The Effects of Child Abuse: A Lifelong Curse

CW: descriptions of severe child abuse, child neglect, PTSD, depression

I try really hard to be as open and upfront about my past. It isn't easy in any sense of the word...but if speaking out about it helps even one person, then I will continue doing it. Sometimes, people need to realize that they aren't alone and that the harm that came to them was not their own fault. When we're dealing with the effects of trauma - support and safety are vital to the healing process. 

I did not have a happy childhood. I didn't even have an okay childhood. My childhood was full of neglect, terror, abuse, and hatred. It happened all at the hands of my mother. For as long as I can remember, my mother has never treated me like my brothers. They were Kings while I was their servant. They were flawless while I was nothing but flawed. They could do no wrong while my accomplishments were never acknowledged. All of this led me to always look for the constant approval of others, even if it meant hurting myself in the process. I allowed others to walk all over me just so I could please them slightly. I never spoke up to defend myself and never valued my own opinions. Ever since I can remember, I learned minimize my presence and existence in order to just survive.

Yet that is only the verbal and emotional abuse. The physical abuse was a league of its own. Before I reached 10 years old, I had countless black eyes, split lips, second degree burns, swollen bloody welts all over my body, and even a few concussions. If I went two full days without a severe beating, it was a miracle. All, of course, without any professional medical care. Then there were all the times where I was locked in closets for hours, denied menstrual products, starved for days, locked in bathrooms overnight, basically waterboarded in the shower, forced to do all the housework and cooking from the age of 7, not allowed to leave the house by myself ever, and having to find ways to feed and clothe myself.

Can you fathom the effects that all of these things would have had on a small child? A child who suffered this since birth until the day she moved away to college, with no support, outlet, or hope. Living in the university dorms was the best decision I could have possibly made as an 18 year old girl. I was out! I was finally OUT. But my mother refused to let me take my legal documents such as birth certificate, green card, and passport. I literally had no form of ID besides my college ID and could not do anything or go anywhere. She also didn't allow me to learn to drive because I had no right to think that I should be ever going anywhere without supervision. The effects of all the abuse seeped to my psyche and my very soul. 

Something that a lot of people don't talk about is the PTSD that comes from living through childhood abuse. In the media, PTSD is strictly reserved for veterans of the Armed Forces and made to seem like it can only come from being a rugged soldier fighting in a warzone. But some of us are the terrified survivors of the warzones of our own lives. Our trauma is valid. Our triggers are everywhere. Our mental health is constantly on the brink of going over the edge into panic attacks. Normal everyday things give me severe flashbacks. I panic when I hear someone put down a dish hard, slightly raise their voice, be quieter than normal, etc. I'm constantly asking my husband "are you mad at me?" because daily habits that most people have are triggers for me. This makes my life so damn stressful and frustrating.

This trauma is a double-edged sword. It put me on high alert at all times, it made me more intuitive and able to read situations better. I notice the tiniest shifts in peoples' emotions and mood, sometimes even before they notice it themselves! This is a survival mechanism that I picked up as a little kid. I had to be one step ahead of my mother's rage so I could take whatever steps to make myself as safe as possible before it all came crashing down. I learned how to appease people and calm their anger lightning fast. My childhood forced me to build a tall wall around myself and to never let anyone in. Even when people were genuinely kind and loving towards me, I was suspicious of their motives...always waiting for the other shoe to fall. Yet I was fully committed to helping everyone and being someone they could rely on. This dichotomy of giving everything but taking nothing left me perpetually drained and exhausted. My reasoning for never trusting people? "If my own mother could treat me like this, then what is stopping anyone else from doing it too?" But this survival mechanism backfired on me. I allowed people to get away with too many things and cause me too much harm because it was always "less" when compared to what I went through for years. I was the perfect victim for abusive men...and they knew it. This ended up giving me even more intense triggers for my PTSD and caused my depression to spiral for years. I felt like I didn't know who I was.

How did I overcome this? I didn't. Not fully, at least. I struggled for years and let it control so many aspects of my life. After over a decade of no concrete change, my husband managed to convince me to see a psychiatrist. Between the therapy I received from him and the 4 different medications he put me on, I was finally starting to feel like...myself. It was such a strange experience. I was seeing myself and who I was, for the first time, as a 29 year old woman and mother of two. Without the uncontrollable clout of PTSD and depression looming over me constantly, I discovered new things about myself and what made me happy. I was able to be a better parent to my sons and a better person to myself. Of course, my mental health wasn't magically healed and I still struggle with it daily. But there are more bright sunny days than the dark gloomy ones now.

I gained hope for the future. I was smiling more and yelling and crying less. I learned some better coping mechanisms for my various triggers and am able to process them in a healthier and safer way. I allowed friends and my partner in and found comfort in them, and they in me.

All this to say...I'm still broken. I'm still hurting. I'm still clawing my way out of the darkness...but I'm making progress. I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and it's slowly getting brighter and closer. I'm finding more and more pieces of myself everyday and figuring out how to fit them together. I'm learning to trust and am on a mission to continue healing and growing. This will be a life-long journey for me, and I doubt I'll ever fully see the end of it. But that doesn't mean I'll give up or lose hope.

For the first time since I was a child, I can truly say that I am happy.