your Story Slam piece. I did something on finding my old school bullies online that might be relevant if you’re interested. https://rootstories.substack.com/p/i-found-my-school-bully-online
I just read it and commented. Wow.
I’d love to read it, and yes, asking ourselves that question, “why did it happen to me?” is an important one. I’m pretty clear about why I was bullied, but I think I took on the role of victim and couldn’t see how to extract myself from it. Looking back, I believe that to some extent I isolated as a defense against pain, and that became my default. I guess I’m saying I might have made it worse than it needed to be. I hope that makes sense. xoxo
It makes perfect sense because I did exactly the same. I think this is my what my first counsellor was trying to get me to see (without actually saying it because that’s not how counsellors work!).
But that word “victim” is so weighted. Again, I thought I was being blamed. That there was something about me that screamed “victim” that other people could see and that gave them licence to target me. What she was actually trying to get me to see (and it took a long time) wasn’t that it was my fault, but that I was an easy target for the bullies because I was primed by my home experience.
We may have made things worse for ourselves, but only because no one gave us the tools, or showed us how to use the tools to be any other way. When your home is as unsafe as the outside world, where else are you going to retreat but into yourself?
Yes. Precisely. I had to take care of myself, in addition to taking care of my parents.
Oh Nan, thanks for sharing. "the effects that can last almost a lifetime." I'm happy that they didn't for you and for me, because you're here! That had to be so so scary for you. Attending bot Catholic elementary and high school, when one of those nuns came looking for me, terror reigned in my heart.
Because we were good girls, right? I was, anyway! Thanks for reading. I'm joking. But I was somewhat afraid of authority figures. And I was so careful about being well-behaved. So when I was called out of the class, I was stunned. Big hugs to you! xoxo
I was too, Nan. Big hugs back to you.
xoxo
Thanks as always for sharing your experience, strength and hope Nan. I felt your scared little girl. I relate to that feeling of being frozen with authority figures-my voice/words-gone. So grateful to witness your recovery (and my own! it's so good-this community) and for our new life of being seen on our terms AND heard.
Thanks, Pamela. This new life is the one I want to live. I'm not that little girl anymore, but she definitely occupies a cozy corner of my heart, and I'm here to watch out for her. xoxo
This really hurt my heart for you, Nan. It’s wild that not one adult knew how to handle this in a way that could have changed everything, not even the principal! All you needed was someone to give you a heads up. I’m so sorry and so glad you didn’t sour on all kinds of help. No mud, no lotus, I guess, but dang. Sometimes you really wonder about the people who could have helped with the mud part a little more! Lots of love 🤍🪷
Thank you for getting it. I have to remember, more for own sanity, that my parents were lovely, flawed people who did a lot of good and also did some harm. We all do one way or another. And, my dear, what you said sparked another memory...in our house it was highly discouraged when it came to jumping in mud puddles and getting dirty. I've never jumped in one...and I was in my early thirties before I gave in and lay down in a muddy cool spot to keep me from fainting in a sweat lodge. I was so afraid to get dirty! Oh, boy. The things that stay with us, and the joy found in letting them go. As always, love to you every day. xo
Woof. Thank you, friend. Wow, I can hear and feel (and smell) it from here. Thank you for letting it out.
Thank you, Seth. Yeah, it was two tough days, first when it originally happened and second was when it came flooding back to me in a session. So grateful for growth.
Wow, Nan. That must have been so traumatic. And your parents not talking to you about it before OR after? Holy fuck. That sounds like a symptom of the kind of parent-child dynamic that could help make a fifth-grader pretty sad.
xoxo
Yeah. Well. I certainly wasn’t aware of it too consciously at that point and there were a lot of other reasons contributing to that sadness. And my parents were good people in so many ways. I think sometimes they just got overwhelmed by the daunting responsibilities of being parents. And that’s not to say that it was okay and I’m not cutting them slack. They screwed up a lot. I think it’s part of parenting. It’s taken me a long time to let go of old anger. My dad is gone, and I know he’d be completely excited for me, that I’m writing and putting my work out in the world. And my mom? She’s still alive and we have a fraught relationship. And I love her and am working toward letting go of the past more so that we can meet each other on common ground while there’s still time. And there are an awful lot of stories that I haven’t told yet and I won’t until I’m ready. Thank you for reading and commenting, Chris. I appreciate you so much.
I hear you. I’m sure your parents are/were good people. Parenting is something that’s impossible to do perfectly, and I don’t think anyone makes it out of childhood unscathed in some way; I sure didn’t. I think it’s great that you’re working on letting go of more of the past to build a better relationship with your mother. That’s hard, but I know it will be worth it. Anyway, this was a great essay, Nan. And I appreciate you very much too.
Yes. Getting hauled out of class was only for those who got in trouble or weren't smart and needed extra help. As a good and smart girl myself, I could feel your pain, humiliation, anxiety and confusion. I also loved the description of the ticking clock's second hand.
Thank you, Kim! I got sent to the dean once in high school. Flipped me out. I remembered thinking as I walked to her office how grateful I was that I happened to wearing a dress that day...something I NEVER did. I have no idea why I was wearing one that day. I thought maybe she'd go easy on me due to my good girl appearance. I really was a good kid...but I got caught doing something out of character and well, I guess, bad? I was cutting a 3 day a week gym class, in my senior fall semester. I failed the class, which was later removed from my transcript, because I had to find a gym class that met 5x week so I could graduate. The gym class? Folk Dance with Jean Levine, the Dance Machine (my name for her, because so much rhyming). Of course, when the dean closed the door to her office to give me my talking to, I was so freaked out that I burst into tears, and nothing she said could get me to stop. God, what a wimp. I was not a tough kid.
😂 My nickname at school was cry-baby, (repeated over and over in a song, song voice) so I can relate.
OMG. My nickname when I was 7 was "tit-girl" sung to the Batman theme song music. Just because I was accustomed to vacationing at a beach (Fire Island) where it was perfectly acceptable for little girls who were flat-chested children to go topless. Little did I know that it was frowned upon in suburban Long Island in 1968. My feminist consciousness started very early.
I love the "almost" in the subtitle. It is a lovely piece of hope.
I am sorry this happened to you. If you were not anxious beforehand, you would have been after meeting w the doc!
I appreciate that you caught that detail. I added the "almost" when I was ready to publish the essay. I realized that my first choice was too black and white, and wasn't accurate for me anymore. I was able to close the door on the bad feelings when I wrote the piec. I definitely had trust issues after that experience...probably before, too. I was a very wary child for a multitude of reasons. I'm so glad you commented, Mary. Thank you. xo
I’m sorry. That’s unforgivable. For parents to let a child be brought into a situation like that with no warning, no assurance of family support. A child who is already struggling? Thrown into a no way out with a stranger, an unknown authority figure. This made me so angry.
Sure, I understand everyone’s intentions were good, but that’s not enough. We have to think about unintended consequences especially when you’re making decisions for somebody else, in this case a child. The way to address anxiety is not by creating more anxiety.
I’m so so sorry. 🩵
Thank you for being the only person who said that in a comment as clearly as you just did. I was angry for a lot of years about it. And I hardly ever had the words to express my anger, so instead I turned it against myself. Thankfully, I did have enough emotional resources to want to survive and eventually thrive, but it's a been a fucking long road. I'm pretty sure you get this. It was a terrifying day. And sadly, not the only experience I had with two parents who were dealing with their own issues, and didn't have the emotional resources to show up with the help I did need...they weren't guilty of this all the time, but enough times that it left a lot of painful imprints. Yay, recovery! xo
We went into family therapy when I was around 13. All so individually fucked up the therapist suggested we each have our own individual therapists before attempting family therapy. I was so angry at being forced into being there, I burned through three therapists before they had to pull me. The last one suggesting my parents give me up to the county in what’s known as a PINS petition - person in need of supervision. The county oversees your supervision- your parents have given up all custody and all rights. Thank God, my mother didn’t go for it.🩵
Nan, I felt every word of this. The shame. Humiliation. Violation. Betrayal. “Good intentions,” do nothing to ease the trauma you’ve carried in your bones forever. You can’t make it go away. But loving friends, who help you find a way to loving yourself, are with you. You may not see them in the dark times, but we’re here. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story.🙏💕 xoxo
Thank you Mary. It took a long time to fully accept that I’m not alone. That I am not unique in needing to heal from traumatic experiences. I believe trauma touches the majority of people, not a minority. It’s a beautiful thing to discover. What’s even more beautiful is finding a community of people who understand and are also doing the work of healing. I’m so happy that we met here. xoxo
Back at you, Nan! 🙏💕
I'm so glad your mom didn't opt for PINS. It can be a nightmare. I worked in Family Court in lower Manhattan in the late 70s. My boss? Judge Judy, before she became a judge. That's another story, though. I can't even imagine how fucked up family therapy might have been with my crew. And just wait 'til the essay about the next therapist I saw at 14. Oh boy, was he a piece of work. Scary when a 14 year old has a more sophisticated thought process and understanding of nuance and diversity than a psychologist in his 40s. Oy vey.
Hi Nan,
This story touched my heart, and it made me want to shout at the doctor,the teacher and your classmates: "Look at Nan now!" Telling this story was a form of self care! You've learned to take care of yourself regardless of what bone heads are around you. Bravo!
Marguerite
Thank you, my darling friend. I'm so thrilled to know you. xoxo
Hi Nan,
This is very relatable and I am sorry your little girl self was ambushed - how scary for a young part that already felt outed. This reminds me of an incident for my twin Abby in middle school. Traditional school systems love to test and label kids, as you found out.
Special Education insisted on an IQ test (perhaps the more labels you carry the more funding to the school). I said no, as I know my daughter is more intelligent than most and has a unique learning style due to blindspots and delayed neurological development. Like most students you can't put her in a box and expect one size to fit all.
They went behind my back and tested her without consent. Abby came home in tears "I'm so stupid. I can't do anything."
Fuckernuckles hits again. I find out who instigated the effort to pigeon hole my already challenged daughter. I wanted to smear thier dumbass face with bat shit (I didn't).
The next thing I know a Social Worker knocks at our door to inspect our meant to be private home to see if I am neglecting Abby — all they can say is "We received a call and can not state the reasons they are here."
In less than five minutes the Social Worker backed our the door apologizing profusely , "I have never seen a home so well equipped with therapeutic tools and nourishing care. I am so sorry we came."
We had an entire neurological development program set up in our home — I studied and invested blood, sweat, and years into helping my twins learn and grow after their unnecessary premature birth.. Abby learned to walk at 6.
This kind of interference is a crime and undermines the old expression "mother knows best."
I imagine your mother saw something and wanted to attend to it and didn't know how.
Parenting is the hardest and least valued job in the world.
Praise ALL Mothers.
I am sooo glad that it is never too late to heal these young parts — and when we heal — we heal forward and backward in time. Everyone benefits.
Thank you for openly and rawly doing your part dear friend.
Wow. Thank you for telling this story. Yes, I like to think that my parents always had my best interests at heart. And sometimes they didn't know what the next right thing to do. They were young, and did their best with the tools they had. I have a lot of gratitude for some of their actions and choices. And I'm still getting over and healing from the damage they caused as well. But the bottom line is that I love them and always will.
I hear you sister. Most of the time we don't know what the F to do but the care can't be denied only masked for a bit... Love you.
“Ambush” is exactly the word.
Your story brings an experience of my own roaring back to mind. Briefly, I was considered late—at five or possibly four—to be unable to float in a pool. So at summer day camp one day, after my group had been in the pool and put our regular clothes back on, a guy I remember as huge came to the place where my group had changed, told me I had to put my wet bathing suit back on, and literally threw me into the deep end of the pool. Obviously, I lived, but I was terrified and so upset. The huge guy said my mother had wanted him to do it. That was entirely in character for her, as was her denial when the bus dropped me back home.
Not long after, when nobody was looking at me, let alone pressuring me, I taught myself to float, but I never did become a very good swimmer, never did develop the smooth crawl my mother had.
That's a horrible story. One of the most horrible I've heard. I can't even imagine the terror that would have come up for me if that had happened to me. Total fear of drowning, and lifelong trauma. Good for you for overcoming it enough to teach yourself even the rudiments of swimming. Ah, the smooth crawl. I never mastered that, and my mother was a side-stroker. That's all she'd ever do. I don't remember my father swimming, come to think of it. How weird. I am a devotee of the breast stroke, myself. Hmmmm. I wonder if there's a connection to other aspects of my life and tastes???? xoxo Love to you, Meryl.