Eagle, I've read your book and it's wonderful. You're such a blessing.

I was told that when we're children and told horrible things about ourselves, after a time, our brain begins to chemically alter itself in defense. When we leave the cruel words, we then kick into depression because we're not in the protection mode anymore. What do you think.

Depression wasn't passed down by my parents. They just created in me and my sister!

Dianne, thanks for the lovely feedback on my book.

I have read about the brain chemically altering itself in defense against the abuse, but I've never heard about depression moving in because we have moved out of protection mode. I'll look into that.

I have often heard depression described as "repressed anger", which makes a lot of sense, at least for me personally. I've noticed that I do start to feel shakey and more prone to futility and despair when I feel like I'm losing too much control over my choices, time and life in general (e.g., hubby's being too domineering.) But if I stand up for myself and be angry when I'm angry, those dark feelings seem to dissipate quickly.

I had to wait until I was an adult before I learned that every Mother didn't say hurtful, cruel things to their children. I was always the reason my Mom got "sick headaches". Usually because I was covering for one of my younger brothers or sisters. I wanted to spare them as much as possible.

My Mother told me my whole life that her birth experience with me was the worst that ever happened to her, and I was the ugliest baby she had ever seen, and refused to see me or hold me for three days. She was forced to take me home.

I was a forceps baby, and apparently had forcep ridges all over my head.

Anyway, it's taken a lot of time but I've started to heal from that. Also my nickname when I was a little girl was Toad. Can you imagine?

Sherri

Pretty normal for one so screwed up!

Sherri, It's beyond my comprehension how ANYONE can say such things to a child, much less that child's MOTHER. What horrible things to have to hear while growing up...and those words DO change who a child becomes...whatever potential a child has at birth becomes obscured and lost in the deafening onslaught of damaging words that will forever change the path and psyche of that child.

As you know, it IS possible to heal from that and move on from wherever we are when the healing begins. And it's all moot to consider the "what if's" and "if only's". But it's hard not to wonder who we'd be if we had not been broken by such damaging words at such an early age.

But really, all we can do is keep healing as best we can, and CELEBRATE the fact that we survived, even if only barely, and are still alive to share our story as the AWESOME persons we HAVE become, despite all those odds against us.

I hope you're embracing this powerful, courageous you that you are now...you've come a very long way, up a very steep hill, and here you stand, shining the light of your experience to help guide others along their dark path...every flicker of "been-there-wisdom" that we wounded healers can ripple out there makes a good difference to all the others still struggling through their own nightmares.

Hey Eagle,
Do you think as much damage can be done when the pain inflicted is covert? I'm talking about a mother that always talked about her children, to others, as if they walked on water, but then was always less than thrilled with them at home. I cannot remember my mother ever complimenting us without including a backdoor insult in the form of a question. "Your hair looks nice--did you brush the back of it?" "That's a cute dress--do you think it's too short?"
"Congratulations on that touchdown--do you think the score would have been higher if you had thrown the ball more?"
One thing my brothers and I have in common is that we all have to fight the tendency to think we're just never quite good enough, and by extension, that nothing or nobody else is quite good enough.
It's a pain to carry that pain!!! Your words have been so inspiring. Thank you so much for the posts.

Dear Fifty,

I have had to fight my Mother's voice even from the grave. I was told my writing was a stupid waste of time and I'd never amount to anything anyway. She has been gone for 18 years and I still at times am troubled by words she spoke so long ago.

I never was good enough for her. It was always, "why couldn't you have done this/that?"
Not until she was dying was she able to express any true love to me. It takes a long time to heal, the journey is long, but the end result is worth it. I not only have published one book, am regularily featured in my local newspaper, but my first novel is being considered for a made for TV movie and it hasn't been published yet. I hold those things close to my heart and tell myself my Mom was wrong.

I hold those things close to my heart and tell myself my Mom was wrong.

Sherri, those might be the most important words that come out of this entire thread.

[ September 08, 2005, 02:50 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]

Fiftyandfine, you asked Do you think as much damage can be done when the pain inflicted is covert?

A resounding YES. In fact, the damage could be even more confusing because we're never quite sure if those undercurrents are there, or if they're figments of our imagination. And when we dare to consider the possibility that our parent(s) could be capable of such ugly deception, we immediately censor ourselves and wonder how we could be so wicked as to even think such a terrible thing about our Mother (or Father).

Yet something "nags" at us, and we're never quite sure if we can accept the words at face value, or if we're meant to hear the subtle double-meaning that seems to lurk hide behind those words. We gradually learn that we can't really trust exactly what those covert words are supposed to be saying to us...do we look good, or not? And if it's not clear, which way are children more prone to go? To their own detriment...I'm not good-enough to warrant a full-blown "you look good".

I'd say that much of the damage inflicted on me were double-entendres; most compliments were shadowed with ambiguity. And one of my biggest issues still today is trust. Despite years of therapy and hard work, I am still not capable of trusting that what a person tells me is true...I'm always searching for the "but", or the double-entendre, the qualifier. It's a lonely place, innate mistrust. But I'm still a work-in-progress, diligently rewiring that part of my attic. Hubby's steadfast love is helping me a lot with that particular area of woundedness.

[ September 08, 2005, 03:36 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]

A Postscript to my previous post. This is really hard for me to share. How I've debated doing so. One of the reasons it took me so long to write the book is that I refused to do anything that would ever hurt my Mom. There's still a strong desire, and always will be, to "honour my Mom". I've forgiven her and am moving on. And as much as possible, unless it's an absolute necessary part of my story, I try not to damage her memory, especially for so many others whose lives she touched, blessed and changed in so many wonderful ways. The things she said and did to damage me were NOT all that she was. She was an incredibly charitable, giving, generous woman, the epitome of Santa Claus every day of the year, one of the most phenomenal women you'd ever want to meet. It would take me another whole book to describe and give evidence of the amazing wonderful woman she was.

But the reason I'm bringing this up here is that this is precisely what made it impossible for me to ever talk to anyone about what was going on at home. First, I figured nobody would ever believe me, because of what a beloved generous woman she was outside of our home. Everybody adored my Mom, including me, and rightly so.

Second, I truly didn't want to believe that she was doing these things to me deliberately...I decided it had to be my fault, that if I was the perfect loving daughter I ought to be, she wouldn't treat me like that. Since she did, it had to mean that I was a wicked and horrible daughter. The agony caused by that image of myself is what led me to my first suicidal tendencies at the age of 13. Nothing I did ever seemed to be right or good enough. The harder I tried, the worse the abuse got. I couldn't live with myself, knowing I was bringing such pain and heartache to a Mother I loved so much. It broke my heart. She deserved better...which is why I thought she'd be happier and better off if I was gone.

It wasn't until my breakdown when I was 29 years old, that I dared to believe my first instincts, that my Mother was sick and had been wrong to treat me the way she did. As soon as I dared to be open to that possibility, healing began. Because it was true. My Mother WAS wrong.

I have since grown to recognize that my Mom had always needed a scapegoat in her life, and as long as I was around, I was that scapegoat. It only ended when my sister-in-law came into the family...from that moment on, she bore the brunt of that side of my Mom, and I finally saw in my Mom's eyes her recognition of me as the beloved daughter I had always yearned to be.

[ September 08, 2005, 03:46 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]